Unlike conventional comic book superheroes, none of the characters in Watchmen possess any actual superhuman abilities, with the exception of Dr. Manhattan. Furthermore, many of these characters struggle with personal issues that shape their current ideology. Likewise, the ultimate goal of the antagonist, ironically, is to bring about world peace. Although the plot takes place in a fictional Cold War era America, the authentic lives of the individuals paint a strikingly realistic world. At the time it was released, such proposals were revolutionary in the comic book medium.

The conclusion of the layered plot is the clearest representation of morality and human decision making. Adrian Viedt creates an alien manifestation to attack New York which successfully murders millions of innocent people, forcing the world nations to unite together and drop the ongoing arms race. Viedt holds a utilitarian and consequentialist perspective in which he believes that the ends justify the means (Kay). In his view, the death of millions of innocent people is a necessary sacrifice in order to save billions. Yet it is evident that he is personally insecure with his decision. Viedt asks Dr. Manhattan, “I did the right thing, didn’t I? It all worked out in the end” (27). In modern society, utilitarianism is an unpopular view as it condones actions that have no obvious positive merits. The few others who witness Viedt’s act agree that it is better for humanity to not to know the truth, with the exception of Rorschach who is fundamentally opposed to the mass deception.

Unlike Viedt, Rorschach believes enthusiastically in moral obligation and the western understanding of karma. As a vigilante, Rorschach boldly sets a man on fire upon discovering that he had violently killed a child. Such vivid acts of retribution reveal that Rorschach lives by his own moral directive. Influential English philosopher John Locke proposed that people are born with a “blank slate” at birth. In his work, Essay Concerning Human Understanding, Locke states, “I see no reason, therefore, to believe that the soul thinks before the senses have furnished it with ideas to think on”. Contrary to this proposition, Rorschach gives the analogy that, “the accumulated filth of all their sex and murder will foam up about their waists and all the whores and politicians will look up and shout ‘save us!’… and I’ll look down and whisper ‘no’” (1). This is Rorschach’s declaration that people are innately evil, rejecting the “blank slate” belief.

Symbolism is used to clarify Rorschach’s counter intuitive views. He breaks new locks installed by the locksmith “Gordian Knot Lock Co”. The name of the fictional company is an allusion to the Greek legend of the Gordian Knot in which whoever untied it would become the king. In the legend, Alexander the Great boldly cuts it with his sword instead of using wisdom to unlock it (Gordian). When searching for information, Nite Owl suggests slowly investigating the underworld for possible clues, but Rorschach decides to enter a bar and break people’s fingers until they surrender the information he demands. Rorschach represents Alexander’s role in the legend as he uses bold unconventional means to create quick solutions. Torture and extremism is not beyond his bounds if it results in profound efficiency.

As one of the few people to know the truth of the artificially constructed peace, Rorschach’s moral duty is willing to put the fragile peace at risk. This is expressed as he says, “not even in the face of Armageddon. Never compromise… evil must be punished”. Rorschach loosely fits the philosophical model of an objectivist as outlined by the political writer Ayn Rand because he, “stands up for everyone’s right to be judged individually on the basis of their character and actions, their right not to be a means to someone else’s higher end, no matter what one might think of that end” (Doherty). This form of absolutism classifies Viedt’s operation as evil no matter what the context or outcome. Although the logic behind this explanation appears to contradict Rorschach’s own vengeance toward criminals, Rorschach himself acknowledges that he is not morally upright in society’s eyes.

Rorschach’s former colleague, Nite Owl, believes in old fashioned idealistic justice. When discussing music with Hollis Mason, he shows interest in the jazz of the 1930’s instead of embracing modern pop. This is figurative of his desire for simpler times of the past. In his eyes, peace can be achieved through integrity and mutual understanding. Nite Owl has to face the grim reality of the changing social and political climate. He asks during a riot, “the country’s disintegrating. What’s happened to America? What’s happened to the American dream?”  (18). Nite Owl’s morality directly correlates with the production of Viedt’s line of fragrance. Advertisements for the cologne, “Nostalgia” are seen in commercials and advertisements throughout most of the story. It reflects a longing for a time before the Cold War era of global uncertainty and unrest. As Viedt changes the product to a line called “Millennium”, it reflects the change to society’s optimism and hope. Nite Owl’s ethics coincide with this change as his values are challenged by the shifting world culture.

Even the minor characters have notable ethical standards. Malcolm Long holds an elitist view, as he is confident in his ability to solve Rorschach’s inherent psychological “problems”. Big Figure on the other hand, lives by exploiting others towards one’s own benefit. Although the top in the criminal hierarchy, without the protection of his ring of associates, Big Figure is helpless due to his ironically small size. In comparison, Moloch underwent a personal transformation from criminal to businessman. The source of his morality is faith based with his acceptance of Christianity’s teachings. Symbolism is again used to characterize the transformation of his character. The restaurant he uses for communication is named Gunga Diner is a reference to the poem Gunga Din. In this poem, an enemy soldier dies saving the life of a British soldier (Kedziora). This subtle reference also foreshadows Viedt’s sacrifice and agrees with Nite Owl’s optimistic view of man.

In contrast, The Comedian believes that humans are morally corrupt barbarians and have been trying to kill each other since the beginning of history. Due to the looming threat of the Cold War, The Comedian recognizes Cyrenaic hedonism in that opportunities should be indulged immediately since the future is uncertain (Williams). Although The Comedian is murdered at the beginning of the storytelling, the non-linear narrative uses flashbacks to exemplify his ideology. His attempted rape and murder testify to this. The Comedian wears the most recognizable symbol in Watchmen, a smiley face badge with a blood stain across the eye, appearing in a variety of creative forms throughout the novel. The sense of humor juxtaposed with the seriousness of violence represents the duality of man, as coexistence and destruction are both achievable through mankind’s choices. To further expose the complex morality of the characters, The Comedian accuses Dr. Manhattan of an equal amount of wrongdoing as he may himself have inflicted.

The ethical dilemma that Dr. Manhattan faces is that he is omnipotent, while no other person has any special powers. Time travel, immortality, and cloning are just a few of the conceivable abilities he can perform at will (18). By holding infinite power, simply not intervening in the horrific injustices that occur throughout the world is equivalent to passively committing them himself. Dr. Manhattan’s belief is the opposite of anthropocentrism (Wolloch). Instead of seeing humans of fundamental importance, he sees planets like Mars as perfect due to the absence of human life. Manhattan believes that having no stake in human affairs allows him to remove any personal responsibility or guilt. The presence of Dr. Manhattan as a “walking nuclear deterrent” siding with the Americans is the only addition to an otherwise realistic Cold War scenario. Despite being essentially equivalent to God, his existence is unable to prevent the inevitable mutually assured destruction of man.

Dr. Manhattan’s name was originally intended to bring fearful connotation with the Manhattan project, the research that developed the atomic bomb.  In contrast to the use of the atomic bomb during WWII, the rationale that deadlier weapons can achieve peace is rejected and hostility escalates as a result of human stubbornness and abuse of power. The silhouette of a disintegrating man and woman known as the Hiroshima lovers is seen graffitied onto walls and mentioned in Rorschach’s journal. This famous image represents of the significance of society choosing love as opposed to war. Similarly, the prominent display of the Doomsday Clock getting closer and closer to midnight, symbolic of catastrophic destruction, foreshadows the effects of human decision making (Doomsday).

In the Watchmen storyline, individuals choose to rise up fight society’s problems on their own. Although somewhat effective in preventing crime, the public calls for their outlawing. The reasoning is likely caused by the public’s distrust of unsanctioned figures of authority; despite their service being nearly indistinguishable from the accepted law enforcement. The debate of private authority is alive today as “critics raise issues of accountability, and the private usurpation of a government function. Advocates cite the benefits of cheaper, more responsive alternatives to the public police” (Joh). People are generally willing to exchange additional safety for a fabricated sense of peace of mind.

Following the legislated outlaw, the US government grants amnesty to Manhattan and The Comedian due to their skills being used in the Vietnam War (23). This criminalization yet simultaneous support when it serves the government’s self-interests reinforces the imperfection of those in power and James Madison’s famed idea that, “if men were angels, no government would be necessary”. The phrase, “Who Watches the Watchmen?” appears partially spray painted on walls throughout the entirety of the novel but is never fully addressed by any of the characters. This slogan explains the circular logic of individuals in power governing. It conveys the warning that people should not put unconditional trust on other peers, as man is innately imperfect and motivated by greed.

Alan Moore’s contribution to the graphic novel medium exposes deeper themes than most of the superficial action dependent comic books of the time. Symbols embedded throughout the chapters allow for complex ideas to be expressed through subtle images, rather than using the limited space available for text. By electing to use flawed and instinctively human characters as opposed to unquestionably virtuous superheroes, Moore shows the individually constructed moral understandings resulting from a lack of consensus within society and the dangers it poses to mankind.

• Doherty, Brian. “Rorschach Doesn’t Shrug.” Reason Magazine. 6 Mar. 2009. Web. 26 Oct. 2010. <http://reason.com/archives/2009/03/06/rorschach-doesnt-shrug>.
• “Doomsday Clock Overview.” Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists. Web. 27 Oct. 2010. <http://thebulletin.org/content/doomsday-clock/overview>.
• Joh, Elizabeth E. “The Forgotten Threat: Private Policing and the State.” Indiana Journal of Global Legal Studies, 13.2 (2006): 357–89. Print.
• “The Gordian Knot.” Gordion Archaeological Project. Web. 27 Oct. 2010. <http://sites.museum.upenn.edu/gordion/articles/myth/38-gordianknot>.
• Kedziora, Mike. “Rudyard Kipling’s Gunga Din Examined for Poetry Month.” Examiner: Denver. 1 Apr. 2010. Web. 27 Oct. 2010. <http://examiner.com/exploring-colorado-in-denver/rudyard-kipling-s-gunga-din-examined-for-poetry-month>.
• Key, Charles D. “Notes on Utilitarianism.” Wofferd College. 20 Jan. 1997. Web. 26 Oct. 2010.
• Locke, John. An Essay Concerning Human Understanding. England, 1690. Print.
• Ross, Jonathan. “Jonathan Ross on Watchmen.” The Times. 17 Oct. 2008. Web. 26 Oct. 2010. <http://entertainment.timesonline.co.uk/tol/arts_and_entertainment/books/fiction/article4961852.ece>.
• Williams, Bernard Arthur Owen. Morality: an Introduction to Ethics. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2008. Print.
• Wolloch, Nathaniel. “Animals, Extraterrestrial Life and Anthropocentrism in the Seventeenth Century.” California State University San Marcos. 2002. Web. 26 Oct. 2010.

• Photo used with Per­mis­sion

We hide what we fear because we don’t want to change others’ views of us: we don’t want to have the spotlight on us, and we have no intention to become the target of peers’ gossip. But we know that there’s no other way to avoid it; at some point in our lives, we will become the butt of every joke. Whatever we expose, reality steals it away and turns it into something that hurts us.

The world we live in, the world that shelters us, is also the world that can haunt us. We feed off of cruelty and others’ pain to make ourselves feel better. We mock others’ misery.

But we are better than that.

Experiences like these define who we are. We chose whether we succumb to those horrendous taunts or we stand tall and move forward leave it behind us. We learn to take those experiences to help us in the future. We learn to fall…to pick ourselves up. As we learn to stand again, we carry with us new strategies, strategies that can allow us to overcome similar experiences. We become strong through the obstacles that we face.

You must learn to pick yourself up. Although we all may not understand why you want to do this to yourself, you need to understand that there are so many people in the world who have never thought of anything terrible of you. We are all here to pick you up and help you grow. You are better than this, you can resist this terrible ending. How? Because there are people in your life who love you and want you to stay in their lives.

Please come back to us. My hopes to you and your family. We need you back home.

• Photo by Phillip Guyton Jr. / Used with Permission

For example, Much-Afraid cries out to the Shepherd several times when her enemies start closing in around her. When Much-Afraid’s relatives hear about her journey, they send Pride to lure her back into the Valley of Humiliation. Pride sounds good at first, but Much-Afraid soon realizes that she is in a trap. She thinks of the Shepherd and cries out, “Come to me, Shepherd! Come quickly! Make no tarrying, O my Lord” (78). The Shepherd immediately leaps down, strikes Pride, delivers Much-Afraid, and gently corrects her. At another time Much-Afraid finds herself backed up against a rock, this time facing Pride along with Bitterness, Resentment, and Self-Pity. She tries to defend herself, but ends up calling the Shepherd for deliverance. He swiftly appears and scares her four relatives away, comforting and correcting Much-Afraid yet again.

Also, whenever Much-Afraid looks at a seemingly impossible or unreal path ahead, she just has to call for the Shepherd. For instance, when she sees the path leading into the desert instead of towards the High Places, she starts doubting the Shepherd. She calls for him and he comes and shows her that she must go through the desert. He encourages her and goes down with her. Another time Much-Afraid is at the foot of Mount Injury. The steep climb looks so impossible for Much-Afraid, and she reluctantly calls for the Shepherd. He shows her that it is not really that hard. Hurnard writes: “It was a really extraordinary scene. In the place where just a little while before all had been fear and despair were the Shepherd and Much-Afraid, sitting on the rocks at the foot of the impassable precipice, laughing together as though at the greatest joke in the world” (127). The Shepherd encourages Much-Afraid and she actually climbs Mount Injury, even though it seemed crazy at first.

Additionally, Much-Afraid is, like her name, very afraid. One time, after hearing several lies from her relatives around her and coming out of a sandstorm, she becomes fearful of her journey. She quietly calls out for her Comforter, and he comes, saying, “Be of good cheer, it is I, be not afraid” (108). She continues on with the Shepherd protecting her. Also, near the end of her journey to the High Places, Much-Afraid looks down into the Valley of Loss. She cannot control her fear, even though the Shepherd is standing next to her. She shrieks, “Shepherd! Shepherd! Help me! Where are you? Don’t leave me!” (173). She holds on very tightly to the Shepherd. He comforts her and relieves her fear, and Much-Afraid goes down into Valley without fear.

Each time Much-Afraid calls the Shepherd, he delivers her. If facing Pride, staring at an impassable precipice, or just fearing herself, Much-Afraid calls the Shepherd and surrenders herself to him. Through her long journey Much-Afraid learns to fully trust and depend on the Chief Shepherd in any situation. He is always there, smiling and believing in Much-Afraid. Just like Jesus, anyone who calls on him will be saved.

Resource

Hurnard, Hannah. Hinds’ Feet on High Places. Illinois: Tyndale House Publishers, 1975.

• Photo by Perumal Venkatesan / Used with Permission

Immediately, the reader notices the significance of chivalry in the life of King Arthur himself. As king of Camelot and head of the Round Table of renowned knights, Arthur came across numerous compromising situations, yet he held to his knightly honor at all times. Arthur’s treatment of his brother, Sir Kay, demonstrates his respectability. Although Sir Kay eagerly attempted to claim Arthur’s kingship as his own, Arthur still made Sir Kay one of his important nobles and, eventually, a knight of the Round Table. In addition, when Merlin told Arthur of the enchanted nature of Excalibur’s sheath and how its bearer could never suffer injury, the king initially reacted with aversion. “Indeed,” he told Merlin, “I am minded to take this glorious sword back to that magic lake … for I believe that a knight should fight by his own strength, and not by means of magic” (74). Just as Arthur would never attack an unarmed knight or seek to kill a felled opponent because of the rules of chivalry, Arthur felt it unfair to bear an enchanted weapon in battle against another knight. Through the example of King Arthur, one gains insight into the importance of honor in a knight’s life.

Furthermore, King Arthur’s knights display high degrees of honor as well. Both Sir Pellias and Sir Gawaine, knights of the Round Table, exhibit honor in all their activities. Sir Pellias, quick to defend his queen, Guinevere, challenged those who minimized her beauty. This sense of honor toward his queen led Sir Pellias on an adventure that ultimately led to his loss of humanity. Also, Sir Gawaine demonstrated integrity when tested by the Lady of the Lake who subsequently became his wife. When she, disguised as an old woman, chose him from among King Arthur’s knights for her husband, he obliged dutifully, and upon her revealing her true appearance, he continued to respect her wishes.

Then Sir Gawaine said, “So be it; for since I have taken thee for my wife, so must I show thee respect in all matters; wherefore thou shalt have thy will in this and in all other things.” (310)

The actions of these two knights demonstrate how deeply embedded honor was in the culture of the day.

Finally, even Vivien, the evil sorceress, demonstrates the cultural significance of honor. Vivien, one of Queen Morgana le Fay’s damsels, set out to learn all the magic she could from Merlin the Wise. Afterward, she used that knowledge against him, thereby making herself the most powerful enchantress in the realm. After she had beguiled Merlin and overcome him, Vivien still in her sense of duty obliged Merlin his dying wish, going and rescuing King Arthur from the danger Merlin prophesied. As Pyle writes, “Now at that time … [Vivien] still felt some small pity for Merlin … wherefore now she laughed and said, ‘Very well, I will do thy desire in this matter’” (177). And Vivien did indeed fulfill her word to Merlin, never considering going against what she had told him she would do. That even a villain in this story abides by the codes of honor of the day demonstrates the prevalence of this character trait in medieval culture.

Jesus told his disciples in His Sermon on the Mount, “But I tell you, do not swear at all…. Simply let your ‘Yes’ be ‘Yes’ and your ‘No,’ ‘No’” (Matthew 5:34, 27). Today, the concept of simply taking people at their word has all but vanished; people must draw up legal contracts to ensure that parties carry out all specifications. However, in feudal Europe, one could take a knight’s word as truth, and a promise as good as done. One sees example after example of this principle throughout The Story of King Arthur and his Knights, as victorious knights give their fallen opponents instructions without questioning whether those instructions will be carried out. Pyle demonstrates this trustworthiness again and again in his novel. Through examples such as King Arthur, his knights, and Vivien the sorceress, the reader sees that although living by the principle of honor sometimes led to the downfall of a character, these people lived honorably anyway. Upon reading this intriguing tale of ancient Camelot, one may well wonder about the improvement in the world today that could result from more people living so honorably as well.

Works Cited and Consulted

• The Holy Bible, New International Version. Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1984.
• “Honor.” Def. 9a. The American Heritage Dictionary: Second College Edition. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company, 1985.
• Pyle, Howard. The Story of King Arthur and his Knights. New York: Dover Publications, Inc., 1965.

• Photo by Carron Brown / Used with Permission

At first, Much-Afraid has no ability to love, but only has a longing for love. In order for her to love, the Shepherd has to plant the seed of love in her heart. The seed of love was shaped like a thorn, and it was painful. Hurnard writes, “It was true, just as he had said, it did cause a piercing pain, but it slipped in quickly and then, suddenly, a sweetness she had never imagined or felt before tingled through her” (20). Here, she feels pain, but then right after that feels the sensation of love. Because of the seed of love, Much-Afraid could love, but it first caused her pain.

Later on in the story, the Shepherd tells Much-Afraid to go to places that are even farther from the high places than the Valley of Humiliation. They are all places that Much Afraid is afraid of going near. However, Much-Afraid has a strong desire to follow the shepherd, so she obeys. Hurnard writes,

“‘Shepherd,’ she said quite despairingly, ‘I can’t understand this. The guides you gave me say that we must go down into that desert, turning right away from the High Places altogether…’ He looked at her and answered very gently, ‘That is the path, Much-Afraid, and you are to go down there’”(68).
In this dialogue, the Shepherd tells Much-Afraid to go in what looks like the wrong direction, but she does not want to go; she obeys him because she wants to love him.

Near the end of Much-Afraid’s journey, she needs to have the last part of her old self removed. In order to truly love, Much-Afraid needs have the flower of longing for love ripped out of her heart. Hurnard writes,

“…with one final effort of failing strength grasped the natural human love and desire growing in her heart and struggled to tear them out. At the first touch it was as though anguish pierced through her every nerve and fiber, and she knew with a pang almost of despair that the roots had wound and twined and thrust themselves into every part of her being” (185).
In order for much afraid to love the shepherd, she needs to have this ripped out of her heart, and because it used to be such a major part of her, it hurt her badly. The greatest pain that afflicts Much-Afraid afflicts her in this part of the story, but in the end it also brings her the most joy.

In conclusion, one can observe from the story of Much-Afraid that pain precedes love. In order for Much-Afraid to love, she has to have a thorn shaped seed pierced into her heart for the flower of love to grow. She also has to go through the pain of uncertainty when she trusted the shepherd and her guides while going through the different detours. Lastly, she has to have something that had been a part of her for her entire life ripped out of her so she could be loved. All of these things brought Much-Afraid pain, but in the end, she has the capacity to love. The author of the story shows the reader the connection between pain and love.

Works Cited and Consulted

• Hurnard, Hannah. Hinds’ Feet on High Places. Illinois: Tyndale House Publishers, Inc. 1976.

• Photo by Ron Abfalter / Used with Permission

Finally, twenty-four hours ago tonight, I learned what it truly means to burn bridges.

We are in college and from certain points of views, we “burn bridges.” Why do we do this, though? What about the tiniest things that every person wants to remember about another? Sometimes, things are just never meant to last, even if those details are embedded into our minds.

Since college started, I had been debating against myself about whether or not it was worth burning bridges. With some people, it was necessary, not that they really mattered to me anymore. But what about you?

You were someone I had cared about the most, yet…it still seemed like you were so far away. I never went a day of college without not thinking about you. With each passing day, the more I thought of you, the more it hurt.

I know you said that you do not hurt anymore, but I feel as though you will one day understand what it feels like to be me. It hurt for so long, but I never noticed because I was too busy being preoccupied with my own thoughts of you. Your words that you spoke to me…it felt as though you were meant to talk to someone else.

We were never meant to be together from the start, but we took our chances anyway. In the end, as I sat alone last night, I finally reasoned out why I had been hurting for so long. You never wanted me to be close, and it is painful knowing that you have no idea of the things that I went through; the tears that I cried for you, the care that I wanted to give you.

“You have to let go,” you said quietly that night, arms wrapped tightly around me. I still did not have the courage to do so, but I am now beginning to accept that we were never meant to be. It makes me ache…if only you knew…

I’m buried in my past and I cannot find the will to move forward. I’m forcing myself to get rid of you even though I know this is not what you want me to do. You said you wanted me to move on and that you would make it as easy for me as possible; yet, everything that we’ve done so far only feels that you are slowly disappearing from my memory. More tears fall, and each time, it gets harder for me to hold them back in front of my new friends.

I loved you so hard that it has now turned into an addiction. I know that a part of me will never let you go, but if I’m going to move on without you, I have no choice. I will never forget the way you made me feel eleven months earlier, and I hope you do not either. I miss you. I love you. But I am burning this bridge for good.

• Photo by Anirudh Koul / Used with Permission
  

You’re comfortable and you’ve begun to turn your sufferings out of your mind, but sleep won’t arrive. Yes, you can move to another square of stone or a young grass bed but you are not bound to find sleep at either. Enjoy the rest your tired body is given, because even in the permitted, occasional blackout your mind is still aware of all of its spoiling thoughts. Awake in your head, you will still be rolling in the wet turmoil and plagued by knowledge of a concept that will never actualize. You should have been more careful with your wish.

• Photo by Greg / Used with Permission

His hands clench together as the cold consumes the world around him, as he stands alone near a tree.

Sadness is a parasite that burrows deep into one.

• Photo by Greg / Used with Permission

Often times, fear hits us immediately. When we know that something terrible happens on the news, we feel fear because we know that that danger is somewhere near us, possibly getting closer and closer. However, there is also another kind of fear, the type of fear we all can see, yet are still unprepared for: the beginning of a new chapter in our lives. In other words, it could be anything– from graduating from middle school to graduating from graduate or undergraduate school– and going further to make the lives that we have been waiting to make for the last eighteen to nineteen years. For some, it is the scariest thing that we can do in a life like this, while for others, it’s a risk that we are willing to take.

It’s a dive of fear into the unknown. We do not know what the future holds for us, yet we have to be brave and dive the thousands of feet into the dark, crashing blue waters beneath. As we take the chance and jump, we know what is at stake: friends, family, and the original life that was written out for us in the beginning since we were young children. We are in the air, risking everything that we had built up until now to plunge down with such a velocity that the walls we created for so many years begin to peel and break away as we hit the water.

Our lives are like hard candy with filling in the middle: we deal with the hardships of school, friends and family, things that we have become so familiar with, and the filling, which is unknown, but will soon turn sweet and exciting. Leaving everything and everyone behind for another four years is a lot for most people, while for others, it’s a chance to start over. As we have grown older and more mature, we have begun to accept the things that are handed to us in whatever situation, thick or thin. We made choices that were meant to be made, and with it, came change. The choices made had molded us into who we are, giving each and every one of us an identity that will stay with us forever. College is also a choice, as well as a privilege. We choose to start over in a completely new and exciting place, a place where nobody else knows our names, and a place where we can grow to take on our roles in the modern world. Reality is our new fear. Dive into the unknown and take chances.

• Photo by Christopher Porter / Used with Permission

Characters:

• Mother — Irene
• Father — Francis
• Son –Tom
• Daughter – Gloria
• Uncle – Jim
• Aunt – Deborah
• Grandpa – Humphrey
• Grandma — Betty

• Francis: (he bends down to help Irene) Calm down, let me clean this up.
• Irene: no, no dear I want to do this. Everything has to be perfect when he gets here.
• Francis: I’m sure he won’t mind
• Irene: yes he will. And even if he doesn’t, I will. It’s the first time he has been home in two years. The least we could do is make everything perfect.
• Francis: that’s exactly it. He hasn’t been home in a long time. Tom will just be glad to be home and be with his family. He won’t care if there is a little water on the floor or if the chicken is a little overdone.
• Irene: (stands up quickly) oh no, my chicken (runs off stage right)

(Francis sits back in his chair and has a sip of water. Deborah walks on stage right with mashed potatoes as Irene hurries by.)

• Deborah: (jokingly) what did you say to her now, Francis?
• Francis: (he sighs, clearly not understanding it was a joke) oh nothing. She’s just worried that tom won’t love her if he comes back to a bad meal.
• Deborah: I would know it. We’ve been in that kitchen all day. I swear we have been making food like its thanksgiving!
• Humphrey: (he is very mellow and care free) back in my day the women cooked this long every day. A good hearty meal every night.
• Betty: Oh be quiet Humphrey. You love cooking. You are in that kitchen as much as I am. (The two laugh. Deborah slyly and minutely glares at Jim.)
• Gloria: (she is around 7 years old) mommy! I’m getting hungry! When do we get to eat?

(Irene races on and gives Gloria some peas)

• Irene: here you go dear. This should take the edge off. I’m sorry but we can’t eat until you big brother gets here.
• Gloria: (groans) peas suck! (She throws one and it hits Humphrey)
• Irene: (very calmly) don’t play with your food Gloria. (Humphrey promptly picks up the pea off the ground and eats it. Irene has already gone off to the kitchen again.)
• Jim: (he wants to act like the hardened marine. He has a tattoo on his right arm) dad, why the hell did you just eat that?
• Humphrey: waste not, want not, Jim
• Jim: but you didn’t ask for the peas, they were on Gloria’s plate.
• Francis: you mean you didn’t see him eying them as Irene brought in the plate?

(The doorbell rings)

• Francis: I’ll get it

(As he stands up Irene race by, placing the chicken in the center of the table and hurrying over to the door. Everyone is astonished by the finesse of this maneuver.)

• Tom: Mom! It’s great to see you (he gives her a big hug. He is wearing his Class A uniform.)
• Irene: it’s great to see you too sweetie.
• Tom: oh wow, the whole family and such a great looking meal. Mom you didn’t have to go to all of this trouble just for me.
• Irene: oh but I did
• Humphrey: hurry up and sit down. I’m dying of hunger over here.
• Tom: sure you are grandpa. (He goes around the table and gives everyone a hug except for Jim, whom he gives a firm handshake. Tom takes his seat and Irene come shuffling back in with a bowl of salad. She sits.)
• Humphrey: let us pray (they all bow their heads and hold hands in a circle) dear lord let us thank you for this food and for this drink you have given us tonight. Let us thank you for another marine returned home safely.
• All: dear lord, Jesus, be our guest and let these gifts to us be blessed and may there be a goodly share on every table everywhere. Amen
• Francis: dig in

(They pass food around the table. Everyone taking some.)

• Tom: grandpa, how has the farm been doing?
• Humphrey: you know it’s been doing well, but I have had to hire some more farm hands, I just can’t do as much as I used to. Plus, we’ve been able to buy quite a few more cows. I sure do miss having you come out during the summer to work on the farm with us.
• Tom. Maybe I’ll be able to come out this summer. I love being out there. Jim, I heard you were able to open up another body shop.
• Jim: I tell you what; the economy must be turning around. We are getting more and more customers. Whether it’s a luxury upgrade or a yearly tune up, the people are pouring in. seems like everyone wants to keep their cars running so they don’t have to buy a new one.
• Tom: what is it now, four garages?
• Jim: 5 actually
• Tom: wow that’s really great. So has the green electronics business finally taken off, dad?
• Francis: at first we had to lay off a few people, but Californians all wanna save the earth. Plus we have started working with your uncle to develop in car green GPSs, DVD players and stereo systems.
• Jim: everyone wants to feel like they are doing good while doing nothing.

(Gloria flicks another pea)

• Irene: (she is sterner this time) don’t throw food; we are trying to have a decent conversation. (Irene is obviously stressed that her daughter is misbehaving, Betty notices.)
• Betty: Dear this chicken is fabulous! You must give me the recipe.
• Irene: (her attention is diverted) actually, Betty, it’s in my cookbook. The one that I sent you over the summer.
• Tom: I didn’t know you were working on another cookbook mom. I thought you were done with being a professional chef after Gloria was born.
• Irene: I did too, but Gloria isn’t so much of a handful now that she has started going to school. I had so much free time I figured, why not?
• Deborah: it’s doing rather well, too. It seems like all of Jeff’s friends’ mothers own a copy.
• Tom: that reminds me, where is Jeff? I’m surprised you couldn’t drag him along.
• Deborah: he’s actually in France right now. He’s taking a semester abroad. I hadn’t even known that you could do that in high school. But he is and we are very proud of him.
• Francis: enough about us, son. Tell us about what it was like overseas.
• Tom: it was fine, really hot though.
• Francis: there must be more to talk about than that.
• Tom: not really. I was only a computer guy. I stayed in a tent all day and stared at computer screens.
• Humphrey: I couldn’t help but notice the large amount of medals on your uniform. That seems like a lot for doing nothing.
• Tom: I was able to find some hidden encampments and car bombers. I saved a lot of boys’ lives.
• Jim: you don’t get a purple heart for being behind a computer. They don’t hand out Congressional Medals of Honor or Silver Stars to everyone. You’re a decorated Marine.
• Tom: I had to go into the field a few times.
• Irene: you said you weren’t going to do any fighting. You said no killing. Why did you lie to me?
• Tom: I didn’t lie to you, mom. I didn’t do any fighting. I just went out and did a little recon. It was nothing major, nothing worth talking about.
• Jim: bullshit. You’re insulting my intelligence by lying to us like this.
• Humphrey: leave him be, Jim. Maybe he had a rough time overseas.
• Jim: (ignoring his father) you’re in the company of other Marines, feel free to speak freely.
• Tom: shut up, Jim. You don’t know what the fuck you are talking about. What war did you fight? What fucking war? The closest thing you got to shooting a man was target practice at the base. I don’t think you can even call yourself a marine.
• Jim: what, you think semper fi doesn’t apply to me you piece of shit.
• Tom: how much time have you spent in combat? How many men have you killed? Zero. You know I joined the marines because of you and grandpa. Do you remember what you said to me Jim, do you remember? You said, “It puts hair on your chest, makes you a man. Every young man should have to serve his country.” So I did, I served my country. I got shipped out to Iraq and do you know how difficult it was to survive over there? Kill or be killed. Do you know how many men I killed? Cause I sure as hell don’t. All I remember is the eight men on my team who died and the twelve year old kid I had to shoot so that the other three wouldn’t die too. Twelve years old. Do you know how fucked up that is? Do you know what it’s like to kill a man? To kill a child?

(Gloria throws another pea)

• Irene: (she is crying) DON’T THROW YOUR FOOD! (She stands up and runs from the room crying)
• Francis: what is wrong with you two? (He picks up Gloria and exits after Irene, stage right)
• Deborah: (she makes eye contact with betty.) why don’t we start the dishes. (They exit each taking one dish of food.)
• Humphrey: (he stands) do you know how I met Betty? I went through D-Day and the next day I got shot. I went to a hospital and she was one of the nurses there. She was one of my nurses there. I healed, good and new, and I went back into the field. I saw her three more times in this fashion. I don’t care if one of you didn’t fight, and I don’t care if one of you fought too much, because I have done both. I have been injured many times and nothing hurts me more than watching my son and my grandson fight. I cannot stand it. Not only are you two family by blood but you are brothers by the Marine Corps. (He exits)
• Jim: semper fucking fi (he exits through the door stage left.)

(Blackout)

• Photo Used with Permission

New Year’s Day. One of the many memories that come into my head when I see you or hear your name. I’m not entirely sure what I want to say here, but my mind’s been going back to all those memories. I know it’s not very much to think back on, but I still imagine that you’re still here with me. That morning, even though it was more bitter than sweet, I could immediately feel a sense of happiness that I never felt when I saw you on your long board coming down the street. Do you remember that morning? I hope you do.

We’re graduating in less than 2 weeks, and I know that I might never see you again. I don’t know what will happen to you while you’re gone, but I really wish the best for you. I know I’ve made things really difficult and probably frustrating for you, but I do this out of anxiety. I’m sorry that I made things so hard on you, and I don’t mean to be like this. It hurts a lot when I’m telling you this, even over a letter that you might never even see, but when I’m saying these words, at least know that I’m being honest with you. I don’t think I’ve ever cared about someone as much as I cared about you. I still care about you, and I want you to know that.

There are so many other things that I could say here, but none of my words are coming out the way I want them to. I don’t care if you don’t feel the same way, but to me, you were always that one person in my life that I found fun and sweet, whether I knew you well or not. I hope you still continue to be that same person in the future; you’re too sweet to be someone completely different.

Do you know what I remember about you the most? When I think of you, I think back to the Sunday you and I went to the park the first time. I don’t remember how long ago it was, but I do remember it was about a week or two after New Year’s. I told you before, but I’m telling you again: when I was with you, I felt safe, relaxed, and above all, happy. You asked me if I was happy or feeling better when we were sitting together on that hill, and I said yes. I wasn’t sure where we were exactly going with it, but at the moment, I was too happy to care about anything else. I felt like I wanted to be there with you forever. Now, I know that that will never happen because I know that I have to let go and move on without you. It still hurts thinking about how cruel reality is, but I’m trying. You always said that you want me to be happy with or without you, but it’s difficult when that phrase comes from the one person that I cared about more than anything. Of course everything I say in this letter is cheesy, but it’s what I feel and there’s no other way for me to describe it. Sometimes I’m selfish and wish that you would feel the same way, but I already knew in the beginning that it would never happen, even if you tell me that you care about me.

Above all, with all of the things that we’ve been through, I’m just happy that I have you in my life. Although we only spent a short amount of time together, being with you made me feel so much better and you helped me find what being happy really means to me. I’ll miss you so much and I hope I’ll see you before and during college life. Take care and know that there will be someone who will always love and be there for you in the future.

Love,
Strength through Devastation

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As he ties the rope, he thinks about her. The way she walked, the way she talked, the way her voice got just a little bit higher when she talked about her goldfish Sammie. The way she tied his gut into a huge knot every time they spoke, and an even tighter knot every time he saw her with her other. But no, a rope is too old-fashioned. Plus, there’s no noise, so it’s possible that people won’t find you for days. He tosses the rope onto his bed.

The sun begins to creep over the horizon as he picks up the bottle. The label is a picture of a sunny beach, the sand matching the exact shade of her hair. The sky, the exact color of her eyes, mixed with the calm of the ocean. He pours out a handful, and his hand gets an inch from his mouth and he realizes, pills are just as quiet as the rope. And even though he could go outside to get the attention he wanted, why would he put himself through the agony of societies judgments on the one day where he is in complete control? Pills hit the wall and scatter around his room, a few land on his bed.

7:08, the soft blue of the dawn filters in through open window, accompanied by the scent of the morning dew. As he picks it up, a small cylinder juts out of the left side. Six holes are visible, one is plugged by a small piece of metal. It’s amazing how such a small thing can do so much. The noise will surely alert neighbors. He spins it and slaps it in. It touches the side of his head, and he remembers the hug. Right after the movie, a hug that lasted forever. He asked her what came next, she wanted to be friends. When she saw his face, that face of anguish and hopelessness, tears poured from her eyes as she wrapped her arms around his neck. He would never forget the feel of her arms, the warmth of her compassion, the wet of her tears. He would never forget how much love and pity she poured out that day, and the amazement he felt when he realized the love she felt for him, even though it was not the love he wanted.
Here it goes, this is the last moment. The moment he leaves for good. He hesitates, but knows that this is what he wants.

CLICK.

One of the 5 empty chamber happened to line up with the barrel. Guns are so barbaric anyway. War is fought with guns, plus the mess goes only in one direction, and inconvenience is the goal today. The gun flies across the room onto his bed.

7:30, the sun has successfully made it’s journey above the horizon, and golden sun-light falls into the room. As six-inches of cold steel slide from it’s casing, he remembers everything. Her talk, her walk, her voice, her hair, her eyes, her love, her other… Today he will inconvenience her above all, because hearts are fragile, and she dropped his when she went to catch another. Today he will inconvenience her, because she was not the first, and she didn’t know that she would be the last. The feel of the cold steel reminds him once again of her compassion, that day when she saw what true agony looked like. He remembered the cool calm of the ocean and the sky that he saw when he looked in her eyes. He remembered everything he knew about her, and threw the knife across the room. Tears ran down his face and he realized, that inconvenience can be caused another way.

He loved her, more than he could ever love anyone, and she knew that. If he wanted to inconvenience her, the best way to do that would be to be there for her, care for her, give her you shoulder when she needs one to cry on. Be the friend, keeper of secrets, the one that she relies on the most when her life seems to fall apart. When she see’s this, she’ll realize the true depth of the agony, she will feel the deepest guilt that she could do what she did to someone like him. The best part, is that people will comment on his compassion, because of what he was able to do even after she broke him, and people will wonder what ever compelled her to push away such a compassionate, caring soul as his

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I recently happened upon Ernest Hemingway’s The Sun Also Rises as I was cleaning through my garage and I was struck with an irony: the beloved novel, though set in 1920s Paris and, later, the Spanish countryside, hardly references America, yet Hemingway is lauded as a genius in American literature. His eminent compatriots too, lived abroad—and later become known as the expatriate writers. Initially, this appeared a paradox, and so I decided to delve into a study of the expatriate movement—authors who too seemed to be preoccupied with the elsewhere—in search of an answer to my question: what is it about the intrinsic qualities of the expatriate’s literature that makes it so American? And furthermore, how did their evidently flourishing environment—immersion in the Post-War European condition—prove to be so amenable to the creative process—gifting them such insight to their masterful prose? I didn’t exactly expect to find what I did, though I believe it personally fitting. But first, I needed to preface my investigation with a backdrop that would give context and meaning to the expatriates’ masterpieces.

The Great War—otherwise known as the First World War—signaled the advent of a new art: the modernists’ mechanized war. Political dignitaries attempted to justify the war to their peoples with nationalist propaganda; and to an extent, they succeeded for quite some time (Bourne). But to the common solider—especially the young, educated middle-class male—the ebb and flow of the war, the reasons that dictated the constant tumult, remained largely ambiguous. Perhaps, even had the soldiers been acutely conscious of the background politics that give him his plight, those reasons would not have mattered much. Under those circumstances, the justifications still might still have faded, providing null consolation, just as they truly had for the 65 million mobilized. What the soldier faced was largely inhuman—it was machine. And so when America entered the war in 1917, the men in the ubiquitous trench must have perceived no strategic progress, but simply as an arrival of more troops, more bodies. On the Western Front, American soldiers reinforced these “elaborate and sophisticated trench systems and field fortifications” but were met with “dense belts of barbed wire, concrete pillboxes, intersecting arcs of machine-gun fire, and accumulating masses” of artillery barrage (Bourne). No longer could maneuvers be won with the naiveté of human tenacity. By the end of 1915 those “pre-war assumptions” were rendered completely false, as soldiers of “high morale were repeatedly flung into battle by commanders of iron resolve”. Franz Kafka called it “a tremendous lack of imagination” (Mikolavich). The “principal instrument of education was artillery”—a weapon that exacerbated, widened the chasm which split man from man—a new art form that could only reveal itself as a pale ghost, haunting men’s dreams. And that ghost took the lives of 8.5 million in the end (Bourne). Men who were spared by that damned “war of illusions” were calamities of something greater, something afflicting not only the body, but the mind; and its reverberations echoed throughout the world as those tragic heroes, those praised soldiers, scattered and returned to both old and unfamiliar homes.

Return to America—assimilation to a life of peace and prosperity—was never quite realized by many. Perhaps a large number were disconcerted with the social turmoil and shallowness back in the United States; perhaps a number simply preferred to remain in their new European home. Emerging victorious from a world war it had fought for a relatively short time, America found her horizons economically auspicious (Mikolavich). She shied away from many of the global problems that still shook much of devastated Europe, and turned inward, into an isolationist state. Evidently, the stock market soared and her Dollar rose to unparalleled heights. Living in Europe proved extremely profitable for many Americans, as scores poured off the ships in awe of a liberal, albeit cultured Paris. And this is both where and when life became the exile’s big party. Paris soon exploded as the cultural capital of the world. The writers, who settled in Montparnasse, or “the Quarter”, soon became eminently known as the Parisian expatriate writers, as they embarked on a modernist journey full of experimentation (Carpenter). The city was alive with a spirit of unabashed giddiness. Many artists and cultural dissidents emigrated from America in order to stay largely aloof from the growing baseness back home. While America—a “country which was neither gay enough nor cultured enough to deserve their presence” reveled in its intoxication, Paris provided a certain sophistication to the debauchery that existed at home (Aldridge 12). They needed some place, someplace where they could honestly express what they felt and live as they felt they ought to live. To the expatriates, the “idea of exile, like the idea of the religion of art, grew out of their need to sustain the motions which the war had aroused in them, to keep up the incessant movement, the incessant search for excitement” (Aldridge 12). Writers and painters and musicians collided in bars, street-side cafes, and bookstores. The sophisticated, reborn world seemed to converge in this city. In, A Moveable Feast, Ernest Hemingway, a symbol of his generation, seems to describe his beloved Paris as he would a fond acquaintance:
There is never any ending to Paris and the memory of each person who has lived in it differs from that of any other. We always returned to it no matter who we were or how it was changed or with what difficulties, or ease, it could be reached. Paris was always worth it and you received return for whatever you brought to it. But this is how Paris was in the early days when we were very poor and very happy (221).

I asked Janice Doane, a Professor of 20th Century American Literature, what Paris must have meant for these blossoming painters of the written word. Her office, at St. Mary’s College in Moraga, California, lay in a hallway classically collegiate. Student workers and other professors bustled in and out—enlivening an already quirky and vivacious atmosphere—indicative that something intellectually steaming was going on there. Professor Doane’s orderly stacks of anthologies, references, literary criticism, and fiction covered the wall adjacent to a rather large poster paying tribute to the expatriate feminist Gertrude Stein. A few warming rays spilt through the window. The leaves on the trees rustled in the warm breeze outside. She leaned back in her chair: “I was so interested and fascinated that there was a center of art and culture where so many people did meet and collaborate. It was a center for people from all over Europe and the world. It must have been so excited and stimulating to your own creativity. And if we know about that sort of thing we’ll want to recreate it someday”. Professor Doane hints at her fondness and respect of Montparnasse, for “it was not an elitist thing. A lot of poor people came from all over”. I further inquired, asking her why she believes it so relevant, important to study expatriate literature. Gazing up at Gertrude’s contemplative, firm countenance on the wall, she said, “Just to know you can form communities—American communities—that aren’t all focused on some sort of materialistic interest, but on literary and artistic interest. America was always the way modern societies were just starting to become. It had always emphasized a beginning again, starting again—inventiveness and innovation. And I think that’s the most American strand of what’s going on in Paris at that moment”. That was indeed true: the great American Ernest Hemingway arrived in Paris in 1921 with a deluge of other prominent figures—Malcolm Cowley, Thornton Wilder, Robert McAlmon, Sherwood Anderson—and promptly joined the literary scene that was already thriving (Fitch 42). Just two years earlier, Sylvia Beach had opened Shakespeare and Company—the first American bookstore that would soon be frequented by the literary expatriates. After Sylvia Beach began publishing American work, a slew of others followed suit; soon little magazines, serving “primarily as nurturers of art and secondarily as forums for the evaluation of this modern art”, sprung up and published some 80% of the world’s most important 20th century poets, novelists, and critics (Fitch 61). These little literary magazines provided eager writers with a beloved cohesion by which they could explore the innovations of their compatriots with ease.
If the array of publications is to be accredited with distributing the prose, Gertrude Stein—Doane’s personal idol—must be partially commended for making the prose what it is. “Gertrude Stein,” writes Hemingway in A Moveable Feast “was very big but not tall and was heavily built like a peasant woman” (14). As more and more writers began to acquaint themselves with one another—by means of the literary magazines—Ms. Stein’s residence at the infamous 27 rue de Fleurus evolved into a sort of authoritative workshop (Carpenter 25). Gertrude commanded a forward presence and was often told as outspoken and, at times, on the verge of haughty. She did not attempt to conceal her dislike of certain writing and people (such as Ezra Pound) and proved quite frank in her criticism. After reading Hemingway’s, now highly respected, short story “Up in Michigan”, Gertrude commented:
“It’s good,” she said. “That’s not the question at all. But it is inaccrochable. That means it is like a picture that a painter paints and then he cannot hang it when he has a show and nobody will buy it because they cannot hang it either”
“But what if it is not dirty but it is only that you are trying to use words that people would actually use? That are the only words that can make the story come true and that you must use them? You have to use them.”
“But you don’t get the point at all,” she said. “You musn’t write anything that is inaccrochable. There is no point in it. It’s wrong and it’s silly” (Hemingway, A Moveable Feast, 15).

Hemingway further expounds their discussions—how Gertrude wished to be published—and would be—in the Atlantic Monthly but that he was not a good enough writer to be published with them. Regardless of her somewhat harsh, always vocalized opinion, Gertrude attracted flocks of visitors to her art-laden flat at the 27 rue de Fleurus who wished to speak with her or have her read their writings, hoping to gain some profound insight from the obviously reputable woman (Carpenter 25). But what Gertrude gave them was not an objective basis upon which to expand their writing; rather, she advocated “indulgence in pure technique” (Aldridge 14). Prose was no longer simply a form into which the writer filled his content; it became an entirely new concoction, one that blended both form and content to create an entirely new idea of masterpiece. This avant-garde approach spawned from the modernist credo—“make it new”. Essentially, the expatriate writer was working twofold “to create a new form of the novel and to say something new with it” (Mikolavich).

I sat down with Keith Mikolavich, a professor at Diablo Valley College, in his home in Oakland, California to discuss his reactions to the expatriates and the experimentation inherent in their work: “It’s not just a new story, but a new form,” he explained, “In [Hemingway’s] The Sun Also Rises—that’s just a masterpiece—one-eighth of it is stated and seven-eighths is implied. That’s American: it’s radical, it’s new, it’s constantly experimenting”. As we picked up the subject of Ernest Hemingway and his fortune as an accomplished American writer, I began to understand his place as a figure—though his greatest novels hardly ever reference his homeland—in American literature. And so I asked Professor Mikolavich about his favorite expatriate author:

“Ernest Hemingway, especially. Out of all the expatriate writers he’s the one I have the most affinity for.”

“Why do you think that is?” I said.

“It’s because he’s very American and also misunderstood. He’s a lot more complex than a lot of people try to make you believe. He’s a consummate stylist; after Hemingway, everybody had to write sort of like him and then remake themselves. He was one of the greatest practitioners of the English sentence. He could write a short declarative sentence that had so much meaning, pregnant with meaning.”

Ernest Hemingway was certainly not alone. Gertrude Stein, along with countless other writers “renounced their native traditions and took on the traditions of pure art” (Aldridge 16). They grew rebellious and took arms against a sea of Old World presumptions. A search for absolute truth began and is consequently reflected in their styles. Despite their collaborations at the 27 Rue de Fleurus and all across Paris, each sought, with this newfound technique of limitless experimentation, to define himself apart. It was a conscious revolt—individual revolutions comprising a wholly revolutionary movement. The frenzy of such freedom and rebellion was embraced by the Dadaist philosophy (Aldridge 16). Dada contained nearly all the aspects upon which the exile literary movement was based—rejection of once common values—and relished in the pervading sense of loss as a result of World War I. It did not advocate any special course of action to remedy the broken American society that had failed them; it did not aim to purge societal injustice—an injustice which had brought upon them the calamities of a distraught war—in any sort of way. Anarchy within Dada was indeed prevalent and the disintegration of any specific doctrine allowed for all to be accepted. It relinquished the traditional view of art as merely societal aesthetic pleasure and made art into the medium with which the expatriate writers could befuddle society and adopt an extreme view of individualism. Dada justified nothingness, justified polar experimentation. But Dada was severely anti-war and justified itself on the theory that since an orderly society could justify war (World War I in this case) of senseless, all things senseless were permitted. Dada was destined to destroy itself, yet Dada, in spite of its “monstrous wastefulness and hollow disdain”, became “a stimulus to action for others, for an entire age”, attributing to the restless spirit that defined the Roaring Twenties (Aldridge 19). It allowed for Hemingway to write an absolutely true sentence, Gertrude Stein to reinvent her own form. While rejecting the classical American values that had preceded them, Dadaist values converged and realized “the best and worst possibilities of the exile ideal”—manifesting themselves in the literature that came out of that era. And ironically, perhaps that is why that literature is so quintessentially American. Not only did it permit a generation to redefine itself and the form of literature, but it came as a revolution. And revolution—that redefining of oneself—has been at the core of America’s history since her primordial days—her entrance to existence by means of the Revolution. It is one aspect that defines Americans and its prevalence can be traced throughout our literature; “you can be anybody you want to be and it doesn’t matter who your ancestors were or what your heritage is” says Professor Janice Doane.

But that rugged spirit is somewhat subtle in expatriate literature and it took me some time to find it. I only first began my excavation of expatriate literature recently; my perfunctory, compulsory readings of assorted short stories and vignettes earlier in school were, regrettably, hardly insightful, much less inspirational. And so I read an assortment of novels and short stories by two of the most emblematic writers of their time.

Though his greatest novels—most notably The Sun Also Rises and A Farewell to Arms—are set in the rolling hills of Italy, the bustling streets and forlorn cafes of Paris, and the bull-fighting rings of the Spanish countryside, Ernest Hemingway stands an acclaimed symbol of both expatriate literature and 20th century American literature. Hemingway, at the age of eighteen, enrolled in the Red Cross and was shipped to Paris when America entered World War I in 1917 (Carpenter 53). He had been forbidden from enlisting in the army due to his poor eyesight, but the young Hemingway was eager to join the action. After gallivanting about a bombarded Paris—a city that had been shell-shocked by German artillery—for a few months, he was deployed to the Italian front, where he was to drive army ambulances. It was here that Hemingway was wounded by enemy shrapnel, though the exact details are not known. After enduring his wounds, he was then sent to the Red Cross hospital in Milan where he was treated until he returned to New York in 1919 (Carpenter 54). He lived there briefly until he met his soon to be wife Elizabeth Hadley Richardson. After acquiring a job with the Toronto Star as a sports correspondent, Hemingway, together with Hadley, embarked on a Parisian escapade, entranced by the literary spectacle that he would soon join.

Hemingway delineates the effects of World War One on the common soldier in A Farewell to Arms. Frederick Henry, our protagonist, is an American serving—coincidentally—with an Italian ambulance unit and “as a spiritual nonparticipant, he is able to hold himself aloof from the war and its politics” (Aldridge 6). For nearly the entire first half of the novel, Frederick Henry finds himself sitting aimlessly behind the lines, waiting. The war continues on, elsewhere, a mere abstraction in his mind. He wanders about the little Italian town where he is stationed, detached from the war and its reality—“This war … did not have anything to do with me. It seemed no more dangerous to me … than the war in the movies” (Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms, 67). But the war gives him some aim, some purpose for he waits patiently, conscious that the war will bring him something—honor, love, pride. When the war does come, it hits him blindly from behind and he doesn’t expect its coming. His mountainside village is bombarded, and its people obliterated into bodies by an adversary who cannot be seen, who cannot be humanized. At once they are enveloped in a sweeping wave, and after it crashes down upon Frederick Henry and the little men alongside him, they are left disorderly and confused in its wake. Both the second part of A Farewell to Arms and the entirety of The Sun Also Rises beautifully accounts the aftermath that follows. For Frederick Henry, “where the war had once stood as an objective order upon which he could project and give meaning to his private confusion while at the same time losing nothing of himself, it was now a destructive forced that threatened to rob him of himself altogether” (Aldridge 9). He realizes his impotency in the face of such unbridled recklessness, and suddenly he is no longer thwarting the war from his external self; rather, the war now exists within him and he is mentally powerless to stop it. In The Sun Also Rises, the war-torn mountains of Italy are replaced by the cool streets of Paris, but the impotency remains. Jake Barns and his compatriots frequent the Parisian bars, cafes, and clubs without alacrity for social responsibility; they drink to vulgar ends and don’t seem to do much else. Lady Brett—Jake’s lover from long ago—has cut her hair short—a symbol of her yearning for freedom from social repression. And the two still love one another but “they can’t consummate it because of his wound—the war took his manhood away. But they’re still trying to make sense of love in a world in which they can’t consummate it” (Mikolavich). Jake Barns seems to symbolize an evolved Frederick Henry who is trying to settle down, but can’t seem to do so, perhaps because he “has been hurt by the war and he’s trying to make sense of the new world as it moves from the old world. He’s trying in a sense to fight for a kind of morality” (Mikolavich). Later in the novel, Jake Barns, Brett and company venture southward to Pamplona, Spain to witness the holiday fiesta and savage bull fights. But it is here that the eruption occurs. Brett starts an affair with a young Spanish bull fighter; Jake’s best friend Robert Cohn gets into numerous fist fights with the locals over trivial matters; Jake’s temperament falters and he shows signs of cracking up. The band of friends disperses as surges of emotion go to war with one another and the company can no longer stand the sight of each other; the war—both physical and emotional—has destroyed them. Herein exists a tragic element to Hemingway. He masterfully presents the human condition in its most frail form. The existential question becomes, what do we do now? Hemingway doesn’t exactly give us an answer, although—through his Nick Adams stories in In Our Time—“growing up … is a process of learning to endure” (Aldridge 27). Reading Hemingway, “there is a lot about manhood—how to achieve a sense of manhood in a time like this. And there is a lot of impotency. The impotency of ‘you’re not in control’; you’re very vulnerable actually; the world makes you that way” (Doane). Hemingway and his despondent generation, coming out of World War One, felt profoundly alienated from their fathers’ generation (ibid). They were deeply astounded that an old world sense of life—a society that instilled implicit faith in the logic of things, that promised honor and stability—could give birth to such a reckless monster. Upon understanding the full extent of that notion, suddenly, we become so “incredibly marked by the war and our sense of vulnerability, a new sense of vulnerability in the world” (Doane). And therein lies Hemingway’s brilliance.

The literary expatriate movement of the 1920s, as aforementioned, spawned a slew of experimenting writers, all developing new forms and formulating their own unique styles. A testament to this is the breadth of writers who sought to convey the same, if not particularly similar, messages, but did so with opposing approaches. Ernest Hemingway wrote with reserved detachment, never with flustered exclamations. His characters almost speak retrospectively, pondering something long past (the past from a retrospective lens, being the present). But while the beauty of Hemingway’s prose lies in its simplicity and truth, F. Scott Fitzgerald employs a style deeply colorful, full of vivid imagery and phrases which seem to transcend their own meaning (Bruccoli). Fitzgerald was born in Minnesota and grew up in America, marrying Zelda Sayre just before he was to be sent overseas. However, the war ended and it wasn’t until 1921 when the Fitzgeralds first went to Europe. Young and unabashed, they lived an “extravagant life as young celebrities”, writing and drinking, and partying for much of the boisterous decade (Bruccoli). But as the decadence came to a close for the nation in 1929, so did Fitzgerald’s own success. Although remnants of his work remained popular and well appreciated, Fitzgerald slumped—in the 1930’s—into a period known as “the crack-up”, in which he and his wife were incessantly “ill, drunk, in debt, and unable to write commercial stories” (ibid). The life of F. Scott Fitzgerald itself almost mirrored the tragic rise and fall that can be found in his writing.

Fitzgerald witnessed firsthand the glamour, the material wealth and the abuse that ran rampant throughout the Roaring Twenties. Yet he also saw the source of its grandeur, its enticement. Those who returned from Hemingway’s war often met displaced wives and matured children with an air of passive indifference—strangers in their own homes. Perhaps this is why they became so afflicted by excessive intoxication and consumption: in attempt to reconcile with an irreconcilable past, the tragic solider lingered between two worlds, torn by the impossibility of returning to either one completely. Gertrude Stein coined them, “the lost generation” (A Movable Feast 29). Superficiality pervaded the 1920s; a thin cloak of drunken revelry masked the pain and suffering. The real tragedy of that era was their suffering was marred by a veil. And when the veil ripped, torn in two, then, then we experienced Fitzgerald’s “crack up”. Though Gatsby did not return from the soldier’s beloved war, the burden of an existence between two immovable world’s throbbed in his soul so that with every action, every move, he became somehow closer, yet farther from realizing his dream, the American dream. The Great Gatsby—arguably Fitzgerald’s greatest piece of work—represents his distrust of the American dream—“the idea that this is the place to come if you want to invent yourself” (Doane). But Gatsby, an affluent yet simple Midwestern youth, who searches to recreate his idyllic love with Daisy but never realizes it, is Fitzgerald’s greatest hero (Aldridge 49). Fitzgerald recognizes a society that is wrought with corruption and infested with material greed. He admired Gatsby, for the parties and wealth were simply the means by which Gatsby attempted to bring back Daisy—“that theme of hope and beginning again” (Doane). Ultimately, he fails. That is Fitzgerald’s mark—that disillusionment. It arose from an alacrity to forget Hemingway’s vulnerability. But in the end, as demonstrated in Babylon Revisited—the story of a man who returns destitute to a decrepit Paris—the vulnerability is still there. The convivial frivolity has subsided; the parties have moved elsewhere; and the American Dream, and its promise of doing the impossible, now appears a façade.

Sometimes I find it a bit odd that I should be so captivated by the expatriates and their degeneration, their loss of self. The idea of the rugged individual has always remained prevalent in American literature, but reading Hemingway and Fitzgerald, I’m left with a sense of self disillusionment. But perhaps that in itself is American—finding oneself again. Professor Janice Doane believes it is. The expatriate movement had always seemed apart from the entirety of American Literature in my mind and so I asked her, “what connects the Transcendentalists, for example, to the expatriates, who are writing in foreign nations nearly a hundred years later?” She paused, and responded, “I think that’s where the whole great idea—Emerson’s idea—of self reliance originated. The American is the person who doesn’t rely on his past, on tradition, or anything his ancestors have done”. Professor Keith Mikolavich would agree: “what is quintessentially American?” He asks, “perhaps it’s that lone, rugged individual spirit. We as Americans are sometimes idealistic and believe the world is good and we need to fight evil”. And as I’ve learned from the Lost Generation—a generation that is spiritually in trouble, wonders about its own moral compass—dealing with identity is a large arduous process that requires quite some care.

As my senior year comes to close and I head off for college somewhere altogether foreign, I can’t help but wonder what I will encounter and what I will do with my life before me. Over the next year, and certainly for years to come, I can only expect to face quite a bit of difficulty defining myself—not only as a human being, but as an American, and as an aspiring writer. I’m surprised by my newfound affinity for Hemingway—his beautiful simplicity to convey so much with so few words—and for Fitzgerald—his passion and playfulness with those words. Perhaps it’s only natural that I should find myself attracted to Americans who are inventing themselves and expressing that through the writing, as I embark on my own journey to do the same. Soon the green hills of Walnut Creek will turn golden, and then brown. Leaves will fall from the trees and, picked up by the whimsical winds, scatter about—crinkled in the street. The fledglings in the bird house I made when I was young will take flight. And then I will set sail.

Works Cited and Consulted

• Aldridge, John W. After the Lost Generation. New York: McGraw-Hill Book Company, 1951. Print.
• Bourne, John. “About World War I.” Welcome to English « Department of English, College of LAS, University of Illinois. Web. 22 Apr. 2010. .
• Bruccoli, Matthew J. “A Brief Life of Fitzgerald.” University of South Carolina. Web. 22 Apr. 2010. .
• Carpenter, Humphrey. Geniuses Together: American Writers in Paris in the 1920s. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1988. Print.
• Fitch, Noel Riley. Sylvia Beach and the Lost Generation: a History of Literary Paris in the Twenties and Thirties. New York: Norton, 1983. Print.
• Fitzgerald, F. Scott, and Matthew J. Bruccoli. The Great Gatsby. New York: Scribner, 1996. Print.
• Fitzgerald, F. Scott. Babylon Revisited and Other Stories. New York: Scribner Paperback Fiction, 1996. Print.
• Hemingway, Ernest. A Farewell to Arms. New York: Scribner, 1957. Print.
• Hemingway, Ernest. A Moveable Feast. New York: Scribner, 2003. Print.
• Hemingway, Ernest. The Short Stories of Ernest Hemingway. New York: Collier, 1986. Print.
• Hemingway, Ernest. The Sun Also Rises. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1926. Print.
• Personal interview. 13 Mar. 2010.
• Personal interview. 8 Apr. 2010.

• Photo by Brent Heighton / Used with Permission

I asked myself the question: what are the benefits of preparing meals at home? I began to read literature about food and study cooking methods, but that was not all; I learned about the concept of food itself. I discovered how to eat, why to eat, when to eat, what to eat, and with whom to eat. At the same time I learned to prepare my own meals, making use of my new found knowledge. This knowledge consists of the following key facts: proper nutrition is immensely important, the amount money saved by eating at home is enormous, food preparation is a major facet of every culture, sustaining oneself through cooking is quite satisfying, time at the table with family and friends is invaluable to healthy relationships, and controlling the substances entering one’s body makes mealtime feel secure and comfortable.

Whilst studying my craft my pals missed me, my girlfriend was peeved, and my taste buds missed the deluge of sugar, but once adept I invited everybody over to eat the meal I prepared, all was forgiven. Michael Pollan’s bestseller, In Defense of Food, begins with these seven words. “Eat Food. Not too much. Mostly plants” (Pollan “DoF” 1). That is basically all one needs to know about healthy eating. However, elaboration is needed due to all the confusion concerning eating these days. A good diet is not hard to figure out or even practice if one makes all of his own food and wisely decides what is going to end up in his stomach. When one fixes a meal for himself he never has to worry about its ingredients, he knows because he put them together himself. He estimates how much fat, cholesterol, calories, and sugar he consumes and because of this he does not fret about whether the meal will potentially shorten his life or render his butt too large for his new pants. A chef also knows exactly what a meal is composed of; that means no hidden variables. Unless he chooses to add it, he can be positive there will be no dye, artificial flavoring, partially hydrogenated oils, saturated fats, or waitress hair. “When you cook at home you seldom find yourself reaching for the ethoxylated diglycerides or high fructose corn syrup” (Pollan “DoF” 159). Not only does the cook know what is going into the meal, he can better judge how old the food is or from where it came. I do not buy my produce at the Supermarket; instead I patronize the Farmers’ Market, where I can speak with the people who actually grew the food I will be ingesting. When I make a salad, I know the lettuce came from Salinas Valley four days ago, the tomatoes from a farm north of Bakersfield, and the onions from one in Gilroy. Because of this, I have a much better idea how fresh my food is. Pherron Hillyer, one of the cooks I interviewed, suggested I obtain my produce in this manner. He stated, “I like getting my food locally because I know it hasn’t been travelling across the country with two tons of ice for the last month” (Hillyer). Mr. Hillyer works at our local “Applebee’s” and always wants control over what he eats. Earlier I poked fun at the idea of waitress’ hair being in a meal. This would be funnier had I not once witnessed a woman’s soft, brown curls fall out of her bun, directly onto a customer’s spaghetti. She quickly apologized and brought the man a new plate of spaghetti (whether it was new or whether she simply walked back into the kitchen, waited, then brought out the same plate I will never know).

This brings me to my next point: while dining at a restaurant one can never know for certain what is going on in the kitchen. The eater’s lack of control disconcerts me. What if the woman’s hair had fallen while she was still out of sight? Would she have done anything? What if the chef does not like hand soap or washing knives after cutting raw meat? There are simply too many ‘what ifs’ for me to feel comfortable at a restaurant, especially a fast food one. My mentor, culinary academy graduate Joline Sewell, specifically remembers working in kitchens and witnessing cooks mutilate meals with their hands and phlegm. By dining at home, one eliminates these possibilities and also controls the portions. While cooking, I have domain over how much I eat and, to a degree, how much everyone else eats. While dining at a restaurant one may opt to quit eating when full and save the rest for later. However, studies show that most Americans prefer to finish all of the food on their plate (Pollan “DoF” 64). Surveyors asked eaters in France when they stopped eating, and most replied with the simplest answer, “When I am full.” But when Americans were asked they responded with alarmingly different answers, “When my plate is clean. When the food is gone. When the show is over. Etc.” (Pollan “DoF” 189). By preparing their own meals, people can make the portions as large or small as they wish, setting a standard of how much will be eaten.

Culture is another important aspect of cooking and eating that has been diluted by certain restaurants and altogether ruined by microwaveable alternatives. Preparing a customary meal with a customary method is one of the simplest and most effective ways to feel, well, customary. In the earliest of days, before the American Dream, before the vision of success, before sports, videogames, and the million and one forms of entertainment available to us, there was food. Nowadays, many people eat when they have time, when they are bored, or when they are absolutely starving. They grab “Poptarts” and call it breakfast, they munch popcorn during a movie and consider it lunch, and they deem post workout protein shakes worthy of the term “dinner”. In this day and age one fifth of eating is now done in the car on the way to or from destinations (Pollan “DoF” 189). In the days of old, hunting, gathering, preparing meals, and eating them were not simply a form of nourishment. They were not even just a way of life, they were life. Fast forward to a more relevant time period, say anywhere from one thousand to fifty thousand years ago: people’s lives no longer revolve around food, but food certainly still occupies a great deal of their time. However, at this point they have become creative; they have become unique, ultimately they have created their own intricate culture. This culture — for now I am speaking on specifically the food aspect — was passed down from generation to generation, continually being developed and refined.

Think of your favorite meals: are you a pizza person? The heart of Italy beckons to you with its baked dough, tomato paste, and an assortment of toppings. How about Japan’s delightfully dippable dish, sushi? Or maybe India’s chicken curry? Versatile and nutritious, a well rounded meal can spread to taste buds all over the world. But what happens when people make food for the sake of convenience? When food is created to be simple, cheap, and appealing to all, it becomes appealing to none. Corndogs are the result of making food without culture. I propose we avoid these microwavable piles of unrecognizable substance in favor of, to be blunt, just about anything. Traditional foods from all over the world still exist and are still popular because they are healthier, more filling, and tastier than processed ones. I doubt “Hot Pockets” will still exist in even one hundred years while humans have been eating forms of pasta since as early as 400 B.C. (Pollan “OD” 206). What are “Hot Pockets”, Corndogs, and “Poptarts” anyway? My taste buds do not even recognize these foreign artificial substances. “The more you concentrate on how it tastes, the less like anything it tastes. … And so it goes, bite after bite, until you feel not satisfied exactly, but simply, regrettably, full” (Pollan “OD” 119). Learn from what has worked and not worked. Learn from what your ancestors decided to pass down and what they chose to pass on. Eat foods that have withstood the test of time. When people prepare meals of this sort, they are connecting to their roots and experiencing a fundamental aspect of their history.

When choosing what I will do for sustenance, I think about the entire experience. Driving past a window and being handed food in a bag is convenient and cheap — sounds decent. Paying waiters to bring me food while I sit at a table surrounded by people I do not know is simple and relaxing – appealing. Planting seeds, caring for the plants, harvesting their yield, and then converting that into a pleasant and appetizing meal – magical. Obviously not everyone can prepare their meals from the very beginning, but they can still take part in a fundamental and rewarding piece of the process. The more one works for something the more one values it; in this respect cooking is extremely satisfying. No longer is the eater seated and having a plate placed in front of him. Now he watches as his own hands transform an assortment of ingredients into a piece of edible artwork. Not only will he appreciate his own meals, his friends and family will enjoy it as well. There is no family time like the time at the dinner table. But when no one is eating the same thing and everyone has simply popped something into the microwave for themselves, the feeling of togetherness is lost. Imagine Thanksgiving or Christmas dinner: everyone is connected by the meal. At a restaurant, this might not be present.

All year round, children look to their parents for teachings on nutrition. When I was really young I could not eat anything on my own. When I grew a little older I ate on my own but only what my mom fixed for me. In my early teenage years she stopped making all of my food and I began eating what was convenient, junk food. Eventually she refused to buy me chips and soda and began actively encouraging me to eat healthy by showing me what to eat. It is not that kids do not want to be healthy, they just do not know how. Studies have demonstrated that children who frequently eat dinner at home with their family eat more fruits and vegetables and get better grades in school” (Martha). This learning cannot possibly take place if the child is not eating with his parents or the parents are not teaching him good eating habits.

If nothing else can persuade someone to prepare their own meals, the cost effectiveness might. One can save quite a bit of money by making dinner without leaving the house. For example, a plate of spaghetti at a restaurant can be “reasonably” priced anywhere from ten to twenty dollars. “A box of pasta costs around $1.30, a pound of sausage or ground meat $4.00, spaghetti sauce $5.00, you can add in some bread and garlic butter for around another 3 dollars. So for 17 dollars you can buy four servings of spaghetti… Here alone you are saving half of the cost of the meal” (Manley). When patronizing a restaurant, a customer pays for the service, the atmosphere, and anything else he does not have at home. However, once tax, tip, and parking meter are accounted for, eating out is even more expensive than one would think. Going out to dinner also costs time. “You have to get into the car, drive there, park, wait in line to be seated, wait for your service, wait for your food, eat your meal, then you get to do all of this in reverse. So this could take an hour or longer, not to mention the cost of the fuel you spend on getting there. Often you can prepare a meal in 15 to 20 minutes” (Manley). Some may argue that they cannot possibly create the exquisite feasts seen in restaurants. I believe, for the most part, they are wrong in this assumption. In fact, there are several websites like copycat.com as well as cookbooks devoted to showing people exactly how to make their favorite dishes from the comfort of their homes. I have used some of these recipes and can attest their excellence. Others may argue that their cherished food is already available to them at home; all they have to do is microwave it or, like my personal ex-favorite meal, pour milk on it. Cereal: it is convenient and tasty right? It is also “…four cents’ worth of commodity corn transformed into four dollars worth of processed food” “Pollan “OD” 91). Cereal is not the only example of a food that is not really food at all. When I think about what I am actually paying for at the supermarket; the dye, the fatty meat, and the corn, I become completely disgusted. Most real foods, ones that depended on sunlight to create them as opposed to a machine, ones that are comprised of protein chains as opposed to chemically engineered glucose, ones that are chicken as opposed to ones that taste like chicken, can be purchased and prepared inexpensively.

Before this undertaking, I would have had to consult my mom multiple times while making macaroni and cheese from a box. Now my mom asks how she and I can possibly be cooking with the same eggs when mine taste so much better. As I hoped I would be, I am now a skilled chef. Along with learning how to prepare my own meals, I also learned why. I make dinner at home to save money. I start my day off healthily by fixing a ham omelet or oatmeal with fruit instead of munching “Poptarts”. I take some time out of my weekends to be a chef for my family so we can be together and still keep our busy schedules under control. I cook with my mentor so that, as she says, “I can have what I want, when I want it” (Sewell). She taught me how to use knives more effectively than I had ever seen them used. She explained the importance of hygiene and the value of eye appeal. Joline Sewell educated me on everything I had hoped to learn. What I did not count on learning were the intricacies of food. My project was about cooking but part of me wishes it was about food in general. If that were the case, I could have talked about this whole new dimension and greater understanding of food that I gained from all of my reading. When I opened my first book, I could not imagine how I would choke down two hundred pages of text about the stuff we eat. When I closed the last book, the word ‘food’ had a whole new definition in my mind. It is not just sustenance, it is an expression of culture. It is not just a meal, it is a work of art. I strive to eat real food now, plants that grew from the soil, berries that developed on a tree, mammals, birds, and fish of all shapes and sizes, while avoiding fake foods created in factories, packaged in silicon, and jam-packed with ingredients I cannot pronounce.

The kitchen has become a home within a home for me. The double door refrigerator that houses the components of my meal, the stove that never ceases to make the rest of the room look bad, the westward facing window providing my light at the sink. They have always been there, but now they feel as if they are really here. My legs float across the hardwood floor, hands milling about on their own. Pick up knife: chop, chop, chop. Shake handle on stir frying wok. Consult recipe. Yell at dad for not getting enough mushrooms. Check timer on the oven. Clean up spilled Worcestershire sauce. Taste dough. The aromas of ground sausage waft through the house as I wipe my onion induced tears on my sleeve. I am careful to avoid touching my hands so I do not have to wash them again. I get this feeling of inner peace. I am in my own little world. For that short time I spend in the kitchen I am like an ant serving its one and only purpose. I set the stove top to simmer and remove the tray from the oven. How did I go my entire life without this? My mentor sets the table as I put the final touches on the entrée. Wow. Everybody enters the kitchen. No way he made this. How long did that take? Camera flashes. With all my willpower I resist the urge to let out a triumphant yell. I smile, “bon appétit.”

Works Cited

• Hillyer, Pherron. “Cooking and Me.” Personal Interview. 5 Apr. 2010
• Manley, Stephanie. “Why Cook at Home?” CopyKat Recipes. 12 July 2009. Web. 21 Mar. 2010.
• Martha. “The Benefits of Home Cooking.” Simple-nourished-living Nourish Your Body. Energize Your Life. 27 July 2009. Web. 23 Mar. 2010.
• Pollan, Michael. In Defense of Food: an Eater’s Manifesto. New York: Penguin, 2008. Print.
• Pollan, Michael. The Omnivore’s Dilemma a Natural History of Four Meals. New York: Penguin, 2006. Print.
• Sewell, Joline. “Culinary Prowess.” Personal interview. 21 Mar. 2010.

Works Consulted

• Steendahl, Christine. “The Benefits Of Preparing Home-cooked Meals.” SG & Singapore Map — Singapura, Singapur, Singapore Information. 2010. Web. 13 Mar. 2010.
• “Benefits of Family Cooking.” The Global Gourmet. Forkmedia, 2007. Web. 23 Mar. 2010.
• “Cooking at Home Has More Benefits.” The Chronicle. Hofstra Chronicle, 30 May 2009. Web. 23 Mar. 2010.

• Photo by Pablo Venegas / Used with Permission

Neapolitan ice
Number of the blind mice
More than one or two, thrice

When I ponder, I find
The best things of their kind
Are in threes, in my mind.

• Photo by Jeremy Brooks / Used with Permission

Free will shall be defined for the purposes of this paper as follows: a uniquely human characteristic that allows a consciousness to disregard all internal and external influences to make decisions based purely on whim. In fact, free will, at its base, simply claims that humanity maintains a consistent capacity for complete randomness. Dr. Wallis, who will be discussed in greater depth deeper in this paper, asked me for my definition in response to my request that he give his; so, I delivered the above. He seemed to think for a moment, and agreed that it was an apt one. It is with his vindication that I proceed. Free will is often defined as a human’s ability to independently make a personal choice, however, such definitions do not deign to define in what parts a personal preference is determined by atmospheric factors. In our definition, we have avoided such confusion. I am asking whether or not our consciousness is capable of contradicting all that our fabric inclines us toward. That is true freedom. Any dilution dictating that our interest be adhered to is an illusion – it is not suited to the term we throw casually from our lips: free will.

In Leo Tolstoy’s novel Anna Karenina, the character Levin says that, “my reason will… not understand why I pray, but I will still pray, and my life, my whole life, independently of anything that may happen to me, is every moment of it no longer meaningless as it was before.” His belief in God replicates my belief in free will. It has enjoyed the status of a theorem, without any rigor in its establishment. And as scientific and philosophic evidence begins to question its integrity, I realise more poignantly the implicit faith with which I have accepted it.
I now set out to test that faith.

For thousands of years, determinism was assumed. Our sovereignty was offered up to deity after deity for use in constructing a great cosmic order. In his text The Origin of Consciousness in the Breakdown of the Bicameral Mind Julian Jaynes demonstrates that the writings and customs of ancient cultures fail to attribute any meaningful volition to their constituents. Instead, Jaynes posits that most of ancient man’s actions resulted from the brain’s transmission of instructions via auditory and sometimes visual hallucinations. Ancient man had not even consciousness to confound our estimation of his freedom. But even after our most important attribute arose, man scarcely asserted that he was free. Newtonian physics further discouraged such a conclusion, codifying that all effects have a concrete cause – to assume free will would be to assume a ball can choose to quit rolling. Our biological systems must mirror the physical systems that surround us. However, proofs based on Newton’s laws, often used to show the necessity of God, asserting that an ‘unmoved mover’ must exist, hinted toward the idea that, perhaps, our consciousness is an ‘unmoved mover’ itself – a free agent.

The writings of Soren Kierkegaard, Friedrich Nietzsche, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Martin Heidegger and others throughout the nineteenth and twentieth centuries would eventually crystallize into one of the most mainstream philosophical movements to ever hold free will as part of its foundation: existentialism. The French philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre, one of its primary advocates and aggregators, wrote of the absurdity man experiences when confronted by his absolute freedom as a result of the world’s absolute lack of inherent meaning. He termed it a sort of nausea. In a novel by the same name, the protagonist suddenly finds himself responsible for constructing his own meaning, a theme Sartre explores further in his massive philosophical tome Being and Nothingness. Sartre emphasizes human aloofness from from physical causality, and, in that way, entirely rejects determinism. Sartre’s philosophy quickly became fashionable, though he always maintained that it was a school of thought “strictly intended for specialists and philosophers.” As a consequence of its popularity, it became massively distorted, and even vilified. In response, Sartre abridged his thought into a lecture entitled “Existentialism is a Humanism” which reaffirmed his belief in our absolute freedom, but also plainly offered the worldly anchors that many critics perceived the system to lack. Existentialism has remained the fashionable choice of teenagers with nihilistic tendencies ever since, though they often gloss over much of the responsibility that Sartre underlines.

Memories of myself as a fashionable teenager with nihilistic tendencies aside, the main battery that I shall direct against our idea of a free will is not philosophy, but rather behavioral, or social, neuroscience. John Cacioppo, a pioneer of the field, recalls the origin of his specialty, “there was a lot of skepticism among neuroscientists about studying anything outside the cranium. Twentieth-century neuroscience thought social behavior was just too complex to study.” (Goleman) Now, neurologists have meaningfully mapped many of the regions of the brain involved in social interactions. There is still much mystery, and many neuroscientists fall short of unequivocally renouncing free will, but the further our thoughts are scientifically systematized the more irrational and mystic an independent volition appears.

Guy Isely, a researcher at UC Berkeley’s Redwood Center for Theoretical Neuroscience, agreed to speak with me about the question of free will and how it relates to his studies. I journeyed, one rainy Friday, to his office, inside of another office, on the fifth floor of Evans Hall. The Center seemed to occupy most of the floor, and research posters with suffixes longer than pi patterned the walls. As theoretical neuroscience is a computationally intensive field, I was not surprised to note that Mr. Isely’s desk alone had three separate computers, all incessantly used. We left Guy’s office and walked quickly to the conference room, wherein the table was strewn with paper – half aimless doodles and the other half complex mathematics. Though Cacioppo now directs an institute at the University of Chicago and Berkeley itself has an expansive umbrella institute for social neuroscience, the field is still developing. Mr. Isely wrote sheepishly to me before our meeting, that “there’s not much to see [at the Redwood Center] other than some offices and some research posters– that’s what a theoretical group looks like I guess.“ Even so, the work done has enormous implications for how we, as humans, understand our own actions and the actions of others.

Though Mr. Isely does not explicitly investigate the question of free will – rather, the brain’s methods of recognising and reacting to the low-level statistical properties of perceived objects – his general knowledge of our mental mechanisms and his background as an undergraduate philosophy major allowed him to address my questions with authority. He defined free will simply as the ability to say, “I do what I want to do.” And went on to assert that, in the context of that definition, free will is both existent and desirable; in the context of my definition, he was less clear about its existence and found that such an ability would not be in our interest. He said that he liked the feeling of security that knowing he was acting toward his goals gave him. We did also come into an interesting discussion about neuroplasiticity: the manner in which it affects our perception, and its consequences for human behavior. Before I begin to discuss that, however, I feel that I owe my gracious reader a wee bit of background about the brain.

Our most elevated organ transmits information through a combination of electrical and chemical signals emitted by small cells called neurons. There are three main types of neurons: sensory neurons, which bring information to the central nervous system; interneurons, which associate information within the central nervous system; and motor neurons, which send information from the brain and spinal cord to the muscles. Neurons communicate by ‘firing,’ or releasing a neurotransmitter into the synaptic cleft – the space between neurons – through a process called action potential that is propagated by changes in the chemical concentrations within and without the cell itself. The released neurotransmitter enters a specific binding site in the receptors of a nearby neuron, in which it aids or inhibits further firing. Action or inaction generally result from enormous cascades of neuronal activity.

The variety of neurotransmitters and networks into which they are released compose the majority of our brain’s communication with our body and with itself. That communication causes bouts of depression and of ecstasy. It causes involuntary reactions and our intentional actions. A comprehensive assessment of the brain and its functions seems not to leave room for a free will. The brain receives input and produces output. The frontal regions act as our executive, and make projections toward the future; the parietal lobe integrates the sensory information from our multiple modalities, then associates that information with memories and with our present internal state; the temporal lobe holds memories, identifies items, processes audio, and experiences emotion. (Banich) As Tom Stoppard writes in his play Rock ‘n’ Roll, “[The] mind is [the] brain… if it wasn’t for the merely technical problem of understanding how it works, we could make one out of – beer cans. It would be the size of a stadium but it would sit there, going, ‘I think therefore I am.’”

Even in social interactions, mapping of the brain has revealed a concerted system of cause and effect. The firing of one neuron quickly followed by the firing of an adjacent neuron makes the connexion between those two neurons more efficient. It is hypothesized that such an increase in efficiency is the cellular basis of learning – not simply learning facts, but also behaviors and relationships. (Hunt) The efficiencies created between neurons can lead to long term social attachments or even addictive habits. They can create dependencies that cause us to perpetuate a certain behavior long after it has become destructive. (Goleman) This phenomenon is known as neuroplasiticity. Daniel Goleman writes that “our social interactions… play a role in reshaping our brain… repeated experiences sculpt the shape, size, and number of neurons and their synaptic connexions. By repeatedly driving our brain into a given register, our key relationships can gradually mold certain neural circuitry.”

During my search for an ivory home next year, I interviewed with a clinical psychologist masquerading as a Yale University alumni. In the course of our conversation I mentioned that I would most likely major somewhere within the cognitive and brain sciences, which tumbled us into a discussion about the implications of neuroplasticity for clinical psychology. He told me that it was absolutely something considered by him and his peers. In my conversation with Guy Isely as well, neuroplasticity was found to be very important for my question, but also for all questions about the physiological mechanisms of the mind. Mr. Isely told me that the world appears fundamentally different to those that have not developed efficient representations of objects through neuroplasticity. This should not be surprising when we recognise that our mind fills in minor gaps almost all the time. In his phenomenological essay The Imaginary Jean-Paul Sartre writes that, when we first see an object we “make a hypothesis that the later course of [our] perceptions may oblige [us] to abandon,” because we see it only from one point of view. “One must learn objects, which is to say, multiply the possible points of view on them. The object itself is the synthesis of all these appearances.”

The analogue from the former to the present topic – that is, to the question of free will – is, perhaps, made most eloquently by a philosopher that was active just under three hundred years before neuroplasticity became an accepted precept, David Hume. He asserted that an “idea of necessary connexion among events arises from a number of similar instances… [and that] the mind is carried by habit, upon the appearance of one event, to expect its usual attendant, and to believe that it will exist.” Hume writes that “the most irregular and unexpected resolutions of men may frequently be accounted for by those, who know every particular circumstance of their character and situation.” That is, if one is aware of all the variables, the actions of a man may precisely be anticipated. And “it is universally allowed, that nothing exists without a cause of its existence,” including thoughts. He goes on to refute the idea of free will based on reason because “[custom] alone determines the mind, in all instances, to suppose the future conformable to the past. However easy this step may seem, reason would never be able to make it.”

Dr. Jonathan Wallis of Berkeley’s Wallis Laboratory and Helen Wills Neuroscience Institute has been lead by his work, in the neurological underpinnings of behavior, to almost the exact same conclusions as David Hume – though he admits to having never read the man’s work. Dr. Wallis began our interview briskly with the assertion that there is absolutely no scientific basis for a belief in free will unless we posit something non-physical, something supernatural. He described the process our mind goes through as it makes a decision as “multiple systems all competing for control of behavior,” he also mentioned that the process is essentially the same in lower level animals as it is in humans. The brain’s neurons encode decisions, and they do so based on a variety of input and internal variables: “the brain,” Wallis said, “is a system. As we learn more about the human brain we grow more skilled at predicting behavior.” Game Theory in Economics and certain branches of Psychology especially testify to that fact. Nothing is truly random, occasionally events simply appear to be, due to gaps in our knowledge. According to Wallis, any unaccountable variation we discover can be cured by exhaustively researching the spectrum of possible influences. Yet, even the most comprehensive research will likely fall short: the brain has more possible unique states than the universe has atoms. Studies of decision making can only hope to account for major influences – the rest will appear as random behavioral noise, which will be touched upon later.

An article in the scientific journal Nature written by Patrick Haggard of University College London further outlines the procedure of decision making. “Volition is… a set of processes, [that] jointly specify several kinds of information… voluntary action is a form of decision making.” The brain first must marshal the motivations for action; then, it selects a task and an action that would complete that task; before acting, the brain rechecks its motivations and often models the future as affected by the proposed action; finally, the brain causes the action. The article lists four computational principles that lead to voluntary action. First, “voluntary action as exploratory behaviour,” seen to be one of the greatest boons of our mental processes because “an animal’s success depends [in part] on… exploring possible new resources through new actions.” Second, “voluntary action as random behavioral noise,” that is, “small… variations… which produce one result rather than another.” Third, “voluntary action as conditioned responding,” in uncertain situations taking the course that has previously proven successful. And fourth, “voluntary action as goal directed-ness,” action prompted by the expected outcome of the action. Our consciousness is seen to simply predict our action and reconstruct the motivation behind that action to compose a sense of “voluntary control.” It is not an active component of decision making models, as Dr. Wallis attested.

Elsewhere, the article discusses a famous experiment on free will, in which “participants watch a spot or clock rotating on a screen. At a time of their own choosing they spontaneously make a movement of their right hand… the participants report when they first ‘felt the urge’ to move their hand.” The experiment found that participants would report the conscious intention to act only milliseconds before taking the action, but even more interestingly the brain showed preparation for the action a whole second before the intention was reported. Though the experiment, originally performed by Bejamin Libet of UCSF, has been widely replicated, it still finds harsh criticism. Two major issues that have been raised are that “the real voluntary action is the participant’s decision to join the experiment… and… that subjective estimates of when conscious experiences occur are unreliable… the brain frequently manufactures conscious experiences after the event, retro-inserting them into the stream of consciousness.” Despite the criticism, Libet’s experiment “seems to disprove the everyday concept of ‘free will.’”

Often we are told that if free will does not exist we, as conscious beings, cannot be made responsible for our actions. How could we, let us say, jail someone for taking an action that they did not consciously choose to take? In fact, the actions we do not choose are the only actions for which we can be punished. David Hume wrote, “actions are, by their very nature, temporary and perishing; and where they proceed not from some cause in the character and disposition of the person who performed them, they can neither redound to his honour, if good; nor infamy, if evil.” So, if our will is free, then our actions have no concrete cause within us, and thus we cannot be blamed for them. Yet, if our will is systematically determined then our actions do proceed from causes entirely within us, and thus we can be blamed – for it is reasonable to expect similar actions in the future given similar circumstances. Only in determinism can we justify the jailing of an individual on a preventative basis. Daniel Dennett of Tufts University writes that “causality [is] what makes us moral agents,” not freedom. (Overbye)

In – admittedly tangential – connection with this project, I spent six days roaming the Ventana Wilderness in solitude. Near the end of that period, I wandered into the bosom of a Zen Monastery nestled therein. My arrival came as morning touched noon, so I sat in for lunch and washed it down by washing windows to earn a bed for that evening. Between work and dinner I occasioned upon one of the monks, who agreed to speak with me about my question. We removed ourselves to seating on a wooden bridge garnished with the white noise of water whetting stone. To my questions the wrinkled, bald monk had only one answer: it does not matter. There is an absolute reality, sure. But it is unlikely that we will ever know it. We must make due with the conventional reality that we are fed. The Buddha taught a cessation of suffering, nothing more. We must work toward comfort and complacency – and certainly not actively seek uncertainty, enough accosts in our regular course. My question has no practical aspect. It is an entirely vacuous venture. I will admit, her response did somewhat shock me. And as I reeled from it, she followed with a direct jab, her worn face inclined toward mine to ensure her voice would supersede the background: “Why does it matter to you?”

For a moment, I did not know how to answer. My chalkboard, usually so wildly adorned, was washed – and while all the chalk remained, it took no definite form. I recovered, but I think she saw the process through my lenses. It does truly matter to me, in the macro and micro of my mind. I answered: it matters to me because it is one of my assumptions; also, it shall affect my adoption of assumptions in the future. Further, it would be suffering for me to continue without having tested all of my assumptions. I work to cede my anguish, simply in a different way. I could not read her face, but maybe what I said was lost in the space between my mind and her ears. We adjourned. At least she had not offered some vague testament about ‘suchness,’ as two ludic women with which I had spoken of my plan warned she might. Her question caused me to briefly inspect mine from the outside: to determine its worth. In one of my classes, the teacher often transcribes quotes on an unused corner of the main board. One day the quote, author anonymous, read roughly that, “A great mistake educators often make is assuming that all knowledge must be for some practical use.” A lull in the instruction allowed a peer and me to discuss it briefly, we concluded that we would have written it thus, “A great mistake educators often make is assuming that any knowledge can have no practical use.” So, despite my question’s lack of immediate practicality, I reaffirmed and justified my interest.

From all the preceding, I feel I must make a conclusion. So, I shall. As I have defined it, free will does not exist. Yet, Stoppard writes, the brain “does love. It does inspiration. It does memory. It does thought.” I am still intimately responsible for myself. Perhaps, more so than I would be if I concluded conversely. I act in my own interest, and if my consciousness be only an observer, my character is one that suffers an exquisite narration – I am quite wrapped in my story, as I see it made; though, in moments that I do reflect, I despair of my detachment from it. Like the UN, without weapons, simply observing foreigners at war. I hold some hope that my conclusion is incorrect, I know that I cannot have exhausted the topic entirely. I know that there are stones I have left unturned – ones with wells beneath. So I shall keep searching, shall keep questioning. I will apprehend that absolute reality, if it can be brought within the scope of our Euclidean conception.

Works Cited and Consulted

Print.

• Banich, Marie T. Cognitive Neuroscience and Neuropsychology. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 2004. Print.
• Dayan, Peter, and L. F. Abbott. Theoretical Neuroscience: Computational and Mathematical Modeling of Neural Systems. Cambridge, Mass.: MIT, 2001. Print.
• Goleman, Daniel. Social Intelligence: the New Science of Human Relationships. New York: Bantam, 2006. Print.
• Haggard, Patrick. “Human Volition: towards a Neuroscience of Will.” Nature 9 (2008): 934–46. Print.
• Hume, David. An Enquiry concerning Human Understanding. Indianapolis, Ind. [u.a.: Hackett, 1995. Print.
• Hunt, Earl B. The Mathematics of Behavior. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2007. Print.
• Jaynes, Julian. The Origin of Consciousness in the Breakdown of the Bicameral Mind. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1990. Print.
• Sartre, Jean-Paul. Being and Nothingness: a Phenomenological Essay on Ontology. New York: Washington Square, 1992. Print.
• Sartre, Jean-Paul. Existentialism Is a Humanism. New Haven: Yale UP, 2007. Print.
• Sartre, Jean-Paul. Nausea. New York: New Direction, 2007. Print.
• Sartre, Jean-Paul. The Imaginary: a Phenomenological Psychology of the Imagination. London: Routledge, 2004. Print.
• Stoppard, Tom. Rock ‘n’ Roll. New York: Grove, 2007. Print.
• Tolstoy, Leo. Anna Karenina. New York: Random House, 1965. Print.

Web.

• Overbye, Dennis. “Free Will: Now You Have It, Now You Don’t.” New York Times. 2 Jan. 2007. Web. 25 Mar. 2010.

Interviews.

• Isely, Guy. Personal interview. 2 Apr. 2010.
• Wallis, Jonathan. Personal interview. 1 Apr. 2010.

• Photo by Bertie Mabootoo / Used with Permission

The greatest novels and works of fiction are written to convey a message. The construction of the plot—and the characters, setting therein—is simply the medium by which the author attempts to convey that idea, that message. Stories exist—aside from their possibility of intrinsic beauty—in order to induce a feeling of enlightenment in the reader that often has little to do with the plot itself. When the sequence of events is stripped away from the novel, we are left with a few core themes that can be applied to other such stories and plots. It is imperative that you understand this when formulating your introduction.
Are you writing an essay concerning the substance inherent in the fiction, or the medium? Most often, essays written as assignments are substantive; that is, they attempt to show a prevalent theme or explain analysis of a character. The focus on medium is a bit rare and these essays tend to explain why certain writers wrote the way that they did or why the plot is in the state that it is. If your essay is about the form or the medium, then you want to address the intrinsic qualities of that form: for what purpose does this chapter serve? Why are certain conversations in another language? Why does the progression sporadically jump from setting to setting?
For all critical essays, the purpose of your introduction is to introduce the reader to the concept you will be laying before him or her later in the body paragraphs. When your paper regards substance, then you want to address—in the introduction—those “big ideas” or themes that the author conveys through the novel. Let’s take a look at an example of mine, written as an introduction to a “would-be” essay responding to the following quote:

“That’s the whole burden of this novel– the loss of those illusions that give such color to the world so that you don’t care whether things are true or false as long as they partake in the magical glory”
F. Scott Fitzgerald
(Referring to The Great Gatsby)

Introduction:

It has oft been told that those who returned from World War I–the advent of trench warfare, mechanized battle, the likes–were calamities of a war not afflicting only the body, but the mind. Those who returned often met displaced wives and matured children with an air of passive indifference, albeit masked by the perception of family love and a supposed alacrity for social responsibility–strangers in their own homes. Perhaps this is why they became so afflicted by excessive intoxication and consumption: in attempt to reconcile with an irreconcilable past, the tragic solider lingered between two worlds; torn by the impossibility of returning to either one completely. Gertrude Stein coined them, “the lost generation”. Superficiality pervaded the 1920s; a thin cloak of drunken revelry masked the pain and suffering. The real tragedy of that era was their suffering was marred by a veil. And when the veil ripped, torn in two, then, then we experienced Fitzgerald’s “crack up”. Though Gatsby did not return from the soldier’s beloved war, the burden of an existence between two immovable world’s throbbed in his soul so that with every action, every move, he became somehow closer, yet farther from realizing his dream; the Gatsby element of tragedy.

The essay would proceed to expand on Gatsby’s predicament and show how “with every action, every move, he became somehow closer, yet farther from realizing his dream”. It would be substantive: illuminating Fitzgerald’s perspective of superficiality in the 1920s; disillusionment in the American dream; et cetera. If the essay were conjecture on why Fitzgerald chose Gatsby as his pawn and moved him as he did, the essay would be one regarding the medium. Notice how, in the paragraph above, I don’t even refer to the novel The Great Gatsby until the end of the passage. This allows for a more creative opening few lines—sometimes referred to as the hook. By refraining from even mentioning the author or novel, I have the liberty to address the presiding themes properly. I focus on the disillusionment, though my thesis regards Gatsby. I focus on one aspect of what Fitzgerald was trying to say, instead of focusing on how he said it. I give the stage a backdrop. This also allows for an implicit thesis—which can be far more powerful than an explicit one. The implicit thesis can be drawn out over several sentences and sometimes, when the thesis itself is too chunky or awkward to state alone, can be simply implied. Furthermore, by refraining from addressing the particular case of Fitzgerald and Gatsby, I have given the reader a better understanding of what the paper is about and how the conclusion will tie it all together.

Let’s look at another example. I wrote this introduction as an opener to an essay on Shakespeare’s forging of Hamlet and why he constructed the play the way that he did.

In order to appease publishers and the general public—I can only assume—many contemporary writers have let go of certain aspects of their prose. Perhaps editors have deemed certain passages, or entire chapters, as superfluous or convoluted and muddy, and have struck those pieces to manufacture a final, linear product. This process of commercialization must be somewhat taxing on the writer. He must abandon some of his impetuous ideas to revision, and in an obscure way, his book loses a bit of its truth—or at least a part of the entire truth the writer seeks to convey. His deepest thoughts may be the most contradicting, or confusing, or peculiar, but that the writer felt the urge to put them to paper should signify that something important—congruous with the essence of what the writer means to say—lies between those lines of text. In the end, the writer may assent, and toss out “the rubbish”, but he does so with a heavy heart.
Many of our grandest ideas come to us in brief moments of ecstasy. To some of us, these thoughts—or often in this case, a single coherent thought—crash down upon our minds like a great wave; to others, these thoughts buzz about our heads like flies, and we are unable to make sense of them—let alone one—unless we are fortunate enough to catch and slowly foster them to comprehension. Despite the means by which those thoughts come to us, at these pinnacles of revelation, we become absolutely overwhelmed with passion—an emotion that knows no bounds or limits, an emotion “that cries out in the soul, throbs incessantly in the mind” and excites the heart. It is a passion that leaves us hungering for more, a passion that compels us to progress, but to leave nothing behind. It is this passion that is central to both Shakespeare’s forging of Hamlet and the character of Hamlet himself.

Here, I actually break the introduction into two seemingly unrelated paragraphs. The essay as a whole pertains to the form of Hamlet, but I introduce it in a way that could almost be applicable to any commentary on form. I start with my own thoughts on the process of writing, editing, and publishing. This analysis hardly pertains exclusively to Shakespeare’s forging of Hamlet, but it is certainly applicable. Once again, I refrain from mentioning Shakespeare or Hamlet until the final sentence, yet this time, the thesis is a bit more explicit. I consolidate my big idea (the force of passion) into one culminating sentence. However, remember that it is not necessary to integrate your thesis into this same position. The two examples I’ve illustrated simply happen to do so. Your thesis could appear anywhere in your introduction, or even later in your paper. It’s all up to you.
When writing about substance, the most common mistake—though there are exceptions—is mentioning the medium too early. Do not start your essay with “In Ernest Hemingway’s novel, The Sun Also Rises”. You will lose your readers. Take the time to explore; use artistic liberty in your prose. Introductions can be equally as powerful as conclusions and are often underappreciated because they are not done with the same passion or intent to let the substance find the form (as opposed to filling the form). Of course, take all of this as you wish. The differences between substantive essays and those regarding the medium can be quite subtle. Often, it is difficult to distinguish between the two. Moreover, the type need not drastically affect your introduction. There is no branded “introduction for substantive essays” or “introduction for essays pertaining to the medium”; the best thing to do is simply keep in mind which category your essay falls into and write an introduction that does the body of your paper justice.

• Photo by Marco Murray / Used with Permission

You say that he’s better
That’s funny, because I would’ve practiced and tried as hard as I could.

You say that he dresses better
That’s funny, because I would’ve put on whatever clothes you told me to.

You say that he makes you happy
That’s funny, because I want to do the same, because you made me happy.

You say things like “I’m sorry”
That’s funny, because you wouldn’t accept my apologies but I quickly accept yours.

You say things like “anyone would be stupid to choose you second”
That’s funny, because here I am in second place in the tournament for your heart.

You say he’s more handsome.
That’s funny, because I can’t do anything about that.

You say that you still want to be friends.
That’s funny, because I’m not sure how you expect the broken vase to be friends with the hammer, but I’ll try my absolute hardest, because you are still you.

You say he really likes you.
That’s funny, because I love you.

Others say that I’m a great person
That’s funny, because if I’m so great, why am i still alone?

Others say that there are “other fish in the sea”
That’s funny, because they say that with a full net.

Others say that I’ll find someone eventually.
That’s funny, because they assume that because they’ve already found and been found.

Others say “don’t give up, the darkness makes the light shine brighter”
That’s funny, because i could find the light if someone shared the darkness with me.

I listen to what other people say all the time. You know what I say?

That’s funny, because I don’t believe you.

• Photo by John Mueller / Used with Permission

I woke up this morning feeling a little uneasy, like something was about to go horribly wrong. I’ve been waking up with this feeling ever since I got my powers. Usually I just take a look at the many newspaper articles covering my wall. “Masked Teen Stops Bank Robbery With A Thought” that was me, except it wasn’t really just a thought, I was merely controlling the air around them. I can do that to fire, water, and even the very earth as well. I’m not sure how it happened, just that it was the best thing that ever happened to me. I need to get to school, my clothes are on in a flash. I heat my breakfast, eggs and two sausage links, with my control of fire, while assembling the rest of the things I need with the air around me. My backpack, my mask and outfit for when I fight crime (I know it sounds cliche, but it works), my lunch, and my work clothes and name tag. “Hello, my name is Cody Mendel. How can I assist you today?” School starts at 8:30 and it’s 8 right now, so I’ve got a bit of time, maybe I’ll get a coffee, and maybe one for one of my football coach slash weight training teacher.

“Two black coffee’s, please”
“That’ll be $7.45”
“Here ya go”

This is the part I like the most. When the guy at the drive through window isn’t looking I knock over some other coffee that he already made. While he cleans up the coffee, I use the air to take my coffee and the money I just gave him. The funniest thing is the quarter I tossed into the tip jar while I speed off with my free coffee. The way I see it, I do a lot for society under an anonymous alter ego, I deserve to get some kind of payback, right? Once I show up at school, I’ve still got 15 minutes until I have to be in class, so I join my normal group of friends. Like me, they’re on varsity football, varsity wrestling, and varsity lacrosse. You could say we’re the best of the school. We basically got our lives made. The school loves us because we’re on the important teams, the dorks and nerds fear us so they do our homework, and let’s just say the belts we bought four years ago as freshman have more notches than our fingers and toes can count. Basically, whenever we see a cute one, we rock-paper-scissors for it. There’s one now. Luckily I know this one, so even if I lose I can play the “I already know her” card and get a chance anyway. Her name is Megan Berose.

“3–2-1-GO!”

Perfect. Four rocks, one scissors and my paper. I win since I beat more people than everyone else. I walk up to her like I do to every girl I wanna get with.

“Hey”
“Hey”

She was walking alone which probably means she doesn’t have any friends, or at least not very many. Out of her dark blue bag with a tree embroidered on the front, I could see the top of a clarinet case. I remembered that she’s kinda shy in math class. That makes her a shy band dork. Awesome! Now I get to play the part of the guy who’s good for her self esteem. Here comes the fireworks.

“Alright, here’s the deal. You’re pretty hot and I’d like to take you to a movie sometime.”
“Are you sure? I mean, do you really want to? Do you actually think I’m attractive? What if I…”

This is the part I like. I only use this if a girl doesn’t outright say yes.

“Let me show you what I mean”

I take a water bottle out of my backpack, open it and pour some out. In mid fall, I halt it’s movement, then using intricate, smooth movements of my hands the water collects in mid-air and forms a rose in full bloom. I learned this a while back, before I discovered that I didn’t need to try when I wanted a girl. After holding it mid-air for a few seconds, I froze it and dropped it into her hand. She was speechless. The best part is that when I’m done with her, I can just wipe her mind of this particular incident. It’s I trick I learned, involving a bit of water.

“So, I’ll pick you up around 7 o’clock Friday night?”

She just nodded her head in speechless agreement, her eyes glued to the rose I made.

“Sweet, see you then!”

As I walked away I remembered the ongoing contest my friends and I had. It was who could put a notch on their belt in the shortest amount of time after the first date. I think Mike’s got right now at 11 days. I get back to my group of friends and tell them “Guys, I think I’m gonna beat Mikes record this time around.”

“And makes you so sure Cody?”
“Because she’s in band, I’m probably the best she’ll get!”

Fist-bumps and high fives all around.

• Chapter 2: Sammael

I woke up this morning with a weird feeling. Like there was some big choice I was going to make today. Usually I just feel like my life is going to get a little bit worse. I’ve felt this way ever since that asshole Cody got his powers. See, I used to be friends with Cody, best friends in fact. Back then, we told each other everything and did everything together. Every weekend we’d spend the night at each others house or go camping in someone’s back yard. Then he got his powers. One day he just calls me up and says,

“Dude, come over to my house right now.”

So I got on my bike and rode over. When I got there he said he wanted to show me something, but we had to go over the hill. Once we got there he didn’t say anything. Just raised his hand and a couple chunks of dirt floated out of the ground. He let them drop as he lit a match and sent the flame from the match into the grass setting half of the hill on fire. Then with a sweep of his hand, the flame died out and I felt the vacuum from the air he pulled towards the fire. At the time I thought it was the coolest thing I had ever seen. This was in 8th grade. Later that year he signed up for high school football and I stayed with band. That summer he changed. High School started and we talked and hung out less and less. That winter while I did nothing, he wrestled. That spring while I did nothing, again, he played lacrosse. Every couple days he’d talk to me on AIM or Facebook, going into meticulous detail about how cool it was when he saved this convenient store from robbery at gunpoint, or stopped this building from burning down, or some other damn story about how much of a hero he was. By the end of the year I just grew sick of him. But enough about my depressing past, it’s only a little bit better here, in my depressing present. Now it’s 4 o’clock, so I’ve got 2 hours until my alarm goes off, and my computer is looking pretty interesting. YouTube is boring. There are no new messages in my yahoo inbox. No notifications in my facebook. YouTube is still boring. Still no notifications on my Facebook. YouTube is still boring. It’s 5:30. I’ll start getting ready now I guess. After I eat my cereal and brush my teeth, I’m out the door. I have to be at school at 7:15 for my E period Genetics class. Since I’m early, I’ll get some coffee for my self and the girl I like, who happens to be in my genetics class. I wish I could describe her, but words just don’t cut it. Imagine the most beautiful song you’ve ever heard, combined with the calm dance of the ocean deep at sea, then add the feeling you had the first time you saw the night sky, unpolluted by city lights. That’s only a fraction of what she truly is. Once I get to my favorite coffee shop I couldn’t even order. Because some dumb klutz had spilled all the coffee. Must’ve been a new guy. So I went to school without the coffee. On the way there, my favorite song came on the radio, “Hey You” by Pink Floyd. I wouldn’t say I’m a fan of Pink Floyd, just a fan of one of their songs. The reason I say this is because there are people out in the world who will say “ya, I think my favorite band is The Beatles.” and when I ask them if they can name any songs that weren’t on Beatles 1, they just scoff and walk away. I pull into my parking spot, finish the song and walk to class.
Everyone has an assigned seat, and I’m lucky enough to share a lab table with Megan. Every class was basically the same.

“Hey Megan! How are you?”
“Hey Sam. I’m fine”
“That’s good.”

Then we start the class, Ms. Pea goes over some stuff, the class takes notes and asks questions, then she assigns the homework. We’re learning about mutations today and Ms. Pea asked the class if anyone could tell her what a mutation was. Megan raises her hand.

“Yes, Ms. Berose?”
“A mutation is when a gene is altered or damaged to the point where it changes the genetic message the gene was supposed to convey.”

Did I mention she was one of the smartest people I knew?

“Very good Ms. Berose. Now, can anyone speculate on a mutation that would be beneficial to a human being?”

The class is silent, that is, until the teacher adds

“If anyone can tell me one, we’ll take the next 2 classes for a movie.”

Pages fly through books to look for an answer. Everyone either sleeps or ditches on movie days. Megan, once again, raises her hand. Her book still in her bag.

“Some people carry a mutant allele of the CCR5 gene that results in lack of expression of certain proteins on the surface of T-cells, which are a certain cell that HIV attacks. Homozygous individuals are resistant to HIV infection and AIDS.”
“Very good Ms. Berose! Alright class, we’re done for today. Tomorrow, make sure to turn in the homework and bring some popcorn!”

The bell rings at 8:15 and we all pack up. Megan’s pretty shy and packs up almost immediately.

“Bye Megan.”
“Bye Sam.”
“Mr. Agayth, can you stay for a moment?”

Frick, what did I do this time? I already knew I had a low C in the class.

“Yes, Ms. Pea?”
“Do you have a copy of the first X-Men Movie that I could borrow? I’m willing to award extra credit points if you do!”
“Yeah, I’ll bring it tomorrow morning.”

8:25 and I’m walking to my English class at the other end of the school. I could’ve walked with Megan to this class, her’s is on the way. Even walking in silence was better than walking alone, I knew that if I did walk with her we wouldn’t really talk. But then I saw something, basically the worst thing I had ever seen. That son-of-a-bitch Cody, making his goddamn ice rose for Megan. He had shown me this almost a week after he discovered his powers and told me he was going to do this for the girl he thought was going to be the one. He’s done this for about 7 girls, none of them ended up more than a notch on his belt. All I could think of was the vague hope that Megan will see through his stupid tricks and realize that he’s only doing that for another notch. What happened next is the last thing I remember. The ice rose drops into her hands, he says something and she nods while keeping her eyes glued to the rose made of lies. When she walks away, he goes back to his friends and they all high five him. I storm towards my car in the upper parking lot, not even caring about my English class, then blackout. Next thing I know, I’m on my bed, my cell phone is in pieces on my floor, my lights are off, and my curtains are closed. This is it. This is the big choice I needed to make today. Today is the day I choose to make Megan my own. I’ll show her the true Cody, and she’ll thank me for caring so much for her. Finally, I’ll have something that Cody can’t have. Finally, I’m going to be happy… For once…

• Chapter 3: The First Talk. The First Disappointment

I woke up at 3:30 again today. It’s Thursday morning. That means I have my odd classes. See, at Split River High School, we have a block schedule. Every other day we switch classes. This week, we have 1, 3, and 5 periods on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, and 2, 4, and 6 periods on Tuesday and Thursday. Friday’s we get out early, so we can start our weekend earlier. There’s no E period on Fridays. That’s my only class with Megan, so today is the day I have to talk to her about Cody.
I was never one to go into something unprepared, so instead of going on my computer, I thought of things that I’m going to say to Megan. I’m even going to go to a coffee shop on the other side of the school and get her something. Before I really knew her, I was her once at a coffee shop.

“Dark Chocolate Mocha please.. .Medium… and can you put in a half shot of mango syrup?”
“Sure, no problem. That’ll be $3.35… out of five… your change is $1.65, thank you for choosing Coffee Smiths!”

When I got to the counter, I told the guy I was getting the same thing. They were both ready at the same time and when I grabbed mine, she looked at me with an odd, almost wary, look. “It sounded good,” I said, “and I only had $3.50.” I’ll never forget this next part.

“Well then, cheers! To the most delicious drink you’ll ever taste!” We both drank and she was right. A Dark Chocolate Mocha with a half shot of Mango syrup was indeed, the most delicious drink I ever tasted. “My name’s Sammael, but people just call me Sam”
“I’m Megan, people call me Megan because I just moved here and I haven’t known anyone long enough for them to give me a nickname.”
“Then welcome to Riverton! Are you by chance going to Split River High?”
“Actually, yes. I’m going to be a freshman.”
“That’s cool, I’m gonna be a sophomore.”
“Umm, I have to go now. Maybe I’ll see you around…” At this point I made a leap of faith. “Hey Megan, before you go, could I get your number?”
“Uh, sorry. Don’t have a cell phone. Bye Samuel!”

That was the first time I’d talked to Megan. Little did I know that I would think about her almost every night before I went to bed. Not like that, just in a way that made me happy. I guess it made me happy that someone like her was alive. Over the years we became better friends. Some would say that she was the closest thing I had to a best friend. Though I didn’t really have friends any way. So I got up, went through all my morning motions. Eat, shower, brush teeth, clothes, car, coffee…

“2 Dark Chocolate Mocha’s. Can you put a half shot of mango in each?”
“Sure thing, name?”
“Sammael”
“Ooh, sounds bad ass. I think I read a book once where the most evil character in the story was named Sammael. You sure you’re not going to kill anyone if I don’t give you your coffee? That’ll be $7.70”
“Quite sure. Here’s a $10, keep the change.”
“Thank you sir!”

I got to the school a little early, so I help Ms. Pea set up the DVD player. When the bell rang I sat down in my usual spot next to Meghan.

“Here, the coffee shop accidentally made me two.”
“What is it?”
“A Dark Chocolate Mocha with a half shot of mango.”

She smiled, but that smile never touched her eyes. I wasn’t phased though, she’d given this smile to countless people so I thought it was just the way she smiled. The movie started and we watched for a couple minutes. Now or never I suppose. I had to whisper so I wouldn’t interrupt the movie,

“So I saw you talking with Cody Mendel yesterday. What’s up with him, huh? Biggest jerk you ever met?”
“Actually, I think he was kinda sweet.”
“What makes you think that?”
“He…made something for me. Something only he could’ve made.”
“Ya know, I used to be his friend, and he’s made that stupid rose countless times before. For him it’s nothing special.”
“But he is Sam. Not everyone can do what he does!”
“So what? You don’t need fancy magic to be a good guy!”
“Sam please, This is the first time anyone has asked me out. I really just want it to go smoothly. I appreciate what your trying to do.”
“But he’s an ass! Can’t you see that? I know him, I’ve watched him turn into who he is! All you are to him is a notch on a belt, as soon as he’s done with you you’ll be thrown out like garbage! If you let yourself get attached you’ll get hurt and I don’t want you to feel that!”
“Did you get attached to the first person you liked?”
“No.” I’m such a liar.
“Then it shouldn’t be that hard right? Please Sam just drop it. I really am grateful that you think I’m some delicate flower, but I’m not.”
“You’re making a big mistake…”
“SAM!”

The 8:15 bell rang and she packed up her bag fast as lightning. As she was getting up to go I tried to apologize, but she cut me off with a stern

“I’ll see you later Sam.”

I just watched her walk to the door.

“Wait you forgot your…” The door closes, “coffee.”

I pick it up to throw it away, there was probably only a little bit of it left. I wish I could think of a reason why the cup was still as full as it was an hour ago. One that didn’t depress me, but I couldn’t.
I messed up, again.

• Chapter 4: The Ocean

I kinda just floated through the rest of my classes for the next few days. A week passed of me knowing that I had really messed up, and that’s basically the worst feeling you can have. There were friends in my classes that asked me what was wrong. I told all of them the same thing.

“I was trying to talk to this girl, but I blew it.”

They all said pretty much the same cliche shit, ”There are other fish in the sea” and,

“You’ll meet the perfect girl someday Sam, and she’s going to love you 10 times more than any one can!”

and my personal favorite (which I only here from my female friends)

“You’re really a great guy Sam, you’ll find someone who will see that someday.”

It was the next Friday in my government class when I finally blew it. The bell was a couple seconds away when Andrea placed the last straw.

“You’re really a great guy Sam, someday you’ll…”
“Just shut up, I’m not in the mood for any more optimist, clouds with a silver lining crap. You have no idea how sick I am of hearing that shit. If you really want to make me better then date me yourself If I’m that great… Well?”

The bell rings.

“Didn’t think so.”

But my misery didn’t stop there. It was raining out and someone thought it would be funny to slash one of my tires. As I was struggling to put on the spare, I yelled into the air,

“Can someone hand me the tire iron in my trunk?”

The hand that gave it to me belonged to Andrea, then I felt really bad. Even after I completely chewed her out, she still was willing to do something nice for me, even if it was as simple as handing me a tool.

“Thank you. Hey, I’m really sorry for what I said earlier. I know you were just trying to make me feel better and it was stupid of me to shove it back in your face.”
“It’s alright Sam. I know you’re just frustrated, but you have to realize that not everything is a fairy tale ending right away. There are no quick fixes, sometimes you have to wade through a lot of swamp to get to the ocean. Sometimes even, you’ll find that the ocean is right next to you and all you have to do is take the time and really look through the tree’s.”

I just sat there in awe. Usually I don’t like metaphors, but this one was different. Maybe because it came from a friend, or maybe because I had felt bad enough that I just listened more closely.

“Thank you Andrea. You really are a major holding pin in my sanity. I’m really, really sorry I said all that stuff to you.”
“Really, it’s was alright”

After I dropped off Andrea at her house, I went home. Immediately I got on AIM. She was online. Perfect.

Sammael66: Hey meg!
Rosegirl93: Hey sam.
Sammael66: listen, I really wanted to apologize for what I did earlier. I was a real jerk.
Rosegirl93: I know, you really were.

(oh god, I really blew it this time)

Rosegirl93: but I know you just wanted to look out for me. Thanks

(whew)

Sammael66: actually I was meaning to mention that too.
Rosegirl93: Actually can you hold on? Cody’s calling me.
Rosegirl93: ttyl!
Rosegirl93 has logged off

Well, I guess I got my point across. Like Andrea said, you have to wade through a swamp to get to the ocean. My mom comes into my room, “We’re all going to the grocery store, do you wanna go? I’ll buy you candy!” that stopped working as a bribe when I was 10. Abigail, my little sister, is only my half sister. Her dad just up-and-left when I was 10, and I would never know my dad. I was the product of rape back when my mom visited New York. Ever since Abigail’s dad left, I kinda felt like I was never good enough to have a dad, and since my mom would never leave me I would have to go to the grocery whether I got candy or not, though lately, I haven’t felt the same. My Family got into the minivan, I sat shotgun and my little sister Abigail sat in the middle row.
We were almost done with the list. We only had to get a few things, so we only needed a hand basket.

“I’m going to take your sister to the bathroom, we’ll only be a few minutes, can you go warm up the car?”
“Yeah sure.”

She tosses me the keys. Once I get outside, about 20 ft from the door, a large blast throws me to the ground. Then black. When I wake up I look behind me. The entire store is in flames. The firemen aren’t there yet, but the police are. They’re working to get everyone out,

“Okay that’s all of them, where the hell are the firemen!?”

Then Cody shows up, complete with his stupid costume and mask. He runs by me, looks in my direction and says

“Time to save the day!”

Douchebag.
Immediately he runs up to the store and with violent waves of his arms, tries to pull water up to fight the fire, but there isn’t enough. He starts to throw large chunks of earth at the already frail building. He hopes that when the building falls down, the fire won’t be as hard to put out. Once I turn my attention to the crowd, I notice the my mom and sister aren’t there. Now I’m panicking. I’m looking all through the crowd, but I can’t find them. They must still be in the store.

“Cody, my family is still in there!”

I yell over the roar of the fire.

“Impossible! The cops got everyone out!”
“My family isn’t here! Either go in and get them or stop and wait for me to do it!”
“I can’t let you do that Sam! If I don’t bring this building down now, it’ll catch in the rest of the stores around here!”
“Then I’m going to stop you!”

As I run towards him, intent on taking him to the ground, he swipes his open palm towards me. I can see this weird purple glow coming out of his hand, but I’m so filled with rage that it doesn’t even phase me. He looked really surprised as he fell to the ground under me. I get a couple good punches in, but that doesn’t matter. He’s on the football, wrestling and lacrosse teams, and I’m just an angry computer nerd. Eventually he lifts me off of him and throws one good punch and I’m out.

• Chapter 5: The first hint of revenge.

When I wake up there’s no fire, but no building either. I can just barely hear a fireman and an officer talking over the ringing in my head. Something about the charred bodies of two women, one of them no more than 6, that were found in the back of the store. Other than that no one else was lost.
I stand up in shock. They’re gone. They’re really gone. All because of that ass, thinking of the “greater good.” I need to get away from here. I can’t deal with this. I don’t really have any really good friends where I can stay, though Megans parents and little brother are on a cruise this week.

“Hey, Megan? Listen, can I come stay at your house tonight?…Thank you so much…I’ll explain when I get there.”

It’s a wonder I got to Megan’s house alive. I was so angry at Cody that I could barely concentrate, and ran two lights on the way. I was able to concentrate on one thing though, the purple glow. After some thought, I deduced that it was his power. It must’ve been him, trying to knock me over with a sweep of air. It didn’t work on me for some reason. All I could think about now was, does he really have any power over me now?
I told Megan everything that happened. We both just kinda sat there, not really knowing what to say next. So we just sat for a while. It was me who broke the silence.

“Do you see now what I was saying about Cody?”
“Oh my gosh, Sam! I though you’d dropped that!”
“I can’t! This guy is an ass! No matter what you think, to him you’re just another notch on his belt!”
“THAT’S NOT TRUE! He treats me so nicely, I can tell he really cares about me! Do you think I would have sex with someone I didn’t trust? Do I look like some sort of slut?”
“WHAT!?”

I think my heart just broke. She couldn’t see through his game and now it’s going to hurt her so much more when he throws her aside, and now that Cody has added her to his belt of lies, it only a matter of time.

“Sam, I love him. I know it’s really soon, but no one has ever treated me this way, and I don’t think anyone ever will. He’s even told me that I could be the longest relationship he’s ever had, possibly even to marriage.”

Just then, with about the worst timing ever, Cody called.

“There he is now, I’ll prove to you how much he loves me!…Hello?…Hey Cody! How are you? I was just telling my friend Sam that…what?”

I swear to god, if he hurt her…

”oh god, please Cody no! What about all the stuff you told me!! hello?…Cody?…baby?”

it was no use, he’d already hung up. She just sat on the ground, tears dropping down her face. She just sat there

“Megan, I’m so sorry. Believe me, I know what your feeling right now…”
“What do you think you are?!!”

she screamed through sobs and tears,

”Why do you think that you understand what I’m feeling?! You’ve never had a girlfriend, you don’t know what it’s like to lose someone you love!”
“Megan, Yes I have! I’ve tried to tell you…”
“Save it Sam! Your the one talking about being fake! I know that you two are old “buds.” this is just you pulling a prank on me! NEWS FLASH, SAM!! THIS ISN’T FUNNY!! I’m going to bed. You sleep in the living room, I’m going to be in my parents room. I want you gone before I wake up.”

And with that, she ran to her parents room sobbing. I ran after her her, but she slammed the bedroom door in my face and locked it.

“Megan, please! Open the door!”
“GO AWAY”

she screamed, then her sobbing intensified. I knew I wasn’t going to be able to sleep tonight, so I just sat up against the door. I almost fell asleep too. The next thing I heard is something that I will never, ever forget.
I was jolted awake.
Something will haunt me for the rest of my life, because I had a part to play in it.
I broke down the door as I broke into tears. The next thing I heard was myself. A soft, tear-soaked,

“I love you Megan.”

As I stood over the grave, I could do nothing but stare in disbelief. It just wasn’t fair. Why did it have to happen to me?
The pastor’s words rang in my ear, like a bell in an empty cathedral.

“Here lies Megan Berose. Daughter, sister, friend. Please god, bless her ascent into your loving embrace, and bless us with perseverance, so that we may go about our lives in reverence to a girl, barely a woman, who was so hurt she felt the need to lift herself from us.”

It was then. At that moment, I made the biggest decision I would ever need to make. Cody had taken everything from me, first my best friend, then my family, and now the woman I loved. I vowed right there that Cody was going to pay. And I would not cease my pursuit until he lay cold and dead, with his blood on my hands.

• Chapter 6: Retribution

4 months later…

I sat in the storage space waiting for Cody to wake up. I hit him pretty hard with that baseball bat when I was in his room. I gotta admit, it felt a little weird, to be on this side of the duct tape. All those movies and T.V. Shows where the good guy is the one tied to the chair with duct tape holding the sock in their mouth, so they can’t effectively scream, and their hands taped together as if he was praying behind his back so he can’t use his powers, which are channeled through his palms. It felt weird to know that I would be perceived as the bad guy, though the real villain is the one in the chair. I thought back at his hands behind his back and chuckled a little at the irony, no amount of praying would save him now.
Another half an hour past before he finally woke up. 1:13, I’m a little early. At 5:00, I board a no-stops flight to New York, and to Ireland from there, under a fake identity that I created last month. It takes me 2 hours to get to the airport from the river.
Finally, he’s awake. I scramble to put on my ski mask and pick up the handgun I bought under my mother’s name on the internet. The single light in the room illuminates his face pretty well, and I can see the cold confidence in his eyes. He tries to ask where he is but it comes out as a muffled

“waaaa aam aaa?”
“Good morning Cody. Comfy?”
Again muffled words for “no not really”
“Good. Your voice, even when it’s muffled by that sock, is annoying. I’ll only ask yes or no. you just nod or shake your head. Understand?” He nods yes.
“Do you know who I am?” He shakes his head no.
“Do you know why you are here?” A shake.
“Do you know how your getting out?” Another shake.
“Well then, it’s lucky I’m here to answer these questions!”

The adrenaline is really pumping now, I don’t know how how I resist just pulling that trigger right up against his forehead.

“First of all, I’ll tell you how you’re leaving here. See that plastic in the corner? You will be wrapped up in it. There will be a hole in each of your knees and your shoulders. More than likely one between your eyes…”

Fake Identity: $500. Handgun: $250. Plastic $30. the look of sheer terror on his face when I told him that tonight was the night he was going to die and that it would be painful: priceless. Bang. His left kneecap explodes as the bullet tears through and exits in a shower of blood. His muffled scream can most likely only be heard a few feet out the door, and there’s no one here at 1:30 in the morning.

“You are here because you have taken so much from me. You never meant to do it, but you did it nonetheless. It was the decisions that you made that drove me to this point. You’ve taken my friendship, my family, and the woman I loved. That is why you’re going to die tonight.”

Bang. Right kneecap explodes as beautifully as the left.

“I’ve watched you ever since you started putting on this charade of being a super hero, when in fact you were the villain…”

Bang Bang. Left and right shoulders are shattered. The drip…drip…drip drip…of his blood resounds in the storage room like the deep bass-drum-heartbeat of my own that I hear in my head,

“and you have grown into a monster. Only occasionally do you use your power for someone else’s benefit. Even then it’s so that you can get a little more famous…”

he starts to nod off because of all the blood he’s lost,

“DON’T LEAVE YET, I’M NOT DONE WITH YOU…a little more famous and add one more notch to your god damned belt. Now, have you been thinking about the last question?”

I took of my ski mask and shone the light in my face. I made sure to keep it there for a good long time. I wanted him to see exactly who it was that he hurt so much. I wanted to see exactly where his revenge was coming from.
I put the light back onto his face and press the gun between his eyes.

“Any last words?”

I rip the duct tape off his mouth and take the sock out. In a very labored soft voice.

“Do… do you think.…you’ll be saved…once I’m gone?”
“I’m afraid that redemption will be beyond both of us once I pull this trigger.”
“Go to Hell.”
“With any luck I’ll see you there.”

Bang.

• Epilogue

Ireland is pretty awesome. I’ve always like the cold and there’s a coffee smith’s in the town where I live for the days when the cold isn’t that awesome. I still keep up with some people in the states via Facebook. The thing with Cody was 9 years ago tomorrow, and since then I’ve become a well-payed geneticist, and I’ve even gotten married! Her name is Amanda Leary. We met in the airport, she was picking up a friend. I didn’t have a plan for housing, so she took me back to her home and said I could stay with her until I found a house and a job. About a year later I realized that I’ll never be able to completely fill the hole Megan left, but Amanda did a pretty good job. I think that was the day when I was finally able to let go of Megan. Four years later we got married. All my Facebook friends say that she looks a lot like Megan, but I see no resemblance. I still have the same morning routine. Cereal, Brush teeth, Coffee, work at 7.

“Top o’ the mornin’ Dr. A! Should I start up your usual?”
“Yes sir.”
“ya know doc, you’ve been getting the same drink for 8 years now, you ever think about some variety?”
“Not once.”
“Why not?”
“Nothin special. It’s just a good drink.”

The most delicious drink I’ve ever had.

• Photo by Auraelius / Used with Permission

1. You’re devoted to someone you know that you will care about for the rest of your life.
2. Love is when you found someone that shares the same values as you do
3. You will be willing to do a long-distance relationship because you know that you trust each other enough, even if you are far away.

Is there even a fourth option? It’ll just be always something that relates to how the person feels, right? But what if you thought you love someone… but something in your mind says that it simply doesn’t make sense? You wish that you could spend the rest of your life with them…but what if they don’t feel the same way? What if everything they were doing for you was for another reason, not even related to liking you in the first place?

People can say that love is the best thing in life that has ever happened to them, because they found someone that they can love and appreciate. But what about the other people around the world? A good majority of them wish they could be able to find that special person in their lives, but they can’t..why? Is it something about them or their personality that people don’t find attractive? Do they look at you in a certain way and can’t seem to broaden their views about you? Then, there’s the other small percentage of people who have absolutely no idea what love is to them, even though they have had several relationships in the past that never ended the way it was meant to be. What did those past relationships do to us? They made us fall for everything, when really, it was all a lie and nobody was at the bottom to catch us. We could only pick ourselves up off the ground, and try again, searching over and over for the one special person who honestly ever gave a damn about you in the very beginning. Eventually, we gave up looking for them and lost sight of who we really are as humans in this world. We don’t understand how it works for those certain loved people…and not for us. We were fools to believe in this kind of faith, and we wonder constantly about what could really happen if we did find someone. Unfortunately, we cannot think that far because we feel as though everything around us crashed and we live in a devastated world of our own. If only our lives were simple and love were right at our fingertips; yet, it’s still so far away from our reach. We live in a complicated world, and with it comes complicated situations.

Love is… complicated.

• Photo by Daniel Zimmel / Used with Permission

The Philippines is an untapped gold mine sitting in the center of the orient. “Our sugar and tobacco growing would receive an impetus” (Rand-McNally Bankers’ Monthly). The islands’ location would create a trading hub for the U.S. in the middle of a region overflowing with commerce. Annexation of the Philippines would create a trading hub the benefits the American merchants abroad and the manufacturers back in the U.S. Annexing would the Philippines would boost the American economy.

The United States is not the only country who finds the Philippines a worthwhile endeavor. Germany’s fleet is sitting outside of Manila Bay waiting for the Americans to leave. They are not the only nations; five other imperialistic powers, including France, England, Germany, Japan and Russia wish to hold the Philippines. “is the Yankee inferior…it is our duty…to protect the Philippine islanders against anarchy, chaos, confusion…and to keep them out of the hands of the great powers.” (Knute Nelson). The United States has the duty to themselves and the Filipinos to keep the islands from cruel imperialistic powers.

The history of the great country of the United States is dotted with documentation that allows action in the Philippines. “Our fathers wrote into the Constitution words of growth, of expansion, of empire, if you will, unlimited by geography or climate” (Albert Beveridge). Albert Beveridge also believed that the Declaration of Independence could only apply to those capable of self-government. The Filipinos are a highly disorganized group of people. The two most influential documents in American history tell the United States that it should expand and that expanding onto a nation lacking structure would not cross these documents.

The United States has no option but to annex the Philippines. It is their duty to protect them from the imperialistic devils from Europe in Asia. Not only do the national papers of the United States of America permit such actions they encourage it. With such a holding the U.S. could do nothing but prosper. As a nation of such stature it is the moral obligation of the giant of a country to take the higher road and protect the small helpless peoples of the Philippines.

• Photo by Michael Moyer / Used with Permission

“Today we’re going to think about our moms,” Mrs. M explained to our class, “I would like you to write down a few words to describe your mom and some of the good things she does for you.”

I sat there unsure of what to put down on the paper. My teacher had told us to write down the things our moms do for us on a daily basis, make our lunches, watch our soccer games, plan our play dates. That’s when the tears came. I remember our teacher’s daughter had been there that day, and she took me outside to talk about what was bothering me. I cannot remember exactly what I said to her, but I remember that was one of the first times that I realized how very different my life was from all of my friends’ lives.

Divorce is a normal thing, but most kids from divorced families got to live with their mothers for part of the week and their fathers for the rest. That was not the case for me. My dad has had full custody over me for most of my life, and for a while my mother only had visitation rights one day a week. Even then, she often had excuses for why she couldn’t make it. It hurt, and on that day in first grade I realized how badly I wanted someone to be proud of me, to be able to put my artwork on the fridge and to come to soccer games. All I wanted was a mom.

Knowing my life would never be the same as those around me, it became my goal to make my dad proud of me, and to become someone that any mom would be proud of, too. I set my mind to doing every task the best that I could, working hard to excel in school and sports. My hard work paid off. I was always proud when report cards came to show my dad how well I was doing and I loved to bring home artwork and science projects to show off. His pride was not enough for me though, it was my mom’s attention I had desired, and as I got older, I stopped seeing and talking to her all together. I learned that she had been abusing drugs and which made me realize that she was not a good role model, and I have been so lucky that my dad was and still is a good role model in my life.

When I learned about my mom’s drug abuse, it became my dream to be a positive role model for others and hopefully influence their lives in a positive way, just how my dad influenced me. That is why I started to work at a day camp. Seeing kids smile, laugh, and play everyday and knowing that I was making a difference in their lives by taking care of them and playing with them made me so happy. I know that when I was growing up, the people that I looked up to were my teachers and day camp leaders, and I wanted to make the same impact in the lives of other children. Some kids don’t have the same types of families as everyone else, and by being a positive influence in their lives I hope to be a role model to those who may not have one at home. In the end, I am proud of my life, because even though it is different from my peers’, I have learned to make a positive difference in the lives of others, a lesson that will stick with me forever.

• Photo by Leonid Mamchenkov / Used with Permission

This is my father, though I question whether I’ve ever known him, considering the job that kept him away seventy-five percent of the time. Linsey and I used to wake up to his suitcase wheels rumbling across the entryway, leap from bed, and scurry into the embrace that felt smaller and less superhuman with each passing year. Once I was a teenager, I realized that those suitcases contained belongings that didn’t have a place in his own house. They belonged in the company apartment thousands of miles away. For those last few years I lived at home, I would hear him come in the door and know that he was downstairs waiting for me. But I was bitter because he wasn’t there for the voice recital or the one-act play or the late night game of Clue. I would lie in bed feeling sorry for myself or linger in front of the mirror. Then I’d remember the scare of prostate cancer, realize that someday he wouldn’t be waiting, and rush downstairs to find him.

I’m not entirely sure that his love was unconditional, and I think that is how I learned to be ambitious. I wanted to please him in everything; he was more of a mentor to me than a father. Always cool and calm and very logical in a way most parents never master. I learned that if I made him proud, his admiration and approval would come so close to love that they appeared to be just that. He certainly believes that he loves me, but his version of love is unfaltering dedication (he has never known the difference).

I would never dispute that he has wanted the best for me since the day I was born. When I did homework on Friday nights instead of going out with friends, he would tell me how those good habits were going to pay off someday. He didn’t sympathize; he had pulled himself out of near-poverty through the same discipline and solitude. “Emmy, I’d be willing to bet you’re the smartest kid I’ve ever known, and you can do anything,” he would say. I’m not sure if he was sincere when he said that—sometimes I even laughed—but his conviction was what I needed; it gave me faith in myself.

What amazes me most is that he wanted me to be more than smart. He wanted me to passionate about something. Anything. Everything. Maybe this is because he was incapable of doing so on his own. Whenever I latched onto something, he always matched (or even surpassed) my level of enthusiasm. He never hesitated to buy the Architectural Digests I drooled over at the grocery store; he didn’t flinch when I tore the living room apart to rearrange the furniture; he immediately hauled out the paint rollers when I decided my blue bedroom would be much classier with ‘Almond Paste’ walls. He even embraced the interests that sprang from nowhere. When I casually mentioned that I’d love to try kayaking someday, he scheduled a lesson to make my dream a reality.

The summer I was sixteen, I went to Alaska to visit him. We kayaked down the Chena River in relative silence. As I paddled alongside him, I glanced over and saw his childlike amazement at the majestic pines piercing the mist. He is a strange guy, I thought. But I felt a tenderness and gratitude that made me proud to be with him on that cool, grey day. A Paul Simon song we both loved began to play in my head…‘If you’ll be my bodyguard, I can be your long lost pal…’

• Photo by B Mully / Used with Permission

I never have been able to relate to my father. Even as a young kid I always felt something amiss. He just didn’t act like other dads. I watched other dads throw around a football with my friends, but my dad never showed interest in football, or any American sport, for that matter; I saw the normal dads rock out to Lynyrd Skynyrd or ACDC with their sons, but my dad wasn’t so musical: when I slid my fingers along the piano keys, my dad would simply hum off tune to some song I had never heard before, if it even was a song. In 5th grade when all the prepubescent boys gossiped about the Birds and the Bees talks they had with their dads, I just nodded my head and went along with it. Truthfully, my mom had given me “the talk”; but I was too embarrassed to speak up. What boy, wanting to prove himself to the other boys on the block, would admit to such a thing? Certainly not me. I don’t know why my dad never talked to me about growing up or having wet dreams; probably because he himself never experienced those kinds of things with his father either.

He obviously tried to fit in. One time our family was invited to a family friend’s Superbowl party. I remember watching my dad stand around awkwardly with the other dads, trying to look like he knew what he was doing. But he just stood there and grinned with the stupidest grin I’d ever seen. Suddenly, “When does the Bigbowl start?” popped out of his mouth. As a typical immature middle school kid, I was so embarrassed. I quickly scrambled into the bathroom and pretended like I hadn’t heard his blunder. In retrospect, these isolated incidents seem humorous. Now I’ve learned to chuckle with my dad when he blunders or mispronounces words; yet growing up, they had a much more profound effect on me.

This became clear after 8th grade, when my family embarked on a month long trip to Europe. I loved every ounce of the being a tourist: singing alongside German fans, drunk with patriotism, at the World Cup; attending a day of German high school; sleeping on a train in the Czech Republic. It all seemed like a dream. But when we arrived in Poland, the mood changed. The glamorous Pensions and rolling green hills subsided into a bleak, post-Stalinist reality. Monotonous, grey apartment complexes surrounded by birch forests seemed to be everywhere and I couldn’t count how many dilapidated parks we passed. For two weeks we lived with my father’s aunt, Teresa. Under a somber sky, Teresa and her sons lived frugally and pragmatically, and I began to understand that her dreams consisted of no more than a desire to provide her sons with a substantial meal on the table. After hours in their company, a veiled envy of my father became apparent. At the age of fifteen, my father escaped from communist Poland. When martial law ensued, he declared political asylum while working in Germany and was able to start life anew in America. But the rest of the family had not been so lucky. I remember seeing remnants of bitter resentment in their eyes. They longed to have been lucky enough to make it out when he did. The despair and suffering they endured at home was all too great.

I remember when my dad hugged his brother after fourteen years of separation. I remember the tears that dripped down their eyes and how, at first, I had wanted to turn away, embarrassed. But at some point I felt an impulse: I couldn’t help but join them and embrace. For years my father had been a distant figure; he didn’t understand me and I didn’t understand him, I had always told myself. But how could we? We grew up in entirely different worlds. While I had lounged about, playing Xbox with my friends, my dad had wandered the forests alone, with only a few bottle caps and his imagination for company. My father’s childhood had once seemed so unfathomable to me: How was I, a boy of merely fifteen years, supposed to fully grasp what he had experienced? How was I to understand my father on the most human of levels? By no such bond are we tied. Our lack of common, first-hand experience separates us and no matter how hard we try, we will never be able to bridge that gap. If anything, my trip to Europe gave me but a single glimpse into understanding that void.

Since my trip, I have long pondered and tried to make sense of what happened. I recognize that I will never truly understand my father, yet I do not find this in any way demoralizing. Somehow this realization has inspired me, and I find its effects manifest in my everyday life. I’ve learned that nothing is more powerful than the intrinsic value of first-hand experience. No longer am I content with simply learning about latin jazz in suburbia; no, I regularly venture into San Francisco’s Mission District and play alongside those who are most connected with the essence of the music. No longer am I content with simply studying the political process from a desk and chair; no, I find myself constantly canvassing and phoning for those politicians who are trying to change our political system. I find myself dreaming of elsewhere, and the knowledge I will gain simply by living and experiencing. Visiting Poland, the land of my father’s childhood, connected us. Tya has shaped me in more ways than he, or I, can possibly imagine. We may not share a common language or background, but I certainly must thank him for all he has taught me.

• Photo by Christopher Walker / Used with Permission

Understand, celebratory shots and tears of joy are never a bad thing.
Cheers, and do take my handkerchief.

• Photo by Jason Bouwmeester / Used with Permission

Herein, three attempts will be made: the first, to allow our government a greater flexibility by facilitating extensive revision of the constitution every twelve years; the second, to explicitly prohibit any interaction between church and state; and the third, to bring all citizens to a similar economic level. These reforms, though they are not likely to pass in any political climate, beg consideration of the issues they regard.

The first, that attempts a comprehensive and recurring update of our over two-hundred year old constitution, is of greater importance than the other two. The enlightenment philosopher Jean-Jacques Rousseau wrote that “no sovereign could say: ‘What this man is going to want tomorrow I too shall want,’” (Rousseau) and no more could a sovereign say that of a document. The constitution chains us to an old mode of thought, and while the amendment process as it stands allows us to loosen and squirm within our chains the amendment now proposed would allow us to cast them off entirely.

The text of such an amendment would run as follows: “The constitution of the United States as a whole shall be brought under revision every twelve years. The revision process shall begin on the tenth of January and be terminated before one year has elapsed. Until the revisions are completed, the old version shall hold full power. The constituents of the Constitutional Revision Committee (CRC) shall be four in number for each state and elected separately from the sitting senators and representatives. No office holder is eligible for election to the CRC. The final document must be approved by a super majority of the delegates and cannot exceed thirty pages. The Constitution must remain a framework for the operation of the country and no transient measures may be taken within it. The revisions must regard only systemic issues. This amendment cannot be edited by the CRC, but is in every other way a regular amendment to the constitution and can be repealed by the legislature. If the population at large can demonstrate the support of two million individuals a national referendum may be called on the revised document. A simple majority will cause the revisions to be discarded and a reversion to the previous constitution.”
The particularities of the amendment will now be explained. The time limit of one year is given so that the delegates are compelled to flesh out any apparent and bipartisan difficulties with the constitution immediately. It is a long enough period to allow ample discussion, yet short enough to prevent total gridlock. Office holders are not eligible to become members of the CRC for two reasons: first, so that the stigmas and corruption of Washington do not carry over into the revision process; and second, so that the body executing the instructions remains apart from the one issuing and editing them, else many of the restrictions would quickly be dismissed. The constitution can never exceed thirty pages so that it will remain accessible to the population.

An amendment of this kind would allow our nation to adapt to changing conditions both inside and outside its borders. The amendment would enable passage of many of the reforms proposed and supported by the masses that never gain traction in congress due to the threat they pose to the regime. This amendment is not a partisan issue, simply a pressing one. Though it is quite easy to do so, we must not treat the constitution as a perfect document. As the metal that composed swords in centuries passed must be reforged to form firearms as the world revolves, our constitution must be similarly altered.

The second, that would cordon the church away from the state, should be a self evident necessity. Even when the church enjoyed a greater prominence in society, sequestering it from public policy was weightily considered. The first amendment prohibits the establishment of a state religion, but it does not prohibit interaction between state and religion. The lack of explicit separation has allowed the government to block human embryonic research, fund faith-based charity initiatives, subsidise religious charter schools, and so forth. (“Church And State Should Be Separate”) This amendment would prohibit the government from recognising religion as anything except its function – viz., charitable religious initiatives would be recognised simply as charities, etc. Thus a grounded view of the results produced by the initiatives would not be confused by theology.

The composition of such an amendment follows: “Any interaction between the state and the church is hereby prohibited. The government shall not recognise religious institutions as such, rather it will fix its gaze upon the effect rendered by the institution and act accordingly.”

There is no reason to perpetuate the liaison presently uniting church and state. A healthy separation of the two has already lead to the vibrant religious communities that we now enjoy. Compared to nations with a state church, the United States has a very high rate of religious attendance and interaction. The competition produced by the government’s partial indifference is an aid to the church, not a hindrance. This amendment would make that indifference complete. Furthermore, President Obama has repeatedly emphasised that the United States is not a Christian nation, nor even a religious nation (“Church And State Should Be Separate”). His assessment is a correct one. The fiber that binds our nation is not born of a common theology, but a common inclination toward liberty. Placing particular pieces of our society above others because of a religious affiliation infringes upon that liberty.

The third, that would level the economic standing of every American citizen, thereby promoting a true equality of opportunity and forming a meritocratic society, and reorganise the American government along communal lines, thereby formulating a more responsive democracy. As the nation stands now it can scarcely be called democratic; the influence exercised by prominent corporations and their peripherals has usurped nearly all the power allotted to the people. Capitalism is an autocratic system, it simply does not mesh with democratic ideals. The economic and political system adopted by the anarchist of the Spanish Civil War was shown to alleviate much inequality without depressing production. (Orwell) This amendment tailors a similar system to the American theatre.

The full text of the proposed amendment can be found in Appendix A.

Rousseau wrote that equality under the law in an essentially unequal society “is only an appearance and an illusion; it serves only to keep the poor in their wretchedness and sustain the rich in their usurpation.” (Rousseau) This amendment would abolish that static status quo and allow for genuine socioeconomic dynamism. Each soul would be able to follow their own inclination, without worry for profit. There are those among us that would teach, were they better compensated; that would push against the edge of knowledge, were they able to afford the education; that would massage the masses with rhetoric, had their birth allowed them the means. Some are capable of transcending those difficulties, but that transcendence is not something our society should demand. With this amendment implemented our personal economy would be dictated by the throes of our personal genius. In Walden Pond Henry David Thoreau wrote that “little is to be expected of that day… if we are not awakened by… our own newly acquired force and aspirations from within.” Not only would the majority of people enjoy an increase in their economic standard of living, but all would enjoy an increase in their moral living – from that satisfaction and integrity of being gleaned through the knowledge that we are doing exactly what we want to be.

Structural reform is naturally coupled with the meaningful economic reform. A communal system of governance allows the individual to have greater weight in the politics that effect him each day. The national government is stretched too thin. It was designed when our nation had just above a hundredth of the citizens that it now does. The mechanisms are strained, and perform poorly. The division and allocation of power implemented with the amendment would help to alleviate that strain and adapt the government to its much larger league of subjects. (Montesquieu) Jean-Jacques Rousseau wrote, “if I had had to make choice of the place of my birth, I should have preferred a society which had an extent proportionate to the limits of the human faculties; that is, to the possibility of being well governed… and in which the pleasant custom of seeing and knowing one another should make the love of country rather a love of the citizens than of its soil.“ (Rousseau) His vision is one to which we all can relate, this amendment would bring it closer to reality.
Overall, the first proposition is the most pressing. It is more than a reform. It is an invitation to debate all that has been made sacred by history. Even if the changes it brings are minuscule, the avenue that it opens is essential. We cannot afford to remain stagnant in the face of time. Our constitution is indeed the foundation of our country, yet we would not live in a building built upon a foundation from that era; both must be brought up to date.

APPENDIX A
The second amendment.

A) As socialist economic policy has been shown to be an efficient system this bill mandates the reorganisation of all American business enterprises in such a way as to distribute the decision making evenly across all levels of employment. It is suggested that this be realised by creation of a council elected by all employees to preside over the enterprise’s policies. All profit would be absorbed by the national body for later redistribution.

B) As communal political policy has been shown to enhance individual sovereignty, the government, as it stands, would be abolished and replaced as follows:
1) National
a) Ten principalities shall be formed, each consisting of similar populations; an executive shall be popularly elected from each principality every two years – the elections shall be staggered so five members are up for election each year –, a chair-executive shall be elected by the nation as a whole every four years. These executives shall constitute an executive council charged with conducting the nation’s international course. They will have no domestic power.
b) Each state will elect one representative to a body charged with ensuring national cohesion. They hold legislative power to only that extent. They are also charged to allocate funds evenly by population between all principalities.
2) Principal
a) Each principality will be governed by a bicameral legislature in the fashion presently in place nationally.
b) California is hereby split into North California and South California. The split occurs at the southernmost edge of Hanford and runs across the state parallel to the equator. North and South Dakota are hereby merged into a single Dakota.
c)The principalities are constituted as follows: Northwestern Division: Washington, Oregon, North California, Nevada. Southwestern Division: South California, Arizona, New Mexico. Midwestern Division: Utah, Idaho, Montana, Wyoming, Dakota, Nebraska, Kansas, Colorado. Southern Division: Texas, Oklahoma, Arkansas, Louisiana, Mississippi. Southeastern Division: Florida, Alabama, Georgia, South Carolina. Eastern Division: North Carolina, Tennessee, Kentucky, Virginia, West Virginia. Northeastern Division I: Maryland, Delaware, Pennsylvania, New Jersey. Northeastern Division II: Connecticut, Rhode Island, New York, Massachusetts, New Hampshire, Vermont, Maine. Mideastern Division: Minnesota, Wisconsin, Michigan, Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Iowa, Missouri. Oceanic Division: Hawaii, Alaska.
d) All funds not consumed in projects on the principality level are distributed equally to the constituent states by population.
3) State
a) All state governments are hereby abolished, in the vacuum that is created a referendum is to be held wherein the citizens of each state will decide their form of government. All forms are permissible so long as they are incapable of violating the first ten amendments.
b) Except for funds employed as democratically decided by the state, all funds will be distributed to the towns and rural population equitably by population.
4) Etc.
a) Towns and so forth will be responsible for establishing a communal lifestyle in which each receives according to their needs and gives according to their means. Alternatively towns may adopt a flat distribution of wealth in which each citizen is given an equal sum. Such a sum is expected to range between $20,000 and $60,000 per person over eighteen without taxes, dependent upon the level of luxury provided universally by each state, principality, and town.
b) If a citizen is not involved in useful work they will not receive any money. Useful work will be determined by the courts.

C) The judiciary retains its present form except that it progress to principality-level before realising national level. At principality level, judges are appointed by a committee formed of the population-sensitive branch of the aforementioned bicameral legislature.

D) No additional funding is required, all present wealth and debt will be consumed by the national government and promptly redistributed equitably – wealth naturally shall cancel out debt. Universities and charitable institutions will retain any endowment so long as they do not employ the funds to create wealth imbalances.

E) The transition will begin at the date of this amendment’s passing and be complete no later than January 1, 2012.

Works Cited and Consulted

• “Church and State Should Be Separate.” Opposing Viewpoints Resource Centre. Gale. Web. 18 Jan. 2010.
• De Secondat Montesquieu, Charles. The Spirit Of The Laws. Colonial, 1900. Print.
• Dreisbach, Daniel L. “Church and State Should Not Be Separate.” Opposing Viewpoints Resource Centre. Gale. Web. 18 Jan. 2010.
• Johnston, William J. “An Understated Yet Pressing Political Issue.” IVWriting.com. Intravenous, 23 Apr. 2009. Web. 18 Jan. 2010.
• Johnston, William J. “On Anarchism.” IVWriting.com. Intravenous, 30 Nov. 2008. Web. 18 Jan. 2010.
• Orwell, George. Homage to Catalonia. New York: Harcourt, Brace & World, Inc., 1952. 50.
• Rousseau, Jean-Jacques. The First And Second Discourses. St Martin’s, Inc, 1964. Print.
• Rousseau, Jean-Jacques. The Social Contract. St Martin’s, Inc, 1964. Print.

• Photo by “Mr. T” / Used with Permission

This article was written in response to the following prompt: “Write about your experiences reading and writing.”

Here’s the thing: I’m suffering from writer’s block. But, see, it’s not the small-scale, can’t-type-a-few-words kind of block. It’s like that chick from The Exorcist, projectile-vomiting everywhere. Only, in my case, the vomit is horrible prose, the kind of prose that makes a reader want to revert to the days of Frog and Toad, where life was simple and no one tried to use the word “ethereal” effectively in an essay.

I’m just sayin’.

So, see, here’s my dilemma: I’m supposed to be writing a paper on my love of writing. And, really, at the moment, all that I want to do is chuck my laptop out the window, because everything I write sounds silly and trite, and not befitting of a budding writer at all.
I guess the ironic value of it all is to be appreciated, though really, it just serves to feed my neurosis. It’s not a big deal; I guess you have to be slightly neurotic to want to write, to want to arrange those tiny, black characters into a pattern that makes a sentence, into a pattern that makes any sense at all. All that you do is torture yourself with the effortless beauty of other people’s patterns, wishing and hoping that someday, yours may follow suit.

So why is it that I love writing? When I have days (months, really) like today, where nothing seems to go my way, and I keep accidentally typing the lyrics to Sweet Child O’Mine instead of responding to a prompt, sometimes it seems futile. Sometimes, on days like today, it seems like my love is entirely unrequited, abusive, bordering on the side of masochistic. But then there are those days when, finally, I get a sentence right, and everything just stops. And suddenly, as trite as it sounds, everything’s clear, and I’m in a house of glass, and I can see all of my characters and subjects, and they’re all there for my entertainment. They rely on me to exist.

And so I make them be.

As my brother would say, “God complex much?”

But it’s worth it all. It’s worth it all for that one line that works. Last year, I had my first real experience with personal writing. I was working on a piece to enter into the NCTE Achievement in Writing contest, but I had no idea where to start. I wrote crap draft after crap draft, waiting for something that would stick, for a line that would come into focus, one that would guide me and validate my work. In the midst of a whining, angst-filled meditation on the state of modern private education, it happened.

“We were by the elevator and I was giggling and he was giggling and he was wearing the top hat that he thought was edgy, but because he was still a child it only made him look sad, and made his eyes look bigger and more hopeful and made his face look younger.”

Out of context, it makes no sense. Now, even, upon re-reading it, it doesn’t seem nearly as miraculous as it was when I wrote it. But that’s part of the beauty, I guess. When I read that line, I can picture exactly where I was when I wrote it, can picture the scene exactly that I was writing about. It’s a type of transportation, of transfiguration, even. And the recreation of that sensation, of that rush of heat into my cheeks and the shaking of my fingers and the feeling that I’d written something worthy, that alone is worth the horrible prose that plagues my Microsoft Word documents.

I ended up winning the contest. I didn’t use that line, though. In the end, it didn’t make the cut.

But my journey as a writer, as a budding writer in great need of guidance (hint, hint), would be completely hopeless if not for my undiluted love of literature. Since the days of Mercer Meyer’s Critter books, I’ve been hooked, reading everything that I can get my hands on, reading everything that people give me.

My eyes don’t tear upon recalling the bittersweet memories of early adolescence, or upon waking up from a dream where everything seemed so perfect and real. All it takes is Seymour Glass’s wall, though, and I’m gone.

“Oh snail
Climb Mt. Fuji
But slowly, slowly.”

It’s Issa, the poem. It’s written on Seymour’s wall. It’s written on my wall now, too, but I can’t think of it without crying.

I’m sitting here now, in the Starbucks on El Camino, and people are looking at me funny because my eyes are tearing up as I’m writing, only my lips are curled into a half smile, teeth not showing, and the tears are turning my eyes “sad cow brown.” They might think I’m crazy; maybe I am. Surely I am. My eyes are tearing and I’m regretting having put mascara on my lower lashes, all because I’m thinking of a novel.

This is what literature does to me.

The music here in Starbucks is playing, and the lyrics keep crooning, “cry me a river.” I think they’re speaking to me, and it’s scaring me slightly.

Franny and Zooey has been my favorite book since sixth grade. It’s my own version of Bessie’s consecrated chicken soup; it’s my literary comfort. My mother gave it to me then, gave me her old copy. I fell in love. I can picture where I sat when I first read it; my room was still blue then, and I was under the toile comforter on my bed, my teddy bear Jabba curled up against my side. I couldn’t fully understand it, then; some of the religious symbolism went over my head. But, in my own way, I identified entirely with Franny, felt that she would understand me more than any other literary character. I felt that she could understand me more, really, than anyone.

Franny forged the connection, but it was Seymour that made me fall in love. The idea of him, the idea of his presence, was so mystical, so ethereal, that the book seemed almost transcendent. Since that first reading in sixth grade, I’ve read Franny and Zooey at least once a year. When I’m sad, when I’m lonely, when I feel inundated with Professor Tupper-types, I crawl under my own afghan, and picture Zooey sitting next to me, lecturing me on St. Francis of Assisi, pretending to be Buddy, and somehow, I’m okay.

In school, reading and writing have always come somewhat easily to me. I’ve been lucky; the analysis of atheism in Shelley’s Mont Blanc, or the dissection of Dickensian diction, are like games to me, filled with hints and traps that I’m meant to discover. But, at times, the game gets to be too much, and I find myself spiraling, the neurosis taking over, and I find myself entirely paralyzed, unable to write or read.

Kind of like what’s happening today.

And so, I’m sitting here in Starbucks, on my third cup of coffee (black, one packet of sweet ‘n low), and I’m trying to find inspiration. There are people sitting around me; I need to see them as characters. There’s an older man, hunched over, and I can smell the mothballs on his brown, argyle sweater. I close my eyes and try to imagine the tag, try to imagine a note written on it in permanent marker. Maybe the sweater was a gift. Maybe it belonged to a friend, or a loved one (it fits him somewhat snugly). He’s a character, I try thinking. I wonder how I’d write him.

My friend is on her way to meet me here; I study better when I’m not at home. Maybe I should stop trying to write something decent; maybe it’s just not meant to be. You wanted to know about my experiences in reading and writing, so here you go. A narration of my neurosis. A view into my mind.

At least the projectile-vomit wasn’t real.

• Photo Used with Permission

Many of our grandest ideas come to us in brief moments of ecstasy. To some of us, these thoughts—or often in this case, a single coherent thought—crash down upon our minds like a great wave; to others, these thoughts buzz about our heads like flies, and we are unable to make sense of them—let alone one—unless we are fortunate enough to catch and slowly foster them to comprehension. Despite the means by which those thoughts come to us, at these pinnacles of revelation, we become absolutely overwhelmed with passion—an emotion that knows no bounds or limits, an emotion “that cries out in the soul, throbs incessantly in the mind” and excites the heart. It is a passion that leaves us hungering for more, a passion that compels us to progress, but to leave nothing behind. It is this passion that is central to both Shakespeare’s forging of Hamlet and the character of Hamlet himself.
In the wake of our bursts of passion, we are often left in a frantic, disheveled mess. And in writing Hamlet, Shakespeare included this raw, perhaps untouched mess. Shakespeare created Hamlet, a character who, of his own accord, pushes himself into madness. Hamlet believes he understands things that no other character can grasp: he is enraged that no one realizes that Claudius is his father’s murderer; and he is aghast at his mother’s incestuous behavior. Unable to accept his state, Hamlet assumes the appearance of madness so that he can exist and function in a world that he sees in some ways as mad—in that the people around him are either oblivious or accept their despicable condition. I believe Hamlet willingly gives himself to the chaos and unpredictable nature of madness. Afflicted by a humanly passion to set things right, Hamlet thrusts his neck into the unknown and lets what happen, happen. Initially, he attempts to slowly lower himself into the pool of disorder, but seeing that he is unable to get close to Claudius and above all, act, Hamlet lets go of all hope of returning to his original state. This is apparent in Hamlet’s confrontation with Ophelia, when he unexpectedly spits, “Get thee to a nunnery” and “I loved you not”, to the astonished Ophelia and hidden King Claudius and Polonius. Although Hamlet only explicitly states that his madness is irreversible in the final scene—“Heaven make thee free of it”—he is always certain that his submission to an overwhelming passion shall be his destruction. Aware of this existential truth, Hamlet proclaims, “Give me the cup. Let go! By heaven, I’ll ha’t” as he accepts his death.

Though Hamlet is arguably the sanest of all, his appearance of insanity could not have been portrayed in any other way. Shakespeare could not have developed the contents of Hamlet in a logical manner and kept Hamlet mad. Therefore, Shakespeare formulated an illogical plot—full of seemingly capricious soliloquies, the “play within the play”—so that Hamlet could retain some of his sanity. Shakespeare posited a decaying, intolerable world, so that Hamlet could exclaim, “the time is out of joint; O cursed spite, That ever I was born to set it right!”. Hamlet’s appearance of madness is manifest in the appearance of an almost madness in the structure of Hamlet. Had Shakespeare betrayed Hamlet to a logical plot and progression of the play, he would have created a protagonist who is indeed insane. But by forcing the reader to question many aspects of the play’s physical construct—such as the mere longevity and simple inclusion of a number of scenes—Shakespeare allows the reader to empathize with Hamlet and allows Hamlet to retain a sense of sanity amidst a world devoid of apparent meaning.

In order to better assess the role of passion in Hamlet’s madness, we must examine other authors and literary characters who deal with the same epidemic. Like Fyodor Pavlovitch Dostoevsky, Hamlet is burdened by passion. Both share an insatiable wonder of why things happen for the reasons they do. Dostoevsky and his characters in The Brothers Karamazov—most namely, Mitya—break the confinement of logical, linear existence and life on Earth, and act without apparent coherence (Dostoevsky’s act being that of producing a novel that goes in all directions). He weaves together a fabric of extraordinarily complex characters that are bound by a passion for human existence, for life. Mitya, like Hamlet, can’t endure his world—a spiteful father indebted to him and a void that was once filled by his love, Grushenka. Mitya runs about with reckless passion, unaware of his consequent fate. Hamlet, although steaming with that same passion to set things right, is wary of his submission to passion in that “he vacillates between undisciplined squads of emotion and thinking too precisely on the event”. He errs on the side of caution, conscious of “how easily action can be lost in ‘action’”. Therefore, he does not avenge his father’s murder and kill Claudius immediately. He waits, but the longer he waits, the more embroiled he becomes in his passion, and reaches the apex of his “madness”. Hamlet cannot act because he is aware of his condition. He knows that the murder of Claudius would not improve his state nor aid in the reconstruction of his depraved world. He is torn between the two and is painfully aware: “What should such fellows as I do crawling between earth and heaven?” Hamlet never exclaims “I have a longing for life, and I go on living in spite of logic” as Ivan does; rather, he is torn by the pivotal question, “to be or not to be”. It is this distinction that makes Hamlet such a troubled character, even for Shakespeare, who evidently grappled with presenting a story that could give Hamlet an aura of both supreme sanity and insanity simultaneously. And it is such a powerful passion that consumes Dostoevsky, Shakespeare, Hamlet, and Mitya that they should search the Heavenly stars, and Earthly forests but find, all of them, seemingly different answers, if any at all.

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If you were to think back to your days as a tiny tot in elementary school, I guarantee you would not be able to recollect one negative memory. There are very few reasons why one wouldn’t love to be a six year old; even school is fun loving and carefree. In school, all you do is eat graham crackers, draw, and you take amazing naps. There is nothing better on the face of this earth than a good nap in the middle of the day. Most importantly of all, you are able to do this without getting into trouble. If you were to attempt to take a nap in the middle of the day in high school or at work, for that matter, you can forget about it. The ability to sleep freely, unfortunately, does not negate the fact that there are more satisfying benefits to being an eighteen year old in college.
While being a six year old in school is quite an amazing and free experience, it is also not that bad to be in college. One obvious loss is, no more naps in class. It’s a difficult realization, I know, but this is okay because you don’t have to go to a full day of school like you normally had to when you were in grade school. In college you get to adjust, shift, and shape your schedule as you please so you have the maximum time possible out of class. This in turn allows for much more sleep than at any other time in your life, including when you are six. Yet this ability from aging doesn’t abate the ultimate, end-all-be-all perk of being a six year old.

I am sure many cases can be made as to why being eighteen is so much better than being six, but those naysayers have no grounds on which to debate when it boils down to this simple fact: six year olds have no worries; they literally have not a care in the world. Money is not a concern because parents presumably supply all clothing and food for proper nourishment. Six year olds don’t have to worry about papers being due soon because assignments like this simply aren’t given in first grade. There are no tests apart from spelling and, let’s face facts, those aren’t that difficult. The complete opposite of all these facts is true for college students. As of now I have an eight-page paper due for my history class, I have two tests coming up in my remarkably difficult math class, and I also have an exam next week in my philosophy class, all of which require an extensive amount of studying.

Even though there are many stresses of being eighteen in college, there are also many privileges you are legally allowed to do which can relieve stress of said academic responsibilities. Other burdens that come along with being eighteen are; having to register to vote, pay taxes, vote on bills, and many other responsibilities. I think you get the idea, but with all these new undertakings come many new rights and privileges. For one, you are now legally allowed to smoke, and while I have never and will never smoke cigarettes, it is an empowering feeling to know that you can flash your i.d. to a gas station employee and he/she cannot deny selling you anything in there apart from alcohol. But even alcohol isn’t completely unattainable because if you were to go to Mexico or most any other country for that matter, the legal drinking age is eighteen, although I doubt any eighteen year old is in need of a drink that terribly.

Acknowledging all this, I still find it easy to say that being six years old is definitely better than being an eighteen year old with a multitude of responsibilities. Yes, at eighteen, you can smoke cigarettes, buy lottery tickets, and even drink in some countries, but you wouldn’t have to do any of this if you weren’t so stressed by the hassles of your increasingly difficult life. The nail in the coffin to this debate, too, is that while your stressing about you’re taxes and feeding yourself, all the six year olds in the world are sitting pretty. They are sipping on a juice and contemplating taking a nap before they watch cartoons until their eyes bleed.

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Where are we? Here. Why are we here? No one knows. There are those who speculate the purpose of life and how it should be lived. Some choose the “righteous” path, others seek out glory in conquests and battles, while there are others who choose life as a humanitarian, aiding all in their midst. The interesting truth of it all is, that not one of this is particularly just or “right” as people have deemed it. The “righteous” will proclaim that there is a way to truth and peace while finding fault with those around them. The tyrants who seek fame and honor are stricken down as all who choose the path of conquest are. And the humanitarians… They are swallowed up by their attempts to free the masses from the constant problems that plague humanity. All in all, they do have one thing in common. They are grasping at invisible straws. That’s all that life seems to be. Friends try to reconcile one another despite pain that was caused. People try their hardest to protect all that is dear to them only to be ultimately undermined by the one thing they tried to save. All of this seems to end in the same inevitable way. However, these futile ideas that we pursue define us as who we are. The many deeds that people commit, whether radical or sane, in the end create us as a person.

The goal of being the best you can be is one that we all try to attain. Often times we are opposed by our parents, who have a set idea of how they imagined their child would grow up. However, we seldom grow up to be the people who our parents desired. And still, this additionally is a unfulfilled yet guaranteed right of the constitution. The pursuit of happiness. But the irony of all is that we are never truly free to pursue our feelings, thoughts, goals, or whatever we believe would make us happy. Why? Conformity. We are weighed down by the codes and rules of society. No one is truly themselves. We try to struggle, to break free of the set norms that are taught to us. But inevitably, our efforts to change are soon lost under the torrential downpour of ideas given to us by the masses.

Yet their are those who shine like brilliant beacons, illuminating the way for change. Women and men like Gandhi, Dr. King, Eleanor Roosevelt, and Clara Barton have greatly changed the world for the better. Through the contributions of equality, peace, happiness, and other such influences, these and other individuals have succeeded in creating an air of togetherness. But in doing this, they have made the most important point to us. That even though we are all a family, we must retain our differences, even if others do not accept them. Because in a final analysis, isn’t that what makes us human?

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Despite all the pain and suffering that is endured, we are still able to smile. We are still able to laugh. We are still ourselves, no matter the circumstances. The creation of who we are seldom happens in a minute, or an hour, or a day, or even a year. It takes our entire life to make a name for ourselves in this world. Rather than dwell on the past occurrences or the situations that may arise in the future, it is much easier and wiser to live in the moment. To take it one step at a time, being aware of our surrounding as they slowly progress, enjoying and confronting each moment as it happens.

The flow of time is always cruel, its speed seems different for each person but no one can change it. We all go towards the same destination. However, it is up to us to decided whether or not we think about where our trip has take us, where it will take us, or just where we are right now. Additionally, we need to consider our mindset during this time. We will not always be content or happy and at times we may feel alone and sad, but ultimately, it is our decision about how we view the trip. As a pleasurable one filled with many experiences or as a continuous flood of pain and hurt with the only end to the trip being the finish.

My decision for the journey of life will be taking it as one that will be rough, will be painful, will be hard, but in the end, it doesn’t matter. I’ll always come out happy. Why? Because I have people who care for me and stick by me as I do the same for them. And therefore, we cherish our time together despite all of the bad times we may have. We continue to have each other throughout our trip as we continually drift down the streams of time, remembering our time together, laughing as we meet each new day with a renewed sense of courage, strength, and meaning.

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One of the earlier accounts would be the myth of Daedalus and Icarus, in which these two attempted to escape for the Isle of Crete. Using simple materials and utensils, Daedalus was able to construct two sets of makeshift wings for which he and his son could escape with. After attaching the wings onto his son, Daedalus told his son not to fly too high otherwise the wings would melt in the heat of the sun and also not to fly not too close to the sea so that they waves would not drag him down. There are many translations of the story and its origin but there is one uniting ending that has never changed. Icarus, feeling the wind and freedom flowing through his wings, flew higher and higher until Daedalus could no longer see him. Within a matter of seconds, the wings began to melt and Icarus plummeted to the rocky depths of the sea.

This brings about the eternal question that is asked everyday. Why? Why were we given this boundary that can never be broken? Why are we seemingly destined to always remain on earth? Why do people such as Isaac Asimov create novels about the Great Beyond (besides the money aspect of the situation)? Why is this so enticing? Is it the fact that there is always something unattainable in the world for us? That there will always be some area where we can never reach? A quote that I heard touches briefly on these questions. “The more we learn about the universe around us, the more we realize how little we truly know.” Even though we surround ourselves with new knowledge everyday, we learn something new, there is still so much that we don’t know out there.

Humanity continues to seek out what is in space, what is in our skies, what happens inside our earth, how our body changes and adapts to different environments, what actually occurs in space, what will happen in the future, and other such questions. However, there is one problem that we still haven’t solved and will not solve if we continue to look forward and that is how we choose to deal with the now. Instead of focusing on what will happen tomorrow or the next week or next month, the present would be a much more healthy and efficient way of looking at things. Too much time is spent on figuring out how to live later instead of living right now. An example of this would be New Year’s Resolutions and how this custom is treated. Often times people proclaim that they will take on a new dietary program or work out more but in reality, why did they wait this long? Why choose to wait another 363 days to change something about themselves? After all, they could do it earlier instead of waiting for a set date to begin change. It happens all around us each day yet we let it go unnoticed. Rather than focusing on larger accomplishments and amazing end results, the simplicity of the situation can be solved by looking towards the small ways and small changes that we can make. Whether it be taking time out of your day to enjoy where you are, who you know you can depend on, the feeling that you can be free and that this is who you are can be some of the most relaxing things you can do. Ignoring the past and what happened then and creating a better present for yourself is a much wiser way of spending your time and living your life to the fullest. Though there will be hard times in your life, you can always remember the freedom that you still have and enjoy the silence and beauty of a starry night sky.

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TREVOR TONSING
December 13th, 1993 — December 17th 2009

Written by Friends
Compiled by Andrew Lam
Managed by Intravenous

Trevor, you were like a second little brother to me. I love you and miss you. You touched the lives of so many people around you. In losing you, you took a piece of each and every one of us with you to a better place. Mr. & Mrs. Tonsing and Kiley, my thoughts are with you, stay strong, he’s in a much happier place now!

EVAN COHEN
Trevor, you were my best friend all throughout elementary school. you were such a big part of my life. Over the years, we broke apart, but you were always my friend. There was so much that was unique about you. I have countless memories with you, and looking back at my 7th birthday party pictures, seeing you with cake all over your face, makes me realize that such a happy kid was taken away from all of us. I’ll always remember how in every single year book picture you wore a suit and tie. Your daily attitude was so optimistic, and there was nobody out there even close to being like you. I really wish we could have stayed close over the years coming into high school. now that your gone, I miss you so much. Stay strong Tonsing family, I’m sure Trevor’s having an amazing time at the Disneyland in heaven. I will watch every episode of Smallville in his remembrance. Rest in peace buddy. I’ll always remember you.

PAUL BYRNES
Trevor I only knew you for a few months before I left the country. But the news of your passing away rocked me to the very soul, even though two years have passed 12,000 km’s have passed. Coming from a fellow Scouter, I know you were a strong human, with a love of life and a smile on your face. I will not forget you.

MORGAN BRADY

Trevor, your smile will never fade from people’s hearts including mine. Your crazy happiness brightened the mood for everyone. I will cherish all the memories I have been able to have with you. Your family loves you dearly along with everyone around you. You’ve touched everyone deeply. I love you and will definitely miss you. Kiley, Mr and Mrs. Tonsing, I feel your pain. My thoughts and prayers are with you. LOVE YOU!

TAFFY EISA

Although we all show our grief, so dissonant and uneasy, you can rest assure that your very essence lingers in our thoughts and nature. You’ve taught us all a lesson of fundamental quality: simply don’t take things for granted.
I hope you prosper in the better place you now reside.

KATIE

Mr. and Mrs. Tonsing, you must know that your son was truly remarkable. Trevor, you touched the lives of everyone you met. You taught me and my friends how to be ninjas in middle school, you made us happy when we were upset, and you visited us in journalism to get quotes for yearbook. I will always remember what you taught me and I will always be thankful that I knew you. We will never ever forget you, and I know that we will see each other again. Wait for us up there, we love you.

Rest in Peace

KARINA KARAPETIAN

I personally didn’t know Trevor, just the occasional hi & bye after yearbook last year. He instantly got along with everyone, and by the end of the year he was sitting with all the seniors! He always was showing everyone the new game to play on the computer. && my favorite time was when he tried to sit in a trash-can but then fell in. I don’t think I ever saw him without a smile on his face. For such a little kid he had so much energy and so, so, so much happiness in him. It’s not fair how the good die young, but he’s in a better place smiling down on us all.

Rest in Peace, Trevor

NARAJ VORA

I feel so sad and empty. It hurts to hear about a kid so young passing away like this. I pray for his friends and family and wish them the best. Although I didn’t know the kid I feel sorrow. Rest in Peace Trevor, I know you will be missed.

KRISTEN
I can’t believe it. Someone so loving and caring. So friendly and funny. So nice and honest. You would always just go up and talk to people you didn’t know. You probably don’t even realize how your jokes brightened so many people’s days. You have made such a tremendous impact on the lives of so many. I never got to know you, but the times we did talk, you always made me smile. Always made me laugh. Every time I saw you in the hallway, you were either laughing or singing. No matter what, it seemed like you were always having a good time. It’s your optimism that I always admired. So keep on smiling Trevor, we miss you.

MEGAN WENZELL

Trevor, These last few years I really began to know you. Having yearbook with you last year, I got to know you even better, and you showed me what a wonderful person you really are. You always managed to brighten my day and make me laugh. I know you did this for so many people. I have some amazing memories from that class and from you. One of my favorite memories had to have been when you dragged me all around Northgate during yearbook to find a clean enough trash can because you wanted to be canned. We must have looked at almost every trashcan till you found one you approved of. I have so many memories like this of you. I know that in the sixteen years of your life you made a huge impact on your family, friends, and strangers alike. Trevor you have truly changed my life for the better and I will never forget you.

ALLISON

Trevor, I’m really going to miss you and the energy you brought to Spanish class. Every day the only thing I’d have to look forward to in 4th period was seeing what crazy thing you were gonna do, whether it was standing on the desks and dancing when our side of the room won a contest or yelling trabajar trabajar trabajar! at random moments as loud as you possibly could. You were a really great person and I wish I could have known you better.

Rest in peace and God bless you.

PAULA

Trevor, my little “pocket freshman”, we will all miss you, even those of us who hardly knew you.

The few wonderful encounters we had will stick with me. You never failed to brighten my day with your never-ending smile, boundless energy, enthusiasm, and good humor. You were such a wonderfully sweet, kind boy. The world is seriously missing out on your presence.

My prayers will be with your family and friends. God bless.

SEAN CHO

Silence. yet so loud.
Silence. so unbearable.
Silence. that shook the whole school.
Silence. yet so loud.

Even though he had a weak heart, his heart was braver than any other.
I pray to you, Trevor, that your brave heart will be an example for many others.
I pray that you may live up in heaven peacefully with God.

I send all my condolences to the family of Trevor. The pain, which I can’t even begin to imagine, will not hinder them from carrying on with their daily lives. I pray that God will watch over Trevor’s family and give them strength.

KELLY CHU

Trevor, I’ve never met you, but I’ve seen you walking in the halls at school every once in a while. I can tell that you were a cool kid. You made people around you feel good about themselves with your joy and energy.

You will be remembered.

PARIS WOOD
Trevor, I’ve known you since the first grade, but we never became close. You were always that kid who was always just there, where ever you would go. You’d just pop out of nowhere and crack these corny, yet hilarious jokes. How will we fill your absence?
You were in my English class this year, and I saw you the period before you went to the hospital. You were fine. That’s what I don’t understand. I’m sorry I was so mean to you, when I was trying to talk to Jessica from across the room and you would always pop your head in and start answering the questions that I was asking her. Then you’d tell me to stop talking to you, and I’d say I wasn’t and that you should go away. But I never once thought that you actually would. I don’t remember the last time we spoke, but I really hope I said something nice. I hope your having fun chilling with Walt Disney up in heaven. We miss you down here.

AK
I’ve known Trevor since 6th grade at Foothill Middle School when he was just a wee 7th grader. He used to mess around with me and make our whole class laugh and cheer our spirits up. I will miss Trevor a lot and I hope he rests peacefully in Heaven. Best regards to his family.

EVAN SCHEPS
Trevor, you’re a great guy. I’ve known you for a pretty long time now, and you’re just a hilarious person. My one regret is that I wasn’t able to say goodbye to you.
What you did was more brave than anything I could ever do. I have the utmost respect for you. Northgate will miss you. We love you. You’re praying for you. I guess this is goodbye for now.

CHRISTINE TSOI
Trevor, history will never be the same without you. Without you here, the room is silent, no one there to raise their hand when no one else wants to, no one there to make crazy jokes and make the time in class pass quicker, and no one there to make us smile and laugh every day. You will be missed, and forever in our hearts.

SANDEEP KAUSHAL

I didn’t know you as others did, although I have seen you around. It’s shocking how life can be taken away in a blink of a second, Also someone so young that hasn’t even experienced his whole sophomore year yet. I use to always wonder why people said “The Good Die Young” now I understand. This is the second fellow peer from school that has died in the last year and which both were great and kind hearted people. I know you’re in a better place right watching over us with a big smile on your face. My condolences to his family and close friends… Rest In Paradise Trevor… Love you Sandeep

KELSEY MALINOWSKI

Trevor, I will always and forever remember you as the loving and caring boy that knows how to put a smile on anyones face. One thing I will never forget is that you never skipped a chance to say hi or crack a joke to me in the hallways. I thank you so much for leaving such a great presence at Northgate High and you will be remembered not just for who you were, but the effect you had on the students and staff. We will miss you terribly and our thoughts and prayers are with Mr. Tonsing, Mrs. Tonsing, and Kiley.

FRANCISCO TUBIO

I am extremely proud of all my students and I love them. Trevor always brought his joy, happiness and passion for life to my class. I cannot find words in English or Spanish to express how I feel. I only can say that he was in my class and now he is in my heart. Love you and miss you, Trevor.

CAROLYN ANDERSON

Dear Trevor
I will remember the times that you were in my lab group and you would always find a way to make our group laugh and the class laugh also. You would all ways have a positive attitude with a smile.
I know that you were scared, the bio class was like, “what just happened?”.
The next day Mr. McMorris made announcement that you were in stable conditions.
Thursday was the day that we found out that you might not make it and that’s what hit us the most cause we have bonded together for a few years. But this is really the first year that I got to know you really well.
You were like a bother to me.
You will be missed.
Rest in peace Trevor

JAMES HAUG
I really could not believe what had happened. I walked through the halls and everyone was out but quiet. I felt sad; I wished that I knew you longer and I will remember the hug I gave you that one day. I didn’t really know Trevor but it still makes me sad to see a young life go. I know for a fact that you will be missed.

VERONICA LENHART

Trevor no one knew you like our group did. We will always remember the untangle game, the soccer playing, talking about Luke going down on iCarly, when we first met you and you kicked Warren in the Sparta pit, when you would sit on my lap, when you would break all of Jason’s pencils just because it made me laugh. I know you liked me, a lot. I feel like I should have given you a chance and I’m sorry. But you know that you still meant a lot to me, even when you wouldn’t share the five cookies you got every day with me. We drew a picture of you next to the Warren picture I drew. You look like a little blind kid. You would have laughed at it a lot if you saw it. I’ll always remember your loud voice yelling VERONICA whenever you saw me. And how we snuck out of Blaisdell to go visit Krista across the hall and you were so scared, because you were a good kid. I still have your pirate bandanna and jacket. I will forever cherish it. Love, Veronica

D.M.C.

When I heard Mr. McMorris’ muffled voice come on the speaker I knew in my heart it was about my “little boy” (even though you have passed me up by like an inch or few. I thought maybe good maybe bad…considering the fact that things were looking a bit brighter for you yesterday-ish..but when I heard the sadness in our principals voice… that’s when horror struck the school. we learned that you were not going to make it. i, as well as others, are still in shock of this news because many of us were just laughing, talking, walking with you… I member when you were just a little kid…we were both short and it was fun hah. middle school we talked more and then I went to high school and you stayed at foothill. but when I saw you for the first time at ng I noticed what a handsome man you were becoming. No matter what happened you were always smiling and making people laugh. it was just your birthday…and I didn’t get the chance to give you a fatty hug in person on Monday and tell you happy (belated) birthday lil boy! you have truly touched my life and I will always remember you. we will get to see each other someday and we can go to an all time low concert in heaven..because I didn’t get to go with you to the most recent one like I should have. I love you Trevor. you’ll be missed. R.I.P.

ALISA

Trevor will be remembered with warm thoughts. He will be greatly missed, and forever in our hearts.

APURVA

I never really knew Trevor but I do truly respect the fact that he wishes to donate his organs to others. Trevor, you were clearly a great guy and its unfortunate we will never meet. I hope you rest in peace.

IAN

I can’t say I knew him. I’m so sorry for all of you who have suffered so much from this tragic loss. I know it’s unfair that I will never be able to understand your pain, the suffering you’re going through right now. I didn’t know Trevor, but to have caused this many people so much grief must have meant he was very important to many people. That he was a good person. Today, we lost that good person.

You have my blessing Trevor, may you live happily in the eternal embrace of God’s love in Heaven.

MCKENZIE

Trevor was the best kid I knew. He would always put a smile on my face when I had the worst day of my life. He was in my yearbook class and he always came up to me and put his arm around my shoulder and say “hey McKenzie how’s it goin’?” I will never forget his laugh, smile, and happy spirit. he always lit up the room with his happy go lucky self, and I will always remember the good times we had. my thoughts and prayers are with you Mr. and Mrs. Tonsing and Kiley. Trevor is in a better place and is in God’s hands.

TIM HOLST

As the intercom system was turned off a sound resonated through the halls. Disguised as static and a phone hanging up, it was truly the sound of young Trevor passing as we at school knew it. All 1600 teens in their youth were quieted by the sound of someone they all knew passing. Another depressing reminder of how fragile life is.
It is not our job as those who continue on to dwell upon this sadness, if anything rejoice his life and his final act of selflessness. But, above all it is our job, just as it was when Michael Gaines passed, to remember. To remember them, to remember all that was good about them.
I cannot say I knew Trevor, for I was hardly an acquaintance, but I can firmly say, “I will never forget Trevor Tonsing”. Neither should anyone else who ever knew his name. Let Trevor live on in our hearts and minds.
R.I.P. Trevor Tonsing December 17, 2009

JOSH KEAN
Trevor, you were definitely one of my closer friends that I made up at camp this year. I was so sad to hear about you passing on. I wish I had more than those mere three weeks to get to know you. I know that you are in a better place now and that you did enjoy your time on Earth. May your flowers live on forever.

NAMITHA PATIL

Trevor, although I never knew you personally I know you were dear to many people. When I found out we shared a birthday it was an honor to share it with someone as strong and loved as you were. My only memory of you is when you were crouched by your locker putting away your things while I was at my locker nearby. It is a memory that I will keep forever, and I hope you are in a happier and better place.

BRENDAN COYNE

I was lucky enough to be a close friend of Trevor when we were younger. We used to hang out and go swimming at his house. I will always remember how he was so full of energy and life. He was the friendliest person I knew, it didn’t matter who you were or how you were feeling Trevor could always cheer you up. I can’t believe he’s gone. Trevor I miss you so much.

ANDREW ROBINETT
I’d like to say I didn’t know Trevor long but the time I spent with him was great. He was a great kid and it was an honor to have met him RIP (in loving memory).

LINDSAY ROSEN
I didn’t know Trevor as well as many who have posted here, but in the short time I knew him I knew a happy, funny, energetic, loving kid. It’s crazy to think I just saw him. The Tonsing family and the world lost Trevor all too soon. As much as I’ve thought about it, there is no way to make sense of his passing, and few words can provide comfort to his recently bereaved family but as a Buddhist I’d like to leave you all with this quote:

“Neither fire nor wind, birth nor death can erase our good deeds”- Buddha

Let us all remember Trevor for his good deeds, his loving heart, and his bright personality.

Trevor, you will be missed.

MARK PHILLIPS

I worked with Trevor’s dad a long time ago and knew Trevor when he was younger. Even then, Trevor impressed me with his courage, tenacity and simple charm. The world is a far better place because of Trevor. His family has every reason to be proud of him.

PATRICK SALAZAR

I can’t say I even knew Trevor’s name before this week, but I knew him by face. I remember coming into his drama class during study session one time last year. He and a few others who were freshmen at the time came around me and my friend Jeremy who were sitting in the back of the theatre talking and pretending to be working on a scene. Trevor was the only kid I didn’t really know, though his face was recognizable to me. I remember talking and joking with the other freshmen and specifically thinking that he was such a funny kid and would be a great addition to the drama department if he continued through high school. This year I saw him at Improv tryouts, and he was one of the few kids I was surprised didn’t make it through, as I thought he was pretty funny. I wonder now what it would have been like to know him for just these few months school has been in session if he had made the team. I know it would have changed my life for the better. It’s so incredibly hard for our school to lose another kid who brought so much joy to everyone he knew, just 6 months from when our last student passed.

My heart goes out to the family of Trevor Tonsing and wish that they may find a little solace in knowing their son was loved by everyone he knew. That one seemingly meaningless time in study session will now forever be etched in my memory. Rest in Peace Trevor.

WALTER AMELING

Anita Tonsing and Family, I’m saddened by your loss. My prayers are with you.

LORRAINE YE

Trevor Tonsing. What can I even begin to say about this wonderful kid? He was honestly one of the nicest and craziest kids out there. He had a big personality wrapped up in a fun size Trevor! Every single time anyone was around him, they were sure to smile. He was an awesome kid. I’ll never forget that time Shalva sprayed him with my water bottle and he had said, “It’s like a cool mist!” Then the bottle burst and drenched him and the one thing I hear is. “FIRST IT WAS A COOL MIST, NOW ITS LIKE A HOSE!”

Trevor is an amazing kid. He will always being amazing. There is only positives.

I know he is currently in heaven, or shall I say, the giant Disneyland in the sky. He’s probably riding Pirates of the Caribbean and looking down on us. He wouldn’t want us to mourn him. He’d want us to celebrate his life. That’s just what we should do. I know one day I’ll meet you again Trevor. As long as we can ride a ride together in the Disneyland in the sky, I’ll be thrilled.

Thoughts and Prayers

CAITLIN MACLEOD

Trevor had a heart bigger than anyone I have ever met. His smile so bright, and his laugh so contagious you couldn’t help but smile when you were near him. he was the type of person you wanted to be around to pick you up when you were down. Trevor had a rare personality that I know anyone would wish to obtain. He could make you smile when you were upset even at the hardest times. He always knew the right things to say. I am so glad that I had the opportunity to meet sucha wonderful person. He has impacted every person that has ever been around him and I know it has been for the good. Hearing the news of such an amazing person like him passing away has affected us all. My thoughts are with you Mr. & Mrs. Tonsing and Kiley

NATALIE FERNANDEZ
Trevor, When I heard the news of what had happened I was shocked, stunned and couldn’t think. I have not seen you in 3 years but as soon as I heard of this tragic news I remembered a story that you had told me in 7th grade that I will never forget… You were walking me to class and you began your story with a song about us flying to the moon…I don’t quite remember the words but after your song was finished you proceeded to tell me that once we got to the moon we would eat a picnic, which was filled with all of my favorite foods. You knew I hated oranges and pickles so you told me that they were banned from the moon and if any pickle or orange came near us while we were having a picnic you would shoot them with your laser vision. This story isn’t Shakespeare but will always be remembered by me… Sitting at my desk thinking of you and what a loss the world has had, such an amazing man has left us and things will never be quite the same but I know that a piece of you will always be with me and with everyone else. I wish could have seen you before you were gone but I’m sure you were still a beautiful human being with a heart of gold and an amazing sense of humor. Rest in Peace my friends, you will NEVER be forgotten. <3

STEVE SONNIER

The world is silent
for a moment in our life
To allow sadness and pain to come out
not anger or strife

To take hold of our grief
and share it with all
Such is the way things happen
when a young one falls

The tears, the memories, the life that was lived
is something for which us to recall
But when someone is lost and now is gone
There is one thing we can do, one thing at all

We can hope and remember, what he did over the years
How he was always there, always smiling without fear

No matter what happens, whether here or far
We can always remember, Trevor, our bright shining star.

Rest in peace my friend. The world is silent
for a moment in our life
To allow sadness and pain to come out
not anger or strife

To take hold of our grief
and share it with all
Such is the way things happen
when a young one falls

The tears, the memories, the life that was lived
is something for which us to recall
But when someone is lost and now is gone
There is one thing we can do, one thing at all

We can hope and remember, what he did over the years
How he was always there, always smiling without fear

No matter what happens, whether here or far
We can always remember, Trevor, our bright shining star.

Rest in peace my friend.

CHRISTIAN CORRALES

Man… I remember 6th period yearbook before I switched out. You use to always talk about Transformers and Disney. I will never forget those times Trevor… Love you bro always.

ANNA LIVSHYTS
Trevor, you were an amazing person. I didn’t know you too well, but I will always remember you as the funny, awesome dude that you were. Rest In Peace. The Tonsing family– our thoughts are with you, best wishes.

JOANN LIANG

The second loss in one year. We don’t know how many other lives have been taken, but for Northgate, two is already enough to bear. I sat in silence in my Government class and let everything go by me. I didn’t know him, I never saw him, but it still scared me. As I walked out of Stat at the end of the day, I realized that everyone had gone quiet. There was almost no sound other than the shuffling of everyone’s shoes everywhere I went. Looking around, I noticed that I was feeling the way that most people had felt when they didn’t know someone who had passed away. Today, I was one of them, surrounded by silence and sadness. I didn’t know how else to react but to reach out to those I knew and hug them closely. I couldn’t give them anything else but comfort and love, yet…it didn’t feel as though it would be enough today.

Trevor, I’ve never known you, but I’m sure you were a really amazing person to meet. I wish I could’ve gotten to know you. You are a good person, and you always will be.

With all my heart and love, rest in peace.

JIMMY CARSKY

I can’t say that I was friends with Trevor but I never had anything against him. He was always so loud and joyous and he always had a smile on his face. From what I have noticed about him since Foothill when I started going to school with him was that he always had a positive attitude and would love to crack jokes. Very original and knew how to entertain a crowd.
I’m mad at myself for not taking the time to get to know you because I know we could have been good friends cause you got along with everyone. But we all know you’re in a better place, but why so soon? People around our school and our community needed to know who you were and know what you are all about and with you leaving us people don’t get to know how funny and lively you were. You are a great person and we all miss you but you’re in a better place now.

VILI BLAGOEVA

I didn’t really know you, Trevor. I passed by you a couple of times in the hall though. You seemed like a cool guy and I’m regretting the fact that I never really talked to you. I’m sure this is really hard on your friends and family but one this is for sure. People that don’t even know you that well (like me) from Northgate and all the other schools you’ve attended, miss you dearly. Rest In Peace

KAITLYNN STRATTON

Trevor was such a little kid, with such a big heart. He brought a smile to me and many others every day. We met in yearbook and it will never be the same without him. He always knew how to make you laugh, and how to make you smile. He will be missed greatly. My love and prayers go out to Trevor and his family. RIP Trevor! we will miss you.

MICHELLE TATEO

Trevor I never knew you personally, but from what I could tell you were the most upbeat, funny, most happy person that everyone loved and to be around! I did talk to you once though. I walked in to your class once with a pass for another student, and you just walked right up to me asking who the pass was for and helped me find the person. And I thought wow, what a very friendly and helpful person. Trevor you were a very sweet boy.
Rest In Peace Trevor you will be missed <3

SARAH Z

Trevor — I didn’t know you as well as I would have liked, but when I saw you, I could tell that you were amazingly funny and had such a passion for life. You’ll always be remembered.

BOB WORTHINGTON

I was honored to be part of the celebration of Trevor’s life yesterday. The love that you showed him and he to you was overwhelmingly powerful. Words cannot express my sorrow. Nor, could any amount of words displace the pain in your hearts. You are in our thoughts and prayers.

LIZ BRAMWELL
Just sending my thoughts and prayers to his family. Hoping you can stay strong during this hard time.

Northgate High ’08 — Sonoma State ’12

ALLEN ZHAO

Time: 12:35 pm
Location: Northgate High School, Room 41

I was having a perfectly fine day, but a little stressed out as I walked into English class to take an exam on Hamlet. Halfway into the period, the announcements suddenly came on and Principal McMorris told us that he had some sad news for us. Before he even finished his sentence, I knew what it was going to be about. I didn’t want to believe it. I couldn’t believe it. It just can’t be true. We already lost a fellow student a few months ago from asthma and I didn’t want to hear another student go because of a medical condition. Wasn’t one student already more than enough? However, I was forced to face reality as Mr. McMorris broke the news to us. My pen, once ready to write the next work to my short answer, froze in midair. My mind went blank in disbelief, and I lost all physical feeling as I absorbed the news of the death of another student. My pen fell silently to the ground, completely unnoticed by anyone — including me. I was frozen. The world had stopped. When I had first heard of his condition, I had full confidence that Trevor would make a full recovery. I was further convinced when announcements came on to tell us that his condition was stable. I guess I let my guard down too soon. In the short space of time, however, I learned how life can stop when we least expect it, when we least want it to. Cherish every moment because you’ll never know when one will lose another loved one. In the end, all we can do is pray for Trevor. RIP.

MARCUS RODRIGUEZ

Trevor I knew you since the sixth grade and you were there with me in some of my classes throughout. Now it upsets me that you have to leave all of your friends and family. Let God take care of you and hope you rest in peace.

MICAELA CIRIMELI

Yesterday, a girl at Clayton Valley High attempted suicide, but the doctors were able to keep her alive.

Today, a boy at Northgate High passes, the doctors couldn’t do anything.

God, how do you choose?

SHALVA ELGAZZAR

What to say…? so much to say. every day at lunch was a new experience with our lil Trevor…cough cough. first week of school I laughed so hard when I had water in my mouth and I soaked you, and you just laughed about it about a month ago… LORRAINE left her water bottle sitting lonely on the ledge, so you decided to poke a hole in it and make it like a fountain in your mouth… so I took the water bottle from you, and I was squirting it in your mouth, and before we all knew it, the water bottle exploded all over you!! Everyone couldn’t stop laughing, you just started throwing popcorn everywhere… need I mention the raisins rararawraw. you truly uplifted every lunch period we had with your spunky personality. you sat next to me in world history, and you would ask me what the Spanish homework was every day, you actually were really intelligent, I think everyone knew that by how much u had to say..all the time. haha . We are really really really really realllllllly going t miss you, and hope you have the time of your life in heaven, oh! and if you read this, just let me know, and throw a water bottle down here, or a Philly cheese steak, or a pizza, cause they all remind us of you. In a good way. I’m really sorry to the Tonsing family for your loss, we will all miss you incredible son..Trevor Tonsing <3

CHRIS VANCE

I never knew Trevor, but it’s obvious that he made a huge impact on Northgate and everyone in it. Hearing some of the things about him and seeing the faces of his many, many friends makes me wish that he had lived long enough that I could meet him. Even just a ‘hello.’ I can only imagine what everyone must be going through, especially his family. I would just like to say that my blessings are with him, his friends, and his family. May he rest in peace. As one of my friends said “I will always remember him as the guy who, as he was being carried out on a stretcher unable to breathe, could still smile at a kid who said ‘hello’ to him.” Amen.

KELSEY AUSTIN

Trevor, how am I supposed to go on being a ninja without you? All the way back in middle school when we first met you were always so funny. You taught me how to be a ninja and I don’t expect anyone to understand that, except me and Megan I love you so much buddy! And am going to miss you telling me your wild ninja adventure stories at school about how you attacked and beat crazy people up. Your imagination was incredible and I can’t believe your gone. your face is so clear in my mind right now it hurts everywhere to think about.
I can’t ever bow to you in the hallways again and have people stare at us in confusion because we didn’t care what they thought. It was like our handshake. I remember doing it for the last time the other day. We didn’t even say anything to each other, just bowed and moved on.

God I’m going to miss that.

I don’t get why you are taken out of this world when you were the one making people so happy. you’re too young. I will pass on your ninjaness but no one will ever EVER take your place. you are THE Ninja Kid and I love you, rest in peace
love always Kelsey (ninja in training)

JR
It breaks my heart to think that a young life was lost. It seems Trevor was a special boy and the pain of his loss will be felt by many. May his memory live forever.

JENICA HUDDLESTON

My thoughts and prayers are with the Tonsing family during this difficult time.

KIRBY HOGENMILLER
Trevor you were a great guy and a great friend there will never be a guy as awesome as funny or as unique as you I will remember you for the rest of my life and remember “you got Moxie” may you rest in peace in Heaven.

ASHLEY LLOYD

I remember Trevor in my Algebra 1 class. He would always make me laugh when I was down or just when he felt silly (which was like every day. I couldn’t even believe what happened, I seriously thought that I was in a dream. And I really wish it was because he was an AWESOME KID TO TALK TO!

All I have to say is that he is looking down at each and every one of us making sure that we are okay. And I know that he wouldn’t want us to be sad because he is now in a better place.

<3 Love you Trevor, you will always be in my heart!!!!!!!!

CARLY PIERCE

Trevor–
I really regret not taking more time to talk to you in eighth grade. You were one of my first friend in middle school, you took the time to actually make me feel included when I didn’t know anyone and I am so grateful. Your spirit, warmth, humor, and happiness will live on forever. I had so many wonderful memories with you.. from science class, to lunch, to core class where you’d wear my sunglasses, to talking about disney, to all the times you stole my backpack and slept on it, to dressing up with you to go see Pirates of the Carribean. Whenever I had a sad day you always cheered me up. You hear people talk about “oh it was so sad he was a great person blah, blah, blah..” but you really were the kindest, funniest, most entertaining person I have ever met. When I first heard I thought, it must be a mistake, Trevor can’t be gone. Not TREVOR. I was in shock, i couldn’t even cry. Then it hit me at your memorial. You were gone. I still can’t believe it. I know your probably hanging out with Walt Disney riding Pirates of the Carribean and trading pins.. your an amazing person Trevor, and everyone here misses you so much.
Autobots, roll out.
Love you, Rest in Peace <3

EVA MINUTOLI

I saw Trevor get carried out on the stretcher to the ambulance. That was the last time I saw him. The first time I saw him he was introduced to me as one of our yearbook editors. Here was this tiny kid with a personality bigger than anyone I knew. He had on a silly red and yellow broncos hat: I couldn’t help but laugh. Trevor made me smile every day with his goofy personality, his robot box, and his huge heart. I knew him for just 4 short months, but he had a truly indescribable impact on my life. Trevor never took anything too seriously, and he was so right in doing so. Life is too short to spend even a moment worrying about something that in the end, is insignificant. I don’t think there’s anyone in our yearbook class, anyone in his life, that didn’t love Trevor to pieces. I wish I had known, the last time he came over to check in on our pages, I wish I could have hugged him, and told him what an incredible person he was. But I think he knew that already. He knew the effect he had on people. Our class will never be the same without him; I know for a fact that I’m a better person because of Trevor. And instead of remembering how hard it was to see him for the last time; so fragile, yet so strong, I remember Trevor as someone who could cheer you up in a second, with a laugh, or a joke, even by just being near you. Trevor’s presence was just that strong. Miss ya like crazy Trevor Tonsing<3

ARVIND RAMESH

Trevor, I never even talked to you once, but just reading what everyone has to say about you has really hit close to home. I don’t know what God’s doing right now, but it’s stuff like this that makes me question if God even exists, because if he did exists, why did he make something like this happen? I’ll miss seeing you out the window during lunch. Take care in heaven dude. R.I.P.

MIGGZ

Trev. I’m writing this, really late at night. I still can’t believe it man. It was a really selfless thing you did; saving many people’s lives than maintain your own. I miss you dude. Heck, we all miss you.

Bond’s class will never be the same without you. Your lively obnoxious behavior was always a cure for our mundane, boring lives, haha.

Goodbye Trev. Thanks for everything. I’ll pray for you every night.

BO GARBER

I met Trevor a while ago sometime in middle school. He was easy to point out, always the most talkative and lively person. If you saw him around school you would have had no idea that he had a heart condition, besides the fact that he never ran in PE. Freshmen year he was in my drama class and we were paired up for the final skit. The skit showed how crazy he was and it made me and him a lot better friends. I can’t remember the last time a saw him. Think it was in line to get pizza, he was always cutting in line with me and got really pissed when anyone cut him, especially freshmen. Its not fair that this happened the day after his birthday he just got a car and it was so close to Christmas. I hope the people who think everything happens for a reason don’t think that way anymore, because there was no reason at all to take the life of a good and happy kid.

VIV

I wasn’t too close to Trevor. Yet when the devastating news came to us after lunch over the intercom, I will bet that the whole school was feeling shock and remorse. The many, many, MANY Facebook posts, status updates, and texts going around about Trevor show that he has touched everyone’s hearts.
During 5th period, after the announcement, I realized that Trevor’s black jacket had been left in the classroom for the past week. Now I realize that it’s just another part of him that is left behind, like the memories I’m sure we will never forget.
The silence during school was crushing. You could hear every sob, every sniffle, and they all cut straight to the heart. It seemed so empty without the laughter and loud chattering. Trevor was the one that made everyone laugh. He could brighten your day with a sarcastic comment, making you realize to never take life too seriously. It takes courage and selflessness to donate your organs to others. I deeply admire that.
My thoughts go to his family during this time–the good truly do die young. He will be remembered forever. Trevor, you had the strongest heart of us all.

MARISSA CORONA

My bud, my partner in crime, my sushi buddy who likes the Fuji mountain roll and his miso soup just right. You had such a presence, such a personality, such a sense of outrageously fantastic stomach-cramping-on-the-floor-giggling humor, and a wit more clever than anyone I’ve ever known. To know you Trevor, was to love you. There are very few people in this world such a statement applies to and you’re one of them. The last time I saw you was when I dropped you off at your house on a Friday afternoon in September, slamming my car door shut I said see ya when I get back from school, we’ll go to Zachary’s pizza and you can complain to me about the stress of yearbook deadlines or the incompetent staffers. Over the last couple days I’ve been thinking about all my memories of you. I remember when you made that stupid dutch/boat hat out of newspaper and demanded we take pictures of you creepily posing with random kid around school, frantically running around the halls both thinking it was just the funniest thing–placing it in the sophomore mug section of the yearbook. I remember you sitting with Jess and Abby on a long Friday night deadline making Facebook videos. I remember, very randomly, and vividly, walking home from elementary school with you down Wiget. Nothing I can say will ever do you justice. As Tiffany wrote earlier, I’ll see ya again in Gnarnia.

SABOO

I only met you at the start of this school year. having lunch with you, warren, Lorraine, and the others, will always be one of my greatest memories. I wish I could have known you for longer. You were always one of the best parts of my life, and now when you’re not here anymore, there’s just this big gap. You used to make me laugh, and now you make me cry. But I know you wouldn’t want us to be sad, so I’m going to do my best to be happy. when you left I just felt confused, but I am sure you must be happy in heaven. I still remember the last time I saw you, and how I gave you a bro-hug. Wish you could have heard Shalva say my name one more time, cause I remember how much you loved it. And one day, I’m going to stand on Northgate’s roof, and I’ll see all those pizza crusts and water bottles that are up there. You were an awesome kid, and we all are happy to have know you.

In our hearts till the end. Rest in peace, Trevor my friend.

Your Indian brother– Saboo.

MEGAN HAMBERLIN
I walked into 5th period and waited for the bell to ring. I noticed that Mr. Muillnberg was sitting in the front of the class, Mrs. Starr looking a little flustered… she proceeded to leave, and Mr. Muillenberg told us she had a meeting to attend. We were working on posters, laughing and having a good time. When the loud speaker came on…Mrs. Starr walked in the room, tears forming in her eyes. Silence fell when Mr. McMorris told us the sad news. I never thought I would be so impacted by this. I couldn’t place the name Trevor Tonsing with a face, but upon seeing his picture my eyes were flooded with tears and my heart overwhelmed with emotion. Why did this have to happen?

I didn’t know Trevor, but I had seen him walking the halls. Each and every time with a bright shining smile on his face. I’d see him in my locker row during brunch, telling a funny story or just offering a friendly hello to his fellow classmates. He really was a funny kid, the kind of person you just know would make a great friend. If only I was given the opportunity to have him as a friend. You’ll always be remembered Trevor. My thoughts and prayers are with you, Tonsing family.

ANONYMOUS LAWYER

Acquainted with Trevor’s father Jon + heart goes out to him and family. As father of 11 year old son, I’m so sorry for the unimaginable loss of your beautiful boy.

ANONYMOUS #1

I never personally knew Trevor, but he always seemed like a happy kid. I specifically remember the day before Halloween, he came into the Bakers United Club and asked for a cookie. He was so funny and nice that we couldn’t resist to give him one.

Rest in peace, Trevor.

ANONYMOUS #2

They don’t need someone like you up there, WE need someone like you down here. Rest in Peace.

ANONYMOUS #3

Love you Trevor.

ANONYMOUS #4
Since the day we heard the news about him going to the hospital every time an announcement came on I would think “Please say Trevor’s okay please god.” But today when we got the news that he passed it hit many. Not just students, teachers, staff and the whole community. It didn’t really seem real till I was walking to 6th period. The halls were filled with sniffles and weeps and crying. It fully hit me when one of Trevor’s friends walked in sobbing. Then I realized, this is real. I just sat there, I didn’t move. Sat there and thought he’s really gone. I got up to go to the bathroom, and everyone was in the library and in between the hall way by the girls bathroom. When I walked in I saw my friend Lauren, and I started to cry more. she didn’t say anything but as they say actions speak louder then words. That action screamed at me, it screamed that she cared. When I walked back into class I just sat back down and didn’t talk. my friend came over and put her arm around me, that screamed to. When she started talking about what happened the boy behind me started crying. Someone close to him had the same problem. I didn’t have the will to turn around and look at him because I knew it was to hard. When the bell rang at 1:55 I was crying and when someone asked me are you okay I thought what if someone asked Trevor that earlier? would he still be here? then I kept walking. Silent. the only time I spoke was to someone I’m not that close to. I said hey do you need a hug? they didn’t say anything so I knew they needed one. they looked at me and said thanks.

Rip Trevor.
you live on forever

ANONYMOUS #5
I didn’t know you as well as I would have liked to. You were an amazing person. You brought joy to all those around you. RIP

ANONYMOUS #6

If there is one good thing to be said about death, it is that it does not discriminate. Death is not racist, sexist, ageist, or any other such word one can come up with. It strikes everywhere, often with no mercy.

Well, perhaps there is one more (real) good thing to be said about death: it brings people together in times of crisis. To every dark there is a light, after all. Today I was reminded that there are many people just like me. I think random people gave me hugs and touched my arm more than any other time in my life. And you know what? It helped. Every little thing helped. The fact that someone else was reaching out – literally or figuratively – to tell me that they knew and felt what I was going through just helped.

If there is something positive to take away from Trevor’s passing, let it be that idea. Tomorrow at school, don’t just wear black. Help someone. Tell them you love them. Think for a moment about that friend you used to know, find them, reconnect with them. Please take something positive from this harsh and unreal news. Personally, I think it’s what Trevor would have wanted.
How many of you woke up this morning and thought, “I love my family, my friends mean the world to me, and I’m thankful for what I have”? Right. And how many of you thought, “Five more minutes”? Exactly. What did Trevor Tonsing think this morning? He decided to donate his organs to those who needed them, despite the jarring knowledge that he was going to die soon.

There is a picture Trevor once posted on Facebook. It is a photo of a sheep wearing a pirate hat and it reads, “Frank was not like other sheep”. Trevor’s caption says, “I’m like Frank sorta maybe in a way”. You’re absolutely right Trevor – you aren’t like anyone else. Know that we will never forget you.

ANONYMOUS #7

I didn’t know you but you seemed like the happiest kid. I wish I would’ve gotten to know you because you are described as someone who always brought smiles to faces.. rest in peace keep smiling in heaven. my thought and prayers are with your family during this hard time, <3.

ANONYMOUS #8

Northgate loves you.

ANONYMOUS #9

I only new Trevor in name. He was the short, funny sophomore who told great stories. People loved him. I loved hearing about him, in the way that anyone loves hearing a funny story. I know more about him now, that he has an incredibly selfless nature. Everyone’s heard the saying that the good die young, but I don’t think most of us felt how true that saying could be until Trevor’s death was announced, and the whole school sat in stunned silence. And the silence seemed to last, until one by one our classmates excused themselves to the library, stumbling to a provided source of comfort as if they weren’t sure they were really standing. For a just a little while, we all saw past any petty arguments we may have had with one another, and recognized that we all felt just the same. And although it was a sad feeling, it was also a beautiful glimpse at an understanding which we can only dream of. Trevor brought joy to those who knew him. His selflessness is now what people throughout the school know him for. And thanks to him, we know a little more about each other too. Tomorrow will carry a bittersweet flavor, as the student body reminisces and comforts and cries. With time, we will look back to our memories of him with joy. Until that day comes, the halls will be full of sympathy, respect, and love for those around us who grieve, and for Trevor himself. Rest in Peace, my friend.

ANONYMOUS #10
I remember the first time I met you Trevor. Your sense of humor put a smile on my face and your care-free ways always gravitated people towards you. I did not get to know you as much as I wanted too, but you were one amazing boy. You will be missed <3

ANONYMOUS #11

I want to write something meaningful here, something that will somehow portray to everyone what an amazing, joyful, hilarious, and kind person Trevor was, but that is impossible. As I stare at this page with my fingertips hovering above the keyboard, memories of the time I spent with Trevor rush into my head at an overwhelming rate. I cannot think clearly, I cannot comprehend why this happened. It’s unfair. How can someone with so much joy, so much love, and so much life be gone? I will never, ever be able to understand why he had to go so early. however I can honestly say I will never forget Trevor, and he made such a positive impact on my life, always smiling, always telling jokes. I’m going to miss talking to him every day, and I can honestly say I will never, ever forget him. He made such a positive impact in my life. I will always remember the days where he would be the only one to get me smiling and laughing, when everything else seemed to be falling apart. I love you forever Trevor.

ANONYMOUS #12

Trevor I talked to you not too long ago you ran up and started telling me a story… I ended up laughing. That’s how you were, you could always make everyone laugh! I couldn’t believe that day when they had said you were in the hospital… I said to myself you’ll be back hell be back.The next day they said he is okay! and I thought everything was going to be okay..but today I found out the worse… Trevor R.I.P. you’re going to a better place now where u can make everyone up in heaven laugh like you did here. My heart goes out to Trevor’s family. Love you Trevor

ANONYMOUS #13

We miss you Trevor. You will all be in our hearts every day.

ANONYMOUS #14
You will always be in our hearts

ANONYMOUS #15

I didn’t know you that well, but I did see you around often and heard great things about you from friends of mine, and on my way to last period, I’ve never experienced such an absolute silence in the hallway. Everyone was shaken at the beginning of the week when we heard the announcement concerning your coma, everyone’s faces beamed when we heard you were going to make it, and today, upon hearing the announcement that you chose to donate organs to help others in need, everyone was rooted in place, our language was stifled, our tongue was foreign to words, our hearts plummeted, and our eyes leaked, but we know, everyone knows, that you’re a beautiful kid, that you did such a selfless thing, that you will continue to live on through our souls.

Rest in peace, Trevor. Say hi to Mikey for us, alright? We’ll miss you.

ANONYMOUS #16

I never had the opportunity to meet you, but everyone keeps telling me the same thing about you. You have a big heart and can put a smile on anyone’s face. While I never knew you, you still put a big impact on my life. Sometimes I really have to question the big guys decisions. No one deserves anything like this. Please tell Michael we say hi. You will be greatly missed.
RIP Trevor

ANONYMOUS #17

Trevor, I’ve never met you before and I don’t even go to Northgate. I actually go to Foothill, but when I heard of the shocking news, I felt as if I had always known you. I asked my brother if he knew you, since he graduated from Northgate last year. He said that he did, and that he knew your sister Kiley too. He questioned on why I had asked and I gave him the sad news. He’s shocked that you went away so fast and that you didn’t quite get the chance to say goodbye to everybody. We know that you are currently looking down on us all, watching and making sure we are all okay. It scares me just thinking about how on Sunday, you were perfectly fine, then all of a sudden, it was Monday and the worst came. But it scares everyone about how they were sitting in their classes today, not being able to do anything. 8:00a.m.-you’re still alive, 9:00a.m.-you’re still alive, 10:00a.m.-I wish you didn’t have to go!

R.I.P. Trevor. You will be greatly missed and forever in our hearts.

ANONYMOUS #18

Trevor, I didn’t even know you, I passed you in the hall a few times. I am deeply saddened by your passing. Rest in Peace.

ANONYMOUS #19
Everyone knows you didn’t deserve this, but I’m sure the man up stairs has some big things planned for you lil bro I never got to even meet you, but just seeing what others have said about you just makes me tear up. I am praying for you and your family. I just wish I had the chance to meet you just one time. I’m going to miss not seeing you outside the bathrooms during lunch, playing some crazy game with your friends. We’ll meet again, but until then, take care. There are no goodbyes, only see you later’s.

ANONYMOUS #20

Trevor–
I didn’t get to know you that well. Didn’t talk to you much until this year. Which really sucks because I would have loved to know you longer. I hung around you quite a bit, but I’m not sure we ever had a legit one on one conversation. But somehow you managed to make everyone in the group laugh. You brought smiles to so many people. I promise you, you will never be forgotten. It just will not be the same without you, and I know that’s super cliche but it is SO true, I’ve never meant it more. I really hope you’re in a better place. Even though I didn’t know you as well, as soon as I heard the news (a little bit before the announcement) I just had to go to the bathroom and bawl my eyes out. We just kept praying it was only a rumor. The announcement made us realized it wasn’t and we started crying so hard. When we were in that room and everyone was bawling and people talked about memories they had with you, we just kept crying because it made us realize how much we were gonna miss you. It is so obvious how much everyone loved you. My opinions of the people in that room completely disappeared, and all I saw them as were people who truly treasured you as a friend.

Mr. & Mrs Tonsing and Kiley, my thoughts are with you
<3 RIP Trevor Tonsing

ANONYMOUS #21

You still got the strongest heart I’ve ever seen.

Keep the mood light in heaven, I’m sure even the angels are sad you had to go.

ANONYMOUS #22

I’ll always miss your jokes even though some were making fun of us. You always made me laugh, although now your making my cry. I’ll always remember you for your great knowledge of Disneyland and those amazing Halloween costumes! You lived a great life.

ANONYMOUS #23

Dear Trevor,
As you’re sitting up there, in a happier place, know that your spirit and essence will always be here, in the memories of those who cared about you.
This isn’t “goodbye”. This is “see you later”.

ANONYMOUS #24

Trevor, I didn’t really know you well and I wish I did.
you were a great kid and we will all miss you

Rest In Peace, Trevor

ANONYMOUS #25

Trevor, I didn’t know you and you didn’t know me, I just wanted to tell you that, while I didn’t know you, you are the strongest person I know for living with your condition and although you have passed I know you have gone on to a better place and I hope when I get up there we can be friends because everyone that knew you had the greatest things to say about you and hopefully I will be able to learn for myself.

Sincerely,
An Admirer

ANONYMOUS #26

An amazing kid, great big heart, and a beaming smile. We love you and I know you are up there somewhere in peace. My thoughts are with Trevor and his family. <3

ANONYMOUS #27
Wow I’m so shocked that this happened. Trevor was in my 7th grade core class, and ever since then he was the craziest guy I knew. You’re always so happy and I thought it was hilarious when you would try to hook up with Danielle. Good times!! I’ll be praying for you

ANONYMOUS #28

RIP.
You will be missed forever.

ANONYMOUS #29
Trevor I have never met you and never heard your name before Monday. It is such a tragedy that a person so young left so soon. From the people around me, I could tell that you were very loved. I could tell that many people were devastated to hear the news… you are more brave than many people could ever be. I pray that you will be in paradise with our heavenly father soon. I pray that your family will be strong during this difficult time. You will not be forgotten, rest in peace.

ANONYMOUS #31
Trevor, I never knew you but from everything I heard, you were kind, free-spirited, honest, and intelligent. The world needs more people like you and it’s sad that you’re gone. You’ll be deeply missed. Rest in Peace.

ANONYMOUS #32

Oh we never know where life will take us
I know it’s just a ride on the wheel
And we never know when death will shake us
And we wonder how it will feel

So goodbye my friend
I know I’ll never see you again
But the time together through all the years
Will take away these tears
It’s okay now
Goodbye my friend

ANONYMOUS #33

Trevor, I will never forget the happiness and eternal smiles you brought me. I will always remember carpooling to Pre-K together, putting a smile on my face each and every day.

I regret drifting apart from you in elementary and middle school but we reconnected in high school, frequently eating lunch together. I can still remember the last time I saw you; you constructed an elaborate plan to play a joke on a fellow student. The execution was flawed, but it was hilarious nonetheless.

At the end of lunch, you reached out for a hug. I obliged and embraced you like a brother. Despite your struggle to escape my clutches, I held on. Finally, I let go. At the time, the prolonged hug was awkward; but, now I feel fortunate. You were a great person, and you will live on in all of our hearts.

“After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure.” — J.K. Rowling

ANONYMOUS #34

it’s funny how you grow up being so close but so far.
All our stupid family gatherings and such. You were always so full of energy and life.
You will be missed Trevor.
R.I.P.

ANONYMOUS #35

Trevor, I have never seen you, or never spoken to you. But I have heard from my friends you are a great guy. like a rock hitting a still lake, your ripples touch those all over, people like me who have never talked to you. Hearing great stories about you and the great friend you are to so many made me feel the urge to write this. Now I say present tense not as a mistake but to say you are still with your loved ones even if your physical body isn’t. God Bless You!

ANONYMOUS #36

Trevor, I can’t really say that we were friends, we were more of acquaintances. We’ve gone to the same school ever since I was little and talked once or twice. I wish I got to know you as a person better. I’ve heard so many great things about you. You effected so many peoples lives. When we got the news on Monday, everyone was concerned, and when we got the news that you were going to be okay, everything was okay again. But, yesterday. My friend came up to me during 5th saying she saw people crying in the hallways, because you had passed. I didn’t know what to believe, and I didn’t want to believe it. It was too soon for you to go. A few minutes later, they announced it. A silence somber took over the class, my teacher was crying and barely anyone was moving. A few minutes later everyone was trying to get there mind off of it. Walking to 6th; seeing everyone. It had hit me. Even though I barely knew you at all, I started bawling. Someone so young doesn’t deserve this. It’s truly a scary thing. I couldn’t stay in my class I needed to talk to someone. For once, everyone was being nice to each other and there was so much sympathy. It’s terrible that it had to go to this extreme for us to act like this. When the bell rang for school to be over, I’ve never heard it so quite in the hallways. Barely anyone was saying a word. You seemed like a free-spirited, easy going, fun-loving person. It’s really a shame that your life was taken too soon, but know that you will always be remembered and you will always be loved by your fellow students. My prayers and thoughts go out to your family. Rest in Peace Trevor Tonsing.

ANONYMOUS #37

Trevor you should see all the people in the library. It’s crazy man. And dude your locker, all your favorite candies, flowers, cards, and candy canes. We miss you so much man. Miss you. See you in heaven little man.

ANONYMOUS #38
This is so sad. Rest in peace and I hope you have a nice time in heaven Trevor.

ANONYMOUS #39

Okay, so Trevor I know this is definitely not the last time we’ll talk eventually I’ll meet ya up there at the biggest most amazing Disneyland ever. We’ll ride all the rides you’ll keep giving me the little quirky random facts about Disneyland I never really wanted to know but since you’re telling me I care. Taking your life so early on was cruel to everyone. I doubt anyone knew how to enjoy life more than you did. Out of every situation you would be able to crack a joke or make me laugh. I wish I shared that gift with you and could make some sort of a joke about this but I can’t. I guess just thanks for living the life you had tithe fullest and touching so many other lives on the way. I’ll miss you.

ANONYMOUS #40

R.i.P.

TREVOR TONSiNG.

MAY YU REST iN PEACE.

GODBlESS U & DA FAMM..

STEPHANIE CHAN

Today, in history class I was staring blankly at Mr. Boyd’s article on addressing the “World on Terror” when suddenly a male voice interrupted the silence. “Excuse me for this interruption. But we have bad news.” And it seemed as if everyone knew the news already. After the intercom announcement was finish, silence resumed. Except this was a different kind of silence. A somber silence. Mr. Boyd looked at his book and looked up at us. “If you need to go to the library, you can go. But in a way this teaches us all a lesson. That we must appreciate what we have in life.” Then he resumed the lesson. I found it ironic that when someone dies, anyone, even an amazing person like Mother Theresa or a celebrity like Heath Ledger, the world still turns. It does not stop for a moment to let everyone absorb the cold bitter reality that a student may not be with us tomorrow. That a student may not even last the night.

I never knew Trevor. I will not pretend that I know him either so I can tell people that I “understand their pain”. Because really I do not. I never lost anyone close to me other than my pets. But this new death scared the shit out of me like Mike Gaines death last year. Why? Because I believe youth is immortality. That when you are young, the only thing that can really destroy is heartbreak. But death? Never. Dying as a young person was never acceptable in my world. But that kind of thinking is extremely ignorant and this other death put me face to face with the idea again. That Death takes everyone. Sometimes it will wait and sometimes it will just grab the person by surprise. Death does not discriminate.

When my friend was driving me home today, his little sister was crying in the car. There again. The somber silence. He tried playing some music but the first thing that came on was “How to Save a Life”. Fitting. He quickly switched from song to song but it still could not silence her quiet snuffling. Now I know her and I would say that maybe we are more than acquaintances but not exactly friends yet. And as he drove me home, I thought, “Well what should I do? I feel like I should do something”. I finally decided that it was better to “ask for forgiveness than for permission”. So when I left the car, I leaned in and hugged her.

People at school talk about Challenge day like it is the most amazing event in the world and you miss out if you never experience it. Now of course I would not know since I have never participated in it but I find it ironic and a bit amusing that the people who do are only affected for a short period of time, then go back to their normal selves. But I feel like this time it is different. If I was able to reach out to someone I did not really know and give that person a hug I am quite sure other people can too. Maybe that hug did nothing. Maybe that hug increased the sadness. Perhaps it brought comfort. Sometimes, all people need is to knowledge that someone is always willing to lend comfort and listen to them. That they may feel alone in the world but they certainly are not.

One thing that certainly made me twirl my hair and rub my face a lot during the announcement was when our principal said that Trevor decided to donate his organs to save others. It was a selfless decision. That one young boy thinks of others rather than himself while he has the knowledge that he will die soon. That he does not exclaim to God, “How unfair” or think, “Why didn’t I do this or that?” No. He is thinking of someone else. Of others. It was a beautiful gesture.

I would like to end with a quote from Tuesdays with Morrie.

“But it’s like I keep telling you. When you learn how to die, you learn how to live.” (Albom 104).

May angels lead you in Trevor. May angels lead you in.

• Photo by Caitlin Modlin / Used with Permission

I never knew Trevor. I will not pretend that I know him either so I can tell people that I “understand their pain”. Because really I do not. I never lost anyone close to me other than my pets. But this new death scared the shit out of me like Mike Gaines death last year. Why? Because I believe youth is immortality. That when you are young, the only thing that can really destroy is heartbreak. But death? Never. Dying as a young person was never acceptable in my world. But that kind of thinking is extremely ignorant and this other death put me face to face with the idea again. That Death takes everyone. Sometimes it will wait and sometimes it will just grab the person by surprise. Death does not discriminate.

When my friend was driving me home today, his little sister was crying in the car. There again. The somber silence. He tried playing some music but the first thing that came on was “How to Save a Life”. Fitting. He quickly switched from song to song but it still could not silence her quiet snuffling. Now I know her and I would say that maybe we are more than acquaintances but not exactly friends yet. And as he drove me home, I thought, “Well what should I do? I feel like I should do something”. I finally decided that it was better to “ask for forgiveness than for permission”. So when I left the car, I leaned in and hugged her.

People at school talk about Challenge day like it is the most amazing event in the world and you miss out if you never experience it. Now of course I would not know since I have never participated in it but I find it ironic and a bit amusing that the people who do are only affected for a short period of time, then go back to their normal selves. But I feel like this time it is different. If I was able to reach out to someone I did not really know and give that person a hug I am quite sure other people can too. Maybe that hug did nothing. Maybe that hug increased the sadness. Perhaps it brought comfort. Sometimes, all people need is to knowledge that someone is always willing to lend comfort and listen to them. That they may feel alone in the world but they certainly are not.

One thing that certainly made me twirl my hair and rub my face a lot during the announcement was when our principal said that Trevor decided to donate his organs to save others. It was a selfless decision. That one young boy thinks of others rather than himself while he has the knowledge that he will die soon. That he does not exclaim to God, “How unfair” or think, “Why didn’t I do this or that?” No. He is thinking of someone else. Of others. It was a beautiful gesture.

I would like to end with a quote from Tuesdays with Morrie.

“But it’s like I keep telling you. When you learn how to die, you learn how to live.” (Albom 104).

May angels lead you in Trevor. May angels lead you in.

• Photo by Greg Foster / Used with Permission

Chart 1–1 (a bastardisation)
Left

• Direct Fact Retrieval
• Grammar/Vocabulary
• Literal Language
• Linear Reasoning
• Conception of Present and Past
• Detail Perception
• Practical

Right

• Approximate Numerical Calculations
• Prosodic Language
• Visual/Audiological Processing
• Facial Perception
• Artistic Ability
• Philosophical Rumination
• Emotional
• Conception of Present and Future

Works Cited and Consulted

• The Origin of Consciousness in the Breakdown of the Bicameral Mind by Julian Jaynes; published by Princeton University.
• The Iliad ostensibly by Homer
• Antigone by Sophocles
• Agamemnon by Aeschylus
• Courage As A Marker of Gender Variance: The Hippocratic Ideology of Conception in On Regimen by Walter D. Penrose, Jr.
• An introductory linguistics lecture I sat in on at University of Washington, Seattle.

• Photo by “Phault” / Used with Permission

However, to be able to rely on the self solely is far from the grasps of man. To not be a conformist in a society that tries to push its morals and values on each of its members. A man could not survive in society if he relied on what his mind told him and cared not what other people placed as laws, foundations, taboos, social obligations, etc. The society would not let him live. For at some points, at at least one key decision in his life, he would have to go against what that society told him to do. Many people must face these decisions in the form of their ethical values. Yet if he was to do this act, as a man who is self reliant he would not seek to keep the knowledge of this doing from his fellow man, nor would he flaunt it, he would simply live and let live. On the other hand, if he was a man ruled by society, he would do all in his power to keep any others from knowing that he had gone against society and he was to be discovered it would be the end of the world for him. In both situations, if the man committing this crime against society was to be caught, he would be shunned, ostracized, murdered, no good could come of his actions being exposed. Unless, that is, if the society was all the same man, they all thought the same way, they all were exactly the same and so they would understand what this man did for they are that man.

Even Ralph Waldo Emerson, one of the greatest thinkers on self reliance, must have made some concessions to society in order to be a part of a society. Society is all conformity and for any man to stay self reliant he cannot stay in another man’s society. The society we live in today, we like to consider as “our society” when really society is really “another man’s society” because it is the grouped thinking of many men that create a society. Society can never allow for self reliance and still consider itself a society for society is the grouped thinking and if one person, one insignificant part of that society is not keen to all the ideas of the society then is he really a part of that society. The people, as it is human nature to be cruel, would cast him from society because of his different ideals. Society does not allow for diversity. Not in the sense that it is diversity or bigotry that rules the society, but in its morals and ideals. For society’s compilation of morals and ideals is what makes it a great society, however, those morals and ideals begin to mesh into universal ones is what makes it a true society. The best examples can always be observed on a small scale. If no one likes a child on the playground, he will not have friends, and he does not have friends because his ideas are different than those of his classmates.

The only possible way to remain entirely self reliant to create “one’s own society”. The compilation of the ideals and morals that are defined in the society are defined by one mind and not many so that the only ideas in play are ones that man believes. Authority frowns on the ideas of the single man and if the only authority is oneself then you cannot frown upon your own actions because they are all choices you have made. The phrase, “stick to your decisions” is most essential to the idea of self reliance for it is the epitome of the philosophical idea of self reliance. So truly, self-reliance is possible, however, it is impossible to achieve as a functioning member of society.

• Photo by Tom Giebel / Used with Permission

These dreams are what keep it all together.
Like falling shapes,
everything fits perfectly.
What more could a boy ask for,
sitting and wishing on every star,
hoping for something,
or anything at all.

Could we go back to when our minds were young
and our hearts were strong,
nothing in the world could stop us,
but everything in the world would shape us.
I saw the star that could save this city,
burning so bright, you light up this city.

These dreams are what keep it together
like falling shapes,
everything fits perfectly.
What more could a boy ask for,
what more could a boy ask for.
Countless romantics count for nothing,
but for you I’ll shine just a little bit brighter.

There’s some things I wish never happened,
words I wish were never said,
some roads that should have never been taken.
But I’ve burned a couple bridges,
turned a couple pages and I’m not ashamed and I don’t regret.

These dreams are what keep it together
like falling shapes,
everything fits perfectly.
What more could a boy ask for,
what more could a boy ask for
If I had one chance
I would bring it all back to you.

• Photo by Stefan Van der Straeten / Used with Permission

I’m also a telepath. That’s pretty controversial, too, but everyone here is too gentlemanly or ladylike to admit it. I can see it already; no need to hide it: everyone in this room who isn’t a telepath is either shifting in their seats or wanting to. And there’s only one telepath here. I make you feel on-edge. Just by being in this room. You think I’m going to use my Telepathic Magic Voodoo Powers to make you feel some way or do some thing that you wouldn’t want to do normally. I could. I manipulate people sometimes. Make them enjoy things, pick them up when they’re feeling down. That’s part of why they pay me so much. If I were really trying, I could make all of you absolutely thrilled to be here, but you’d just be watching me up here concentrating on making you happy and I really do have something to say.

Everyone in this room is a businessperson. I know. Funny, isn’t it? A social artist who’s a businessperson! Why, that girl can’t even trade stocks worth a darn. But I have a business. I sell my time, just like every other social artist, and I publicize myself, just like I’m doing right now.

As businesspeople, we’re influential. I encourage you all to donate to Telepaths for Equality. That may sound hypocritical coming from someone who’s paid extra for being a telepath, and also because some jobs can only be held by us, but really, we just want people to understand. We know you’re afraid. Why wouldn’t you be? There are these creeps running around, reading minds and manipulating emotions; that’s scary. It makes you feel insecure. To use a term we hear too much in telepathic equality talks nowadays: I understand. But I really do. Only telepaths can really trust other tels. But things are getting out of hand.

Hate crimes against telepaths are down since the Integration 300 years ago. But they still happen. They happen on Mars, right here in Esperanta. They happen on Nardaia II, the great learning center of our culture. There are worlds where telepaths are afraid to go, or where they’re afraid to be outside at night, just because of this stupid piece of genetic code. Telepaths for Equality sends volunteers to schools to educate children about telepaths. There’s a lot of misinformation out there and we want to correct that. We’re acting to ensure that telepathic rights will someday be second nature, just as women’s rights, racism, and homosexual equality are no longer problems. If you donate just a small portion of the profits your companies make to our cause, you will be saving and improving the lives of your fellow human beings in the near and distant future. Thank you.

Author’s Comments: Andrea is a social artist. Basically, people hire her for a certain period of time and she does what they want. She’s very skilled and has risen quickly in her field. She is always very calculated, but when she’s talking about hate crimes against telepaths, I let her get loud and angry when I performed this piece. I kept my body fairly stiff, though, since full-on loss of control would be entirely unlike her.

She has been the subject of a hate crime. Early in her career, she was brutalized for being telepathic on her way home from work. She knows what she’s talking about. She lives on Mars, in the capital city of Esperanta, an undetermined number of years from now. Earth is covered in machinery and the atmosphere is so bad that nobody goes there except for maintenance of the machines. Mars is the capital planet of the interplanetary culture. Andrea makes it her business to stay on Mars as much as she can because of the general acceptance of, if not friendliness toward, telepaths. It is also the planet with the largest population, percentage-wise, of telepaths. Andrea went to college at the University of Nardaia II, which is also referenced in the monologue.

Andrea is 34 years old when she gives this speech, whatever that means to you.

She is very comfortable around CEOs, celebrities, etc., as they make up the bulk of her clientele. The speech is delivered to the CEOs and upper-level managers of multiplanetary corporations.

Telepaths, as vessels for delivering monologues, give a unique perspective into human nature. They know our thoughts. They understand how we think. They are sensitive to all of our concerns. She is not listening to the thoughts of anybody in the audience specifically, but she may be monitoring the mood or completely blocking them out, depending on how you decide to perform it. You could add in lines like, “The mood of this room is so tense” in the second paragraph if you want to, depending on how you decide to portray her.

Have fun performing this monologue if you choose it! Have fun reading it if you’re only reading it. I know that these are some pretty extensive comments, but I want people to be able to understand this character as well as I do. You don’t need to read these comments or pay attention to all of them; your monologue would be less constricted if you only used the suggestions you wanted to. I hope that you find Andrea easy to understand and natural to perform. I’ve tried to make her a very universal character. Thank you for reading!

• Photo by Jean-Etienne Minh-Duy Poirrier / Used with Permission

Where’s my baby? Where?
Tomorrow.

And the brass chimes chime.
The glimmering carp swirl.
Streamers float in the wind.

Gazelle.
Blink the black eyelashes.
A scent in the air.

Promising good things.

The cloud settles on the horizon.
Vows of sweet rain
for decades.

Promising good things.

The pollen dandy.
Snuff. Out the light.
Flick the switch.

You don’t know me.
I slither.
I watch. wait.
Ready.
For tomorrow.

And the mailbox opens.
Tunnel vision.

The promises walking, alive.

My life baking in the oven.
Wipe the dew from your forehead.
Curl into a dark hole.

And emerge in a blanket of stars.

• Photo by Ville Miettinen / Used with Permission

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As a young child, I was first introduced to these wonderful worlds by my brother, who was himself an avid reader early in his life. One author in particular, Roald Dahl, wove detailed tales of colorful characters that captivated my nascent intellect. I was enthralled by the daring escapades of Mr. Fox and the ingenious methods he used to elude the three greedy farmers that attempted to capture him and his family. Of course, the ramifications of his actions escaped me; I didn’t realize yet that the farmers were completely justified in seeking to stop the pest that was constantly raiding the spoils of their labor, no matter the harshness of their working methods. What mattered was that, even when he was cornered, his family slowly starving before his eyes, he found a way to turn the situation to his advantage, and ended up in a better scenario than ever before. His ability to turn disaster into opportunity opened my eyes to avenues in life that I never knew existed.

As I grew, so did my repertoire of literature, and gradually my perception evolved, moving on from the good and evil morality plays of Redwall to the more ambiguous motives and underlying themes prevalent through more mature fantasies. Harry Potter in particular was surrounded by characters whose morality and intentions are obscured, leaving the reader just as uninformed as the character. The problems faced are much more realistic and less one-dimensional, requiring more delicate and complex solutions. In the series with adolescent protagonists, I realized that the authority figures that the main character is told to obey very often did not have the best interests of the characters in mind. The characters are only successful in their endeavors when they confront their problems on their own and with their own conclusions. Independence in thought is important, but that isn’t to say that a rational thinker should ignore all external stimuli and aid from others.

Eventually, I did outgrow my penchant for following a single genre, and expanded into others, though I still read fiction predominantly. When my brother suggested that I read a collection of short stories about Sherlock Holmes, a character that everyone is familiar with, I took his advice and very shortly found a new obsession. The problems he faced were grotesque yet commonplace and all too realistic; as were the inferences and observations he employed to unravel them. Most striking was the fact that he had no higher authority to turn to for help (his brother is more of an equal), and that while his train of thought was almost exclusively sovereign to his own mind, he had a partner that he both relied on and confided in. In the stories, Watson’s suggestions are rarely helpful, and the solo missions that Holmes sends him on are infallibly failures. Watson’s value lies in his complete lack of deceit and ready ear. He is a sounding board which Holmes can bounce his unsounded intuitions off of, a fresh perspective. From this understanding, I appreciated that even the greatest genius will overlook minutiae that can be vital to a solution, not because of indifference or oversight or any mental flaws or failing, but simply because of the differences in thought process to another person. I valued the opinions and insights of others much more greatly after this life lesson.

Here my brother and I parted our literary ways, him wandering off into the realm of philosophers and dreamers, while I trod the steady path of the storytellers. He read for enlightenment and knowledge, and as much as I respected that and enjoyed the insights I received from reading, I honestly only read for the enjoyment, as I still do today. I devoured whatever was written by any author who could hold my attention, eschewing the illuminating yet boring texts that my brother was constantly suggesting. It may be that I was holding the independence treasured by many of my beloved characters a little bit too dearly (conversely to the ideal of independence) and purposefully avoiding my brother’s influence, but only in hindsight could such an introversion possibly be so obvious. With all the experiences I’ve had since then, I can see how immature my actions were, how oblivious the reasons I had for attempting to shake off the shackles of conformity I believed were heaped upon me by school and society. Regardless, the sheer volume of material that I studied has so far been unmatched in my life.

Maybe if I had been more open minded and less selfish with my own beliefs, I would have been more productive and garnered more from the books I read. Maybe If I hadn’t been so infatuated by high adventure and magic during my earlier years I would have advanced more progressively in my interests. Maybe, but then I would definitely not be who I am today. I believe that the contrast between what I believed and what I aspired to be drove me forward back then, just as it does today. Had I not been so immature when all I wanted was to grow up, or been such a conventional rebel when I was attempting to form my own identity, I doubt anything would have catalyzed such a change in my character.  Today I may realize this and consider it true, but tomorrow always brings new insights, and most importantly, a fresh perspective. Good paradigms rarely stand for long.

• Photo by Natalia Osiatynska / Used with Permission

He remembers how lonely he sometimes feels.

Then one day he meets a girl, and starts to think “Maybe she could make me happy!” So he makes a decision. A decision to try and hope for the best. Soon, this idea becomes something that he believes very deeply in, simply because he wants it so bad. For a time, THE BEST, seems like it’s going to finally happen. But pretty soon, he finds out that THE BEST isn’t going to happen this time around.

He remembers how happy he was before he found out.

Months pass without seeing the first girl and he believes that he may have found another, one who could maybe erase the pain the previous one left behind. But there is one flaw to his plan. He remembers. He remembers the pain he went through. He remembers having a hole in his chest from not only when it didn’t work the first time, but also from when she had found someone to make her happy, even if the latter was temporary. So nothing happened. Because of what he remembered he was stopped from making that same decision again. Because of that memory, the negative possibilities overshadowed the positive.
When he sees the first girl again, he once again remembers. He remembers why he believed she could make him happy. What’s worse is that he still believes that he has a chance to achieve happiness through her (this is due to a friend of his saying something along the lines of “maybe you’ll have a chance next year”).

The last thing that is fascinating about memory is that is similar to a room. There is one door through which memories can enter, and a trap door, out of which memories exit when the room gets crowded or you don’t think of them after a while. Sometimes, the man in our story asks himself “Why can’t the bad memories leave? Why do the good memories haunt me as much as the bad?”

Sometimes, I ask myself, “Why can’t I just forget? Do I want to forget? Will I ever be happy?”

• Photo by westpark / Used with Permission

Chairs are made out of wood, bread out of flour and water, windows are of glass; but ME you ask? I am made out of love. From what I have noticed, it is all too easy to forget, and overanalyze the mere building blocks of our existence. Every fiber of my being is made out of pure love. Love from my mother, and love from Him. I have been basking in the glow of this love since I first realized my existence, when I was only two cells old. I have come a long way since then, but my journey has taken place on a long and winding road, that is one paved with love. Love is never ending, and ever growing. It is the overabundance of love that has allowed me to grow from just two cells, to the seventy five trillion that I am today. I know what you are thinking kind friend. What would happen to you if there was no more love; if the basis of your being, and main factor of your growth is love then what happens if the supply runs dry? There was a time kind friend where this question loomed over my soft impressionable skull, always lurking, like a weight on my very being, but I have learned that He has a supply of love so plentiful that it will never peter out and leave me, or anyone that proceeds me, hanging.

“What do we do?” These words shook my small isolated world. It is amazing how suddenly the road you are traveling on can fork off into a million different paths. “What do we do?”, this question seems so trivial in any other situation. Its raining “what do we do”, we have to solve this puzzle “what do we do”, but posed then, kind friend, it was much different. About six weeks into my journey the hollow thump above me started to pick up. Getting faster and faster until the beats started to blend together into a deafening clout. “What do we do?”. Such a simple inquiry, but then, kind friend, I realized she was talking about me. My existence seemed so trivial until that point, I took my tiny self for granted, assuming that I would one day see the face of my protector. With one question, one phrase, one beat, the future I assumed I had was hanging in thin air. That day, at that moment, I was no longer a person, a life; I was a thing, an object. Despite the fact that I have eyes, legs, arms, and hands, at this point my own parents, the people who gave me life, thought of me as a thing. They can not see me, or touch me, or hear me, so therefore kind friend, I was nothing. Even now the memories of their discussion make me quiver with anger. “What do we do?”. Though neither one of them answered, they both were thinking the same thing; just as they had created my life they could obliterate it just as easily. As the drumming that enveloped me started to descend in frequency , so did my expectations of the world.

Kind friend, have you ever felt like a burden? Have you ever felt as though you cause more problems then solutions; that it would be better for the world if you retreated into the spaces between the light, to hide in the darkness? I wondered how I could cast such a large shadow, without ever seeing the sun. The next thought was even more daunting: do the shadow disappear if you turn off the light? Talks, or rather arguments, about the future between my parents, added a new dimension to my being. I was the unspeakable; literally an unequipped parasite hanging on for dear life, to an already established individual. . Her life was slowly becoming made up of me.

Kind friend, as everyday passed I was becoming hollow; not in the literal sense of the word of course, for I was growing new organs and becoming stronger each day, but I wasn’t filled with any desire. Everything was uncertain; everything was in the fine print between the lines. As they conversed about the options I realized that I needed to prove myself and my validity. Because kind friend, when you are a potential, a mere nascent being, you have to do everything you can to become known.

I realized that I had no control over the situation, or predicament if you will. All those long days of waiting, just listening to the steady thump above, I spent looking for a clue to my future. The many doctor visits alerted to the very real possibility that my life would not take place on earth. I imagined the murderers that would steal me away from the potential I was holding onto so dearly. Turning. That was the only thing I could do. I just kept turning and turning, over and over, until I heard it. “Feel here, the baby is kicking!”. After the beat overhead started to accelerate, I knew that she acknowledged me for what I was, alive. Then it was back to searching, because no matter much I turned and rotated I just couldn’t face the fact that no matter what happened to my life, the world was still going to spin

“Don’t look down honey…it isn’t forever”. All of days of my life, he has always been the one nudging her closer and closer to the edge. Toward the deep end– toward the clinic. The practicality of his argument was undeniable, and I fought long and hard with the fact that I, myself, was a source of turmoil. “There isn’t enough money, there isn’t enough space, there aren’t enough resources.” These claims were flung in her direction; ruthlessly, he bombarded her with “fact“. Turning out all of the lights that she clung to. She couldn’t disagree with him, but at the same time she was grasping in the dark for the individual convictions she held sacred. I was caught in the middle. It was evident that he thought she was transparent; and even worse she knew that he was looking right through her. What I didn’t understand, kind friend, was if she was so translucent then why he couldn’t look inside and see me, his own child? More importantly why was I having such a hard time finding the reason she didn’t stand up for me, when I couldn’t stand up for myself.

With all of the uncertainty that their debates held I needed an anchor, something to hold myself down to. Just as a tree is rooted in the soil, I was rooted to her by a tangle of blood vessels; but I knew that the roots weaken and give out if they were not watered. The people who walked around me, and the person who was carrying me, were are all held down by trust. Like trees, all of these people had unconsciously spent their lives digging deeper and deeper into soil, trying to bury their roots into the very foundation that they instilled all of their hope and belief into. Not realizing it, these people were building relationships and embossing memories, just to ensure that they were always tied down; because, kind friend, it is very reassuring to know that you aren’t going to glide away. I didn’t, know who to trust or what to believe; there was nothing for me to hold on to. All I could do was shut my eyes tight and pray that I didn’t float away.

Many times during the day I would hear things, just petty phrases, that the average person would not take notice of; but to me they were incomprehensible. For example kind friend; “Did you see the look on her face when-?”. This very sentence caused me much confusion. I wished more than anything that I could experience this luxury. I would have given all that I had, though it was not much, in exchange for the look on my mother’s face when she first discovered my being. Were her facial muscles and nerves working together to create a glowing, giddy, masterpiece, or were the fine lines contorted in such a way as to spell “tragedy“?

It is completely exhausting to constantly feel like you are on the verge of greatness. Potentially I could do amazing things, potentially I could help others, potentially I could answer the questions that many thought were unanswerable. Unfortunately “potential” was the operative word in those statements. Potential was what my world revolved around. Like the sun, I could feel the heat and power of it radiating toward me, It was a good day when I realized this warmth was His way of letting me know that there was a plan. Kind friend, I am ashamed to say that for a short period of time I doubted that He had a purpose for me to fulfill. I was unable to figure out why He would put me in a place that I didn’t quite fit. Fighting off the unwavering fear of being forgotten, I struggled to find the reason. With each given day that I was alive it became more clear that He was trying to tell me something; I could never be forgotten. He told me with love, and all at once all the cells in my body were alive. I would always exist as long as there was someone to remember me– and that was His job. Kind friend, I was working so hard to try and see Him, but all I really had to do was close my eyes.

It started slowly. Increasing ever so slightly in speed, it was hard to distinguish a difference in the tempo. But kind friend, I had been listening for some weeks now and my ears were finely tuned. I didn’t take much notice of the quickening, until it became so fast I could barely tell one beat from another. This was very startling, and for unforgiving minute I thought about the option that was weighing so heavy on her mind. I needn’t have worried though, kind friend, because this moment was the one I had waited for so anxiously. “Is that the…heartbeat? There? That little grey and white blink? Oh…” Those words were beautiful, and suddenly she thought of me as a person not just a inconvenient collection of regret and confusion. At that instant she understood that my own blood being pumped through my veins by a heart, created by her but, moving to a beat of my own. The ultrasound passing over her distended belly, creating a grainy image on the screen, had changed her. I knew this because as she shifted our weight to look at the screen I heard her heart skip a beat. Kind friend, so did mine.

Of the many interactions that took place over the next few day, one sticks out very fervently in my memory. Walking around the bookstore she held, in her hand, a single book. In her grasp kind friend, was as I would later learn, the latest edition of Your Baby’s First Year. As we approached the register a simple acknowledgement met my ears, “Oh how exciting, I see you are expecting!”. It was the reply that made me stop and think; she replied “These days, I really don’t know what to expect.”

It was the 20th week anniversary of my conception that I was graced with the most important gift of all. I consider this day the most important day of my entire life, for this was the day that changed everything that I had learned to believe. As the sonogram jelly was spread around the every growing stomach of my mother I was reassured by the acceleration of my overhead timekeeper. As the picture appeared on the screen I heard the sonogram technician utter the most routine of phrases “Congratulation, you are having a boy”. I found reassurance in these words, because they brought further recognition to the actuality that I was a legitimate human. Kind friend, it was not I that grasped at these words tightly but my mother. As soon as that sentence left the sonogram technician’s lip my mother understood. She understood what I had been working for the entire 20 weeks of my being, she understood what I had been praying for the entire 20 weeks; she understood that I was her child as well as a child of God. In that instance she uttered the clause that brought validity to my efforts. “Yes, thank you very much. His name is Peter.”

Peter. That is the name, and not only that but the identity, that I was given at the age of twenty weeks. Now, kind friend, my mother had a very daunting responsibly . She realized that if she was going to bring me into this world, and she was, she was going to have to make keeping us safe her main priority. At twenty weeks she stopped trying to hid me and truly embraced the glory that is called accountability. Her heart was beating for us; the thumping above was not just a sign of her mood but a reminder of our future. I was Peter and nobody could take that from me because, I had my roots so far deep into the soil that if somebody tried to pull me from my bearings I would take the soil with me.

Kind friend, my mother appreciated that her main concern, at that, time was to remove anybody, or any force, that could harm us. My father was ignorant. He could not see past the bills and problems that I would cause. My father did not see me as Peter, he recognized me as “the thing that is making my life complicated”. He was unaware that things worth celebrating often come with a struggle. That is why at thirty eight weeks, the time at which I could survive outside of her, she decided that she could survive on her own as well. As he was leaving he yelled “Now that I am gone, who will be there for you?” Her reply confirmed the reason I was still alive. “I made Peter. Although my heart will always have a corner for you, Peter is closest to my heart now and that is where he will stay.” It hurt me to know that I was the cause of their separation, but kind friend He reminded me that the best thing I could do was give her the support my father could not. At that point he slammed the door for the last time and, for the first time, I opened my mouth and took my and took a breath.
Kind friend, that brings us here. I know this is the time for me to leave the sanctuary where I am now. Her heart is beating fast with anticipation, but I am not worried because I know that I am here because of love. It is hard to remember all of those months I spent dreading the thought leaving, and working to stay. I would think “If it is so hard to live in the comfort of the womb why is she bringing me into the world” but I do not think like that anymore. I want to feel the day, because I know that I am here for a reason. The love that He has given me will allow me to live each day knowing that I can experience life and all of its joys. There will be difficulty and I will struggle , but I understand that everyday is a gift from Him; no day can be forgotten. It has become to small for me to live here, but I know that my mother is waiting for me on the other side in a new world that is full of potential. Kind friend you may be confused by my large amount of wisdom, seeing as I have not been born yet. But do remember, kind friend, I have had a near death experience and that often brings quite a load of insight upon a person. I will never forget the time where my mother and I were afraid to look down, fearing the complications that would emerge, but now I have never been more excited to face the chance that I have been graced with. The walls are gentle reminders that it is my time to depart, for I am in a position to leave. I am proud to go, because I know that I am Peter, and my mother is waiting for me; the light at the end of the tunnel.
Epilogue

Dear Peter,
This is your mother and I am writing you this letter as I watch you sleep, gently, in your crib. With my hand on your heat, I feel it beat, I am amazed that God could have created something so beautiful. The moment I laid my eyes on you I felt two things: overwhelming joy, and shame. Shame because, when you were still growing I almost robbed you of your chance to survive. Out of selfishness I almost terminated your opportunity to live. I was not considering that the tiny blink on the screen of the sonogram machine was actually my living child. The fist time I felt you move I questioned why it had to happen to me. It disgusts me to think of that day. I tried to rationalize my thoughts of abortion by telling myself I was not fit to be a mother. Now I understand that He would not have blessed me in this way unless He knew I could prepare myself for you; my womb was prepared and that is all that mattered. I named you Peter because that name means strength. I knew that I was going to have you alone. I want to thank you for giving me that strength, because without it heaven only knows where we would be. You have taught me what true love is. I have never felt more love for one person in my entire life, and I am so excited to share this love with you. If at any time in your life you question whether you have a place on this earth, just fall into my arms and embrace what it means to be loved unconditionally. Just by living and breathing in my arms you have told me that I need to fill my whole potential by caring for you. Thank you Peter. I know that there may be hard times ahead but I will always protect you; because life is a gift but actually living it is the biggest “thank you” that we can give to Him.
Love and prayers always,
Your mother.

• Photo by Tilton Lane / Used with Permission

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• Photo by Mike “Automania” / Used with Permission

Nothing but pain and loss and exhaustion. The wonderland I left was gone, just an inkling of a lost memory. No more music. No more dancing. I could barely feel; it was just a numbing feeling spread all over my body. Tears rolled down my cheeks, leaving stains it left behind glittering. It taste of salt and misery. Of lost hopes and dreams. Of the beginning of nothing. The beginning of hate and longing.

“Get better soon,” the voice whispered. It left my ears tingling, like a thousand dull needles were poking at it. I rolled my head to the side, hiding that ear into the ground.

I didn’t dare to lift my head up to see who was talking to me. It hurt too much. Flutters of blinking, of seeing my eyes produce pink and then the world and then pink again. I swore I saw a few dashes of black lashes but wasn’t too focused on them since my head was pounding of bulls.

“Get better soon,” it repeated, this time louder. The voice’s pitch, which was at first soft and soothing, was now shrilled.

My eyes rolled over; I felt myself go in and out of consciousness. One moment I was there at my peaceful world where all I am, all I ever wanted, is there at the fields. Then the next moment I was here, in hell where the only other person I noticed thus far was me and a girl who can’t do anything but repeat the same sentence over and over: “Get better soon.”

I didn’t want to get up. The sudden stab at my ribs wanted to pluck me back down to the ground, and I didn’t want to resist the sudden need of rest. But…

“Get better soon.”

If she says that one more time, I’ll…

“Get better soon…”

Okay.

Stop reminding me.

Please stop talking.

“Mary…” She said, her fingers barely touching my skin, and yet, the hair on my arm stood up from the cold touch. “Oh Mary…” I couldn’t see, but there was a sudden weight on my stomach and a sudden tickling feeling of the girl’s hair brushing against my arm.

I wanted to talk. I wanted to say something. Even the words “get off” or “shut up and die” (although that’s pretty harsh…even for me). My mouth was filled with the taste of iron, of blood. I didn’t bother trying to talk or to swim around my memories to figure out why my mouth was filled with blood. I just want to go back to my happy place.

“I’m so sorry.” It was a one-person conversation. All I could do was listen. “I’m so sorry.” Sobs wailed in the air.

I wanted her to stop crying.

Just stop.

I don’t need weakness.

Not your pain as well as mine.

I don’t need pity.

I don’t need anything.

Or anyone.

My voice hiccupped. My body began shaking again, my shoulders lifting off the ground in sudden movements. I had to turn my head to the side, away from the face nearing mine. I can’t show this.

I can’t show my tears.

There was nothing but wailing…and I soon forgot if it was still the girl next to me, or me: Mary Dialing.

There was only a slight throb punching my temples when I woke up. It was a slow routine: I continued to lay on the ground, only moving my head left and right to see my surroundings. From only seeing brown dirt arching and surrounding me, I concluded I was in a cave. That’s good to know. Hesitantly, I examined my body for any more pains. There was a bandage wrapped around my left arm and when I reached up to feel my forehead, there too were bandages. Then I moved my tongue around, feeling a sense of oddness, as if something was in my mouth that shouldn’t be there. It rang true when I picked out a bloodstained clot where a tooth was supposed to be, and flicked it over my head. The mist over my eyes from sleep and tears cleared soon after when the sudden rush of memories crashed into my head.

The Summoning. People screaming my name in anguish as they clutched their child’s hand, pulling them to where they believed was safe. Confusion and madness was evident among all the citizens; men and women scattering every which way searching for their love ones or an escape from the red-eyed army firing randomly from their wide, scaly mouths. Recently turned men were excited for the battle, pushing my hand away as they ran into the crowd in hysterics and fired at the beasts. Someone hit my head with the butt of a gun and one of the beast’s tails whipped my arm as I ran past. I ignored them. All I could do was run to whoever called for me, asking me to help them as their face ran red with blood, before running back to tell the villagers who are strong enough to fight, to stop.

“Please, hold back you’re weapons!” I screamed over the gush of breaking houses and screeches.

“Dialing, get back.” He was an old man. 50 years old and usually carrying a cane, Jacob would normally tell me to act more like a lady and to stop being a priestess whenever he sees me making house calls. Now here he stands with the wind and smoke pushing his long, gray hair back, his face serious.

“Please. We know what they want!” I reasoned. We need to stop this madness before it’s too late. “There’s no other way.” I pulled his shoulder back, an attempt to have him look at me and understand what I’m saying. Jacob shrugged my hand off and brought his gun up and narrowed his eyes as he aimed.

“Dialing. You are our priestess. Our healer. You’re not a lady.” He fired.

“No!” I cried and slumped down, cradling Jacob’s head. The bullet hit his target, but the beast thought nothing of it but a scratch, but believing Jacob should be punish for defying, the beast lashed out its red-scaled tail, having Jacob’s already frail body bounce back.

Jacob reached up, his eyes dilated. His fingers scratched my cheek and I reached for it, holding his hand. I could feel its temperature dropping. “No, no Jacob. No, don’t leave me.” I chanted, shaking my head as if I can’t accept him dying.

“Dialing,” he gasped. Jacob’s mouth opened and closed like a fish plucking out its lips unaware of the danger. “Dialing. Remember, you are not a princess.” As if my nod was an order, his body soon became limp and I knew he passed on. I reached over, my eyes swelling with tears, and closed his eyes.

I stood up, my confidence back even though my legs gave way a few times. The yelling and fire was still surrounding all my senses, and even though as a priestess I knew my duty was to heal my neighbors, my mind was clear. I needed to be a warrior.

Running to the closest house, I grabbed the bow and arrow that was set against the wall and closed my eyes as I focused my energy into the tip of the arrow.

Please work. Please.

I opened my eyes then, shooting the arrow in the air. It only took seconds to reach the clouds, a few inches away from the beast’s head, before it exploded. Sparks flared in red and blue and gold, causing attentions from both sides of the fields to watch. It was like fireworks: amazing, bright, dangerous…and a signal.

All eyes traced the shot and looked at me. I gulped, realizing it was now or never.

“Dragons!” I yelled up, hoping my eyes were fierce and strong, withholding all fear. “What is it that you seek here at Nightingale Village?”

“Stop!” I ordered at the little boy of 6 who, aware that this silence was a chance to attack the dragon, picked up a rock and was about to throw it. His mother ran up to him and carried him away, towards the back of the crowd. The dragons ignored the boy and the leader who stood in the front of the pack with gold sparkled eyes stared down at me, blowing smoke out of his nose. It was a while before he made any movements. The village, seconds before scattered and screaming, was now still as they waited for the beast’s next move.

The leader turned his head and roared at his followers, before turning back to face me and the villagers. The people twitched, and a knot of distrust flared up again as the other dragons grunted and flew up in the air, circling the village barrier. “We want the princess,” he growled, his voice itchy and rough. “Are you, priestess, going to give me one or shall you be the contestant?”

I gulped. I risked a glance behind me. The men were hugging their wives and girlfriends, the mothers shielding their little girls. No. I cannot give these girls away to the beast.

“If I were to come with you, will you leave the village alone and never again reappear?” I asked. We stared at each other, both reading each other’s eyes, hoping to read the intentions behind it.

“We want a princess, nothing else,” he voiced. I nodded. There’s no other way. I stepped forward.

The dragon smiled and leaned down to have his face level with mine. He opened his mouth, his tongue rolling out. It was long and white, little bubbles popping on the surface. I stood still, firmly planting my feet on the ground so I don’t accidentally jump back. He licked my face.

I felt my head explode with memories of the past: my sixteen years of life, my family, the days with the demon slayers, finding the village, the apprenticeship, becoming Nightingale Village’s very own priestess, Jacob’s death…I stepped back then, away from the beast’s ever knowing tongue. I was shaking and the last thing I saw was the dragon sneering at me before blanking out.

I sat up, the sudden movements making me cry out in pain. I held my head in my hand, letting my red hair cover my face. I can’t believe it. I fainted: me, the priestess. How am I able to help my village now? Everyone knows that the Whip of Life was the judgment. If you are to become the new princess, you have to be able to last throughout the dragon’s cursed tongue. If you are weak, if you can’t live through your memories, you are unworthy to be a princess. The village is doomed. Now one of the girls I was so desperately trying to protect will have to face the Whip of Life and become the princess. How can I let this happen?

“Mary! You’re up.” I looked up and there stood a girl no older than eleven holding a wooden bucket. She sounded relieved.

“Sara,” I whispered. She nodded and sat down next to me, placing the bucket on the ground. I looked at it. It was filled with daisies. “You took care of me. You cried for me and all I could think of was for you to shut up.”

She smiled then. I tried not to gasp at the sight. Her three front teeth were chipped. She noticed me flinch, and brought her hand to her cheek. “I feel on the ground after you collapsed.”

“But that isn’t important right now,” she said, her eyes moist. “Mary, something horrible happened. Or, that is, it will happen.”

I bit my lips and turned my head away, unwilling to show this little girl my weakness. “I know. If only I could have passed the test, to not have fainted, I would have saved the village from another round of attacks and the girls from the Princess’ Fate.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Sara whispered. I glared at her.

“I don’t have to worry! Do you want to become the next princess? Or Melody or Gail or any of the other girls? If only I was strong, if only I was a lady, if only I was…a princess.” I cried then. I fell over, wanting Sara’s little arms to hold me and to caress my hair. I want her to baby me, to tell me this was all a dream.

“No one wants to be a princess. A princess isn’t special, not like how they picture it in children stories. Princesses are actually taken away from their family and loved ones from the dragons and are forced to wait in a room in the tallest tower of a castle with nothing inside but a bed. There is no window or door. The only way out is to be rescued by a prince, but even that is nearly impossible. The dragons guard the room, and all the princesses die in that very same room. I know all that,” Sara said, holding my head against her chest.

“And then the cycle repeats. When the dragons realize the princess died, they look for a new one,” I whispered.  The vague deja vu played its way into my thoughts about how our mothers would tell us the story every night for bed.

“Yes, and the cycle repeat itself.” Sara agreed. “It’s a lonely life, just until a prince comes to save her.”

“What am I supposed to do Sara? I’m a failure as a priestess.” I felt pathetic and alone and ashamed of myself.

Sara pulled me out of her embrace and looked me straight in the eyes. It was silent as we stared. I didn’t know what I was looking for, or that is, I didn’t want to find it.

“No,” I gasped. “No, no, no Sara! No!” I shook my head briskly, not wanting to believe it. Sara held her gaze.

“You…you can’t! You can’t Sara. What…what will Ben do without you?” I challenged.

“Benjamin will be fine. I’ll leave him to you to take care of until…”

“Until what? Until you die in that hell of a place?” I screamed. She shook her head.

“Until I get back.” She finished.

It was silent. There was no other reason to hold Sara back. All she had to stay in the village for was her brother, Ben. I can’t find any other reason to keep her at the village. To keep her safe. To keep her from being the princess.

“When did you decide this?” I said, my voice low. Sara mimicked me, keeping her strawberry voice soft.

“Right after you collapsed. I offered myself to be the princess and I passed.” She said. I gasped. “I’ve made a compromised though. Just how you tried to do.” She looked at me, her tears giving way. “Mary…I, I don’t want to die alone.”

“You won’t.” I said. She nodded.

“Mary, I’m young. I’m only eleven. I have a long life still ahead of me.” I nodded again. She continued. “Save me from there Mary. That’s what I asked. I made the dragons promise me that my knight…my prince, can be you. Even though you are not a boy.”

I bit my lips. “You put that much trust in my Sara? You were that sure I’d be able to save you?”

“No. I’m not sure,” Sara said between her hiccupping cries. “But the cycle needs to end. I know priestesses can live up to a hundred years. Use the rest of your life saving the princesses in case I… I don’t…” Her voice faded off. “Promise me Mary Dialing, priestess of Nightingale Village, my friend.”

“I promise.” I chocked and covered my mouth with my hand. Sara just smiled, understanding and stood up.

“Thank you.” She looked down at the bucket. “I picked these flowers for you. I’m sorry I can’t pick more, but the dragons said I have to leave with them as soon as you wake up.”

“You’re leaving now?” No. That can’t be. Not so soon…

She nodded. “That was part of the deal. Good bye Mary.”

I watched as Sara walked out of the cave and into the sunlight. For such a small child, she shone and wings seemed to sprout out of her back as she courageously mounted the dragon waiting for her outside. She gave me a last glance and her sad smile before flying away. I’m supposed to be strong, but still couldn’t help but cry as I continued to stare at the spot she last stood and at the flowers she picked.

Sara. Lovely, courageous Sara. Thank you so much. Thank you for sacrificing yourself to be the next princess, when no one else dared to. I promise you, no matter how long it takes and no matter how hard the task, I will save you from the Princess’ Fate.

Because you are my princess and I’m going to be your prince.

• Photo by Shoshana “sekhmet1776” / Used with Permission

Depleted uranium munitions, while oft rumoured by those opposed to its use to have been employed by Israel in 1973, first saw widespread use in the 1991 Gulf War, where over three hundred tonnes were expended by American and British armed forces. Since then, they have seen the soil of Bosnia, Serbia, Kosovo, possibly Afghanistan, and Iraq for a second time – always to great international remonstration: borne partially upon pure fabrication; partially upon ignorance, of the scientific community as well as the common man; and partially upon well-founded concern.

The exact effects of extended exposure to this, as purported by the Pentagon, essential weapon of modern warfare remain curiously veiled. Mixed messages are emitted by mixed interests; the former Iraqi government, under Saddam Hussein, always maintained that the rounds of depleted uranium left scattered across the south of Iraq were responsible for the prodigious climb in birth defects and cases of child leukemia noted succeeding the Gulf War. However, due to Iraq’s unfortunate political situation, the research performed by its scientists never found itself exposed to adequate peer review, and was, thus, from its inception, discredited. Quite contrarily, the United States’s Department of Defense, somewhat dubiously, insists that, not only are the leftover rounds harmless, but that depleted uranium shells are responsible for the preservation of thousands of American lives¹ – that is, indeed, thousands, in a war which claimed only hundreds.

Herein, both views will be inspected as they relate to recommendations for future United States policy on this issue. The actual use and tenor of use of depleted uranium in the American arsenal reflects directly on the world’s view of the United States’s foreign forays.

Health Effects

Though depleted uranium is only endowed with forty percent of the alpha radiation as natural uranium; it gives off only fifteen percent less gamma radiation, equal beta radiation, and is often refined into much higher concentrations than natural uranium. For example, the uranium omnipresent in soil is only one to three parts per million, uranium ore is one thousand times that prevalence, at around five hundredths of a percent uranium – conversely, depleted uranium approaches one hundred percent purity.²

Yet, only the most elementary fears of depleted uranium arise from its radioactivity. All people fear what they cannot understand, and the abstract description of radiation afforded by science to the layman leaves it a vicious enigma. The chemical toxicity of depleted uranium, which is equal to that of natural uranium, is often neglected, and is, by all accounts, exponentially more dangerous.

Health Effects on Friendlies:

Unexceptionally, the United States has never been invaded by an enemy wielding DU, nor, for that matter, has any other prominent member of the international community. The inherent interest in the safety of one’s own, coupled with a closed Iraq and an altogether too recent Balkan conflict, has lead to the main body of research on the effects of DU being focused on its effects specific to occupational forces. In these investigations, there has been a cupful of controversy, a general neglect of or temporal impossibility for completeness, and a couple of curious discoveries.

The Pentagon asserts that there are no recorded cases of cancer in the group of sixty Gulf War veterans under intensive surveillance, a scant selection from the the near-thousand estimated to have been exposed to medium or large amounts of depleted uranium, even so, this assertion is a falsehood. In fact, there is at least one veteran, of that sixty, diagnosed with an uncommon lymphatic cancer, as well as one other veteran with a bone tumour. Admittedly, both afflictions could hold causation completely separate from the Gulf War; that the Pentagon attempts to deny their existence is the more interesting occurrence. The disinformation was distributed by Michael Kilpatrick, among other Department of Defense (DoD) officials, primarily to soothe the fears of NATO allies that the use of depleted uranium (DU) in the Balkans could adversely affect their soldiers.³

Of the 1998 conflagration in Europe’s ex-powder keg, investigation by NATO has yielded no evidence that the around twenty tonnes of DU expended impacted NATO soldiers in the least.⁴ However, considering that the expected time for development of leukemia from exposure to radiation exceeds ten years, whether or not there is a link between cancer and DU, NATO’s findings only discount relatively immediate reactions to DU toxicity and radiation in a situation seeing only a fraction of Gulf War level DU use. The Balkan occasion cannot be conclusively cited in relation to DU.

The Gulf War, however, approaching twenty years passed, can yield some information. Its veterans, in agreement with those of the Balkans, have shown no effects that can be substantively linked to their use of and consequential exposure to depleted uranium. There were no cases of acute radiation illness or heavy metal toxicity diagnosed during the war;⁵ though, some scientists see a possible, if not yet provable, link between DU and the inexplicable Gulf War Syndrome that plagues veterans to this day.⁶ The DoD assures the public that any link between DU and cancer would be perceptible from their Depleted Uranium Follow-Up Program, however, the size of the program is far too small to design any meaningful correlation,⁷ and the DoD itself has been demonstrably tight-lipped about any potential relationship to this point. The Pentagon actually seems exceptionally cautious of a full exposure of DU’s effects, it shirks extensive research in favour of only lightly founded attestations.

Studies performed separate from the government, while less reliable, have, at times, been more extensive. Unfortunately, activists often overstate their findings to such an extent that they induce ridicule, and invalidate, perhaps, respectable results. Among twenty-seven Gulf War veterans fourteen were found to have DU in their urine nine years after the conflict, and DU residue was found in the blood and bones of a deceased veteran.⁸ The study did not establish any effects the roosting of DU in such a fashion might have. It is important to note, that the results do establish a widespread potential for DU to show concrete effects at a point further in time. Another independent study points out that some Gulf War veterans and some Balkan veterans share similar if not identical symptoms, the study naturally points to DU as the single unifying factor between the two conflicts, this, of course is not the case, though the results are still partially poignant and worthy of consideration.

Altogether the many abortive and exaggerated attempts at establishing the relative safety of DU or the exact converse, are unconvincing. What cannot be denied, though, is that DU holds a great potential to be dangerous. The United States internally recognises this fact, the Gulf War-era army manual denoted a strict procedure for dealing with even minimal exposure to DU, and the present day manual urges at least a slight mouth protection while in any notable proximity to DU contaminated sites. Just prior to the Gulf War the army published a paper positing some danger, especially to infantry, from the inhalation of aerosolised DU munitions; the Pentagon has, of course, since reversed that opinion. The error ubiquitous within research performed on the effects of DU, especially with regard to occupational forces, is the focus on its radioactive effects rather than those of its chemical toxicity. The inhalation of poisonous DU dust is much more likely to effect transiently placed troops than the radiation incrementally imparted and which requires a much longer period to demonstrably interfere with the operations of the human body. In the words of a certain ND Priest, writing for the respected British medical journal The Lancet, “Uranium, in particular depleted uranium, is fast acquiring notoriety as a radiological hazard. In fact, its radiotoxicity is known to be low. However, its chemical toxicity should not be ignored.”⁹ Science’s effective ignorance in this respect is a gross oversight, one which renders the otherwise supportive results soluble to educated doubt.

Health Effects on Civilians:

The majority of research done on the long term exposure of civilians to depleted uranium has been done by Iraqi scientists, mostly within the native university system and has been peer reviewed therein only. Naturally, the legitimacy of these studies is continually doubted by international authorities, yet, there are very few studies of their kind available and they must at least be considered, if only for that reason. The Iraqi studies predicate that the waste created by depleted uranium usage is responsible for a sharp increase in birth defects and child leukemia across southern Iraq, where the majority munitions were fired upon Iraqi forces retreating from Kuwait. A combination of Iraqi and other studies maintain that DU left in the environment poses a chemical hazard.

Iraqi scientists lambaste the United States for discouraging comprehensive attempts at assessing the effects of the three hundred to eight hundred remnant tonnes of depleted uranium distributed by the Gulf War, and numerous other bombings, throughout the south of Iraq. A particularly distinguished discernment dispels the theory that the oil and chemical fires lit by retreating or defeated Iraqi forces caused all contested health abnormalities. An Iraqi juxtaposition cites the two cities of Ta’meem and Salahiddin, both polluted excessively by a variety of sources, including the oil and plastics fires as well as more sustained pollution from arms industries and their peripheries, then places them alongside the southern city of Basrah, which, despite lesser pollution, enjoys higher rates of cancer – the cause of which is posited by the Iraqis to be DU, however, a scientific rather than circumstantial link seems to elude them.

In keeping with the shoddy linkages, a startling number of startling increases in diseases that could possibly be attributed to low-level radiation poisoning have been reported by a variety of Iraqi epidemiologists from 1990 to 1998. Within that period, 1998 study in Basrah found the following: a sixty percent increase of leukemia cases in children under the age of fifteen, a one-hundred and twenty percent increase in all malignant cases, and that the distribution of leukemia cases to children under five increased from thirteen percent in 1990 to forty-one percent in 1997. Another bit of research, reports that from 1990 to 1998 congenital malformations tripled. And yet another Iraqi effort, extricates a one-hundred and sixty percent rise in uterine cancer, a one-hundred and forty-three percent increase in thyroid cancer, a one-hundred and two percent increase in breast cancer, and an eighty-two percent rise in lymphomas from the period between 1990 and 1997. To add a bit of perspective to these figures, it must be noted that the annual rise in breast cancer cases in the United States is an incomparable one and one-half percent – between 1988 and 1996, a period akin to that of the studies performed in Iraq, diagnosed cases rose only twelve percent, even with an increase in screening and awareness the Iraqis do not share.¹⁰

The chemical toxicity of depleted uranium has been noted as the primary danger to the Iraqi people. The fact that the United States and Britain refuse to enact any meaningful clean-up in Iraq leaves a great deal of DU at rest in the environment. The corrosion of solid DU shells is widely recognised to hold the potential to contaminate food and water supplies with uncommonly elevated levels of radiation; in addition, the left over DU dust, created when a depleted uranium shell collides with an armoured target, remains, with its highest concentrations, scattered about burnt out Iraqi tanks, but is susceptible to the whims of the wind, and could potentially be scattered across the entire country. A study in 1996 found that almost two thousand square kilometers were infected with DU oxides, that is the aerosolised, and exceptionally dangerous, variety of contamination; that almost one hundred and fifty thousand square meters of channel sediments related radioactive contamination from DU; and that almost a million tonnes of vegetation, since destroyed, showed extensive contamination. It is obvious, then, that depleted uranium has permeated a large swathe of Iraq’s geography. The most widely conceded danger from DU lies in its internalisation, an incident which seems a plausible consequence of the heavy metal’s corrosion and conversion to dust form.

Following the 2003 American invasion of Iraq, an exploratory journey through Baghdad by the Christian Science Monitor found wreckage emitting one thousand times that of normal background levels; yet, worthy of far more concern, was the blatant lack of effort on the part of the United States to inform the Iraqi people of a possible danger. The Monitor occasioned across only one site at which soldiers had posted signs in Arabic, as well as in English, warning off the children who, as at a separate site, often play atop the burnt out pieces of armour. In fact, just adjacent to a burnt out tank, which would naturally contain aerosolised DU, a street vendor was peddling a variety of fruits and vegetables; no one warned him to beware of the odd wind blowing DU dust onto his products. This oversight on the part of occupational forces only augments the hazards posed by DU. The handful of Iraqis that are aware of the use of DU by American forces have often only heard exaggerated accounts of its effects, and the insouciance demonstrated by the United States could contribute to the population’s radicalisation.

A glaring lack of dedicated investigation blights any conclusion to be drawn from the preceding formulations. It is impossible to adopt either side of the argument without ambiguity whilst remaining true to the distribution of possible facts. The medical issues, rather than the possible political or martial consequences, ought receive paramount concern – concern for the welfare of a people must always supersede that people’s political persuasions and military expediency; the studies performed on site do rather uniformly suggest adverse effects result from extended exposure to DU, however, those studies have been facilitated by a single entity, with a political investment in their results – the Iraqi government. The British and Americans, especially in light of the recent regime change in Iraq, must no longer discourage – and, in fact, must encourage – the performance of credible studies. Without waiting for results, the American forces placed at present in Iraq must begin to mark, partition, and clean sites contaminated by DU. Equivocal returns at present cannot be cited as a legitimate reason for the postponement of such measures.

Utility as a Weapon

The survival of depleted uranium in the American arsenal is completely dependent upon its effectiveness as a weapon. Inside the Department of Defense, a shortage of praise for its results cannot be found. Bernard Rostker, of the DoD, contends that the use of DU during the Gulf War saved thousands of lives. The high-density heavy metal has been integrated into all branches of the military, an action lent reason by its uncanny ability to pierce armour – upon impact it fractures and grows sharper, often combusting in the process. Yet, the numbers, often left unremarked upon by DoD officials, do not necessarily agree with the rhetoric.

During the Gulf War, the conflict in which DU was ostensibly so instrumental in the preservation of life, depleted uranium shells contributed to the destruction of only one out of seven Iraqi tanks. And, during the Kosovo conflict, very few if any tanks were destroyed by depleted uranium. Statistically, the primary armour-destroyer of the Gulf War was the Maverick missile,¹¹ rather than any concoction involving depleted uranium. It is not herein propagated that depleted uranium does not aid in the compiling of effective armaments, simply that it does not contribute to the extent that the Pentagon claims – that it is not a necessity for modern warfare.

Regrettably, the portions of the military that have begun to shift away from reliance on DU have adopted, in its stead, a tungsten alloy shown conclusively to cause cancer in lab rats.¹² Essentially, depleted uranium with a different, less objectionable name. An effective, armour piercing munition is central to all modern armed forces, but it is important that this munition does not leave behind a hazard of potentially greater magnitude than that against which it is applied. It is irresponsible of the United States Military to embrace any weapon, radioactive or otherwise, until all of its effects can be cataloged – especially considering the relatively unremarkable performance of the weapon.

Political Repercussions

If Iraq is not soon scrubbed clean of depleted uranium by an American effort, the radioactive waste will continue to pose a political hazard to the United States and a chemical hazard to the population. Even if DU is never effectually linked to the increase in cases of what is possibly low-level radiation sickness, the United States’s extensive employment of it, without being fully enlightened as to its effects on a civilian population, brings ill upon the country’s international reputation. And should that fatal link finally be established, the sporadic accusations, those which equate the use of DU to genocide and pronounce that it was used in bombings throughout the nineties to ‘soften up’ Iraq for the 2003 invasion, may migrate from the fringe and onto centre stage.

Already, in Iraq, those which have seen the research of their universities, accuse the United States of knowingly murdering children and creating terminal diseases in an already impoverished nation. The Pentagon’s lies about cancer in Gulf War veterans also lends oxygen to the flames of opposition, as it is not a stretch to assume that, since the Pentagon disseminated disinformation in an earlier case, it might also be withholding a definite delineation of DU’s effects in general.

Another poignant inconsistency, is the recognition apparent in the armed forces that DU is a dangerous substance – viz., safety procedures present in army manuals, and the gradual shift toward tungsten – correlated with the blithe broadcasts of, often unsubstantiated, claims that DU is completely harmless. This contradiction, again, only serves to inflame suspicion that the great powers within the United States are better informed than they care to allow to trickle down to the common citizen – of Iraq or of America.

The international community in general is already weary of the Pentagon’s claims regarding depleted uranium, and tend to doubt its necessity as an armament. Moreover, America’s tendency to fire and forget with more than just tracking missiles produces widespread condemnation: The WHO and Britain’s Royal Society, among others, all underline that cleansing a country in which DU is used falls to the country that originally used it. That Iraq saw no attempts by America to cleanse its soil, and, indeed, that America lent additional DU to the three-hundred tonnes already present through its sporadic bombing runs during the nineties, is a gross miscarriage insofar as governmental responsibility extends. In fact, it played well to Saddam Hussein’s continued consolidation of power, that he had the American devils to unite his subjects against – since the population of Iraq could not expect considerate treatment from America, it was no wonder that America’s next major bout of interference in Iraqi affairs was not greeted as a liberation.

There are no discernible political advantages to the continued use of DU munitions and quite a few easily apparent disadvantages. Their use lends a rallying point to radicals, who can, with some credibility, claim that DU widely contaminates the country that contains the homes, families, and livelihoods of prospective recruits. The American Government’s contradictory messages also allow the insertion of far more dastardly plots by conspiracy theorists; that the government would openly negate the dangers of DU, whilst privately, to its own soldiers, urge caution, can easily be construed to allude to a deeper deception. To preserve America’s reputation abroad, an extensive Iraq cleanup operation ought be undertaken to contain any potential damage; while further studies are encouraged to assess what might have resulted from nearly twenty years of exposure. In this case, were the Pentagon to admit its error of ignorance and, assuming the worst, take steps to correct it, world opinion of the United States would likely increase.

Conclusion

Depleted uranium shells are cheap; they pierce armour; the Pentagon even claims that they save lives; yet, these benefits cannot reconcile their vast potential negatives. Even if they are only potentials, while their existence remains disputed, the reckless use of depleted uranium is disreputable and reflects upon the United States as a foreign presence. While Saddam remained in power, the United States enjoyed relative freedom from its, internationally agreed, obligation to cleanse Iraq of DU and investigate its effects; but, now that he has been deposed, and a regime friendly to America has taken his place, America’s amnesty has been abnegated. Its continued inaction cannot be accepted.

Compelling research has been derived on both sides of the argument. While the risks, by all accounts, remain relatively low to occupational forces, they are quite possibly much higher to the native population than is, at present, apparent. The increase in possibly low-level radiation diseases Iraq has experienced since 1990, is impossible to ignore; however, several alternative causes can be found: industrial pollution, widespread malnutrition, the chemical weapons used in the Iran-Iraq conflict, the chemical fires lit by retreating Iraqi soldiers in the Gulf War, &c. Iraq is not a healthy country, and DU contamination has not yet been effectively isolated as the single malignant variable present in any study; and, therein, most studies lose their credibility.

Until a conclusion is reached, the United States must begin to remove DU weapons from its arsenal. If the conclusion be one favourable to their use, then they ought be reintegrated, without, hopefully, many lives lost from their temporary absence. If the conclusion be one excluding their use, as appears most likely, then they ought, under no circumstances, be utilized.

Works Cited and Consulted

• 1Fahey, Dan. “Science or Science Fiction?” N. pag. 12 Mar. 2003. Web. 8 Aug. 2009.
• 2Bertell, Ph.D.,G.N.S.H., Rosalie. “Gulf War Veterans and Depleted Uranium.” The Canadian Coalition for Nuclear Responsibility. Web. 8 Aug. 2009.
• 3Fahey, Dan
• 4“NATO Topics: Depleted Uranium.” NATO — Homepage. Web. 13 Aug. 2009.
• 5Lee, Harry A., Roger Gabriel, and Philip Bolton. “Depleted uranium — is it really a health issue? : The Lancet Oncology.” TheLancet.com — Home Page. Web. 13 Aug. 2009.
• 6Of almost 700,000 troops who served in the Gulf War, nearly 20,000 applied for veteran benefits.
• 7Fahey, Dan
• 8“Iraqi cancers, birth defects blamed on U.S. depleted uranium.” Seattle news, sports, entertainment | seattlepi.com — Seattle Post-Intelligencer. Web. 13 Aug. 2009.
• 9Priest, ND. “Toxicity of depleted uranium : The Lancet.” TheLancet.com — Home Page. Web. 13 Aug. 2009.
• 10“JSTOR: Cancer Causes & Control.” JSTOR — The Scholarly Journal Archive. Web. 13 Aug. 2009.
• 11Fahey, Dan
• 12Furlow, Bryant. “Alternative to depleted uranium is carcinogenic in rats : The Lancet Oncology.“TheLancet.com — Home Page. Web. 13 Aug. 2009.

• Photo by swiss.frog / Used with Permission

Western families are increasingly outsourcing the functions of domestic work, including a cheap domestic labor market which is largely comprised of migrant workers from developing countries. But what is even more of a problem is the issue of child labor. The problem of child labor has become an ever-increasing concern among many nations. Many of the worst child labor offenses take place in Third World countries. Throughout these nations, children are being forced to work long hours in terrible conditions for little or no money. To fully understand child labor, one has to address the reasons for supporting and opposing child labor, its effect on underdeveloped countries’ economies and the child laborers, and what is being done to combat child labor. “Child labor can be defined as mostly full-time work of children, most of who are under the age of 14 in situations that are damaging to health, education, or moral development– for pay or no pay. The most common type of child labor is bonded labor, in which workers agree to sell their labor in exchange for a lump sum payment, such as a medical bill. These debts are usually impossible to repay. Therefore, the debt is passed down from generation to generation. Bonded children may also be kidnapped, exported as prostitutes or camel riders, or “recruited” to work in factories.” Today the global mobility of capital, the conception of free trade, and the absence of international regulations give the multinational cooperation’s the power to overcome all political and labor constraints. In order to maximize profits, they use not only all necessary manners to control and influence local governments, including corruption and in the extreme case military coup d’état but, in addition they also exploit local populations even juveniles without any sense of duty concerning their welfare. As the result, through by the absence of reinvestment and the incompetence of local civil servants, these exploited countries became poorer and poorer. This same occurrence of events were happening just a little over a century ago right here in the United States and yet we are still doing it today.

Throughout American history, Forms of child labor, including indentured servitude and child slavery have existed. As industrialization moved workers from farms and home workshops into urban areas and factory work, children were often preferred, because factory owners viewed them as more manageable, cheaper, and less likely to strike. Growing opposition to child labor in the North caused many factories to move to the South. By 1900, states varied considerably in whether they had child labor standards and in their content and degree of enforcement. By then, American children worked in large numbers in mines, glass factories, textiles, agriculture, canneries, home industries, and as newsboys, messengers, bootblacks, and peddlers. But we put a stop to this in our country because exposing children is wrong and it wasn’t healthy for our economy. So why do we continue to do this in foreign lands even today. There isn’t a good reason. Actually ending child labor would help the global economy. A study by the International Labor Office shows that it would cost $760 billion over a 20-year period to end child labor. The estimated benefit in terms of better education and health is about six times that—over $4 trillion in economies where child laborers are found. So the question we have to ask ourselves is do we care about just strictly our own economy or should we try to look at the bigger picture and our global economy to try to economically improve things around the world.

Works Cited and Consulted

• “Book Review: Child Labor And The Industrial Revolution by Clark Nardinelli |.” The Freeman | Ideas On Liberty. 04 June 2009.
• Child Labor A Global View (A World View of Social Issues). New York: Greenwood P, 2004.
• “Child Labor and the British Industrial Revolution [Mackinac Center].” Mackinac Center: Free-Market Public Policy for Michigan. 04 June 2009.
• Deshpande, Sudha. Labour flexibility in a Third World metropolis a case study of Bombay. New Delhi: Indian Society of Labour Economics, Commonwealth, 1998.
• “EasyBib: Website form for your bibliography or works cited list.” EasyBib: Free Bibliography Maker — MLA, APA, Chicago citation styles. 04 June 2009.
• Free The Children — Home. 04 June 2009.
• Liberalising labour mobility under the GATS. London: Commonwealth Secretariat, 2002.
• “The world fact book 1997: Bangladesh.” 18 May 1998. CIA. 4 June 2009.

• Photo by Okinawa Soba / Used with Permission

The premise of the Pride and Prejudice directly correlates with Buss’s ninth hypothesis: “Women seeking a long-term mate will prefer men who can provide resources for their offspring.” (Buss 226) Mrs. Bennet is completely focused on finding men with property for her daughters, as she fears for their future. Elizabeth Bennet may have married for love, but her subconscious considered the future of herself and her offspring, embracing the monetary resources and property that Mr. Darcy is able to give.

Despite the novel’s parallels with this hypothesis, according to Buss, it is incorrect in its assumption in the first sentence – “it is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.” Perhaps it should be rephrased that “a single man in possession of a good fortune” will be constantly pursued by women. While women value monetary resources, Buss hypothesizes that “men seeking a long-term mate will solve the problem of identifying reproductively valuable women.” (Buss 223) In short, women are worried about the state of their finances in the future, but men are worried about the state of their family name. This priority of carrying on the family name allows men to have a longer period to pursue short-term relationships rather than long-term, “because a man’s reproductive capacity is less closely linked with age.” (Buss 222) When compared to Buss’s ideas, Mr. Darcy should have not chosen Elizabeth as a mate due to her becoming “quite an old maid soon.” (Austen 227)

Before being judged on the psychological realism of their relationship, the romantic engagement of Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth should not only be considered according to the implicit decisions for more successful human mating, but also the factors that cause us to “like” one another. Despite our pleads and refusal to believe the facts, physical attractiveness plays a large role in our society, causing what Cialdini refers to as a “halo effect,” where one good personality trait overpowers all others. Austen, like many novelists, makes both her hero and heroine physically attractive in the novel, noting that Darcy is a “very handsome gentleman” (Austen 251) and Elizabeth a “beauty.” (Austen 72) Though she does not fully describe her characters, by directly referring to their attractiveness, Austen acknowledges that Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth’s relationship is made stronger by physical attractiveness, as well as the duo’s relationship with the reader.

Despite paralleling Cialdini’s views on physical attractiveness and liking, Pride and Prejudice embraces the age old tale that “opposites attract” when it comes to similarity, while Cialdini insists that “we like people who are similar to us.” (173) Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth come from opposite backgrounds, as Mr. Darcy is a wealthy landowner with one sister and a single mother and the Bennets are a larger than average. lower middle-class family, and also differ in their personalities. Mr. Darcy is quiet and slightly snobby due to his aristocratic background, while Elizabeth is constantly speaking her mind and down to earth. These differences would provide obstacles, as conflicting personalities and backgrounds can often cause distress in a relationship, not growing love as Austen wants readers to believe.

The cliché that “flattery will get you everywhere” is alive and well in human relationships, as “the information that someone fancies us can be a bewitchingly effective device for producing return liking and willing compliance.” (Cialdini 174) If someone consistently praises and informs people that they like them, their affection is more likely to be reciprocated. Elizabeth Bennet is a victim of reciprocal liking, as Mr. Darcy proposes to her for the first time , “in spite of her deeply-rooted dislike, she could not be insensible to the compliment of such a man’s affection.” (Austen 195) It is only after this romantic outburst of Mr. Darcy that Elizabeth begins to like him, both romantically and companionably, because of the strong pull that the affection of someone else brings.

Familiarity is an often unconscious factor in liking, as the more contact we have with someone, the more we like them, but we like people less when that contact comes with bad experiences. Elizabeth first meets Mr. Darcy at a dance, an event she does not fully enjoy, while rejected for a dance, due to the scarcity of the women. These unhappy circumstances influence her views of Mr. Darcy, as well as his views of her, as Mr. Darcy is also discontent with his surroundings. Mr. Darcy’s views of Elizabeth change, though, as he sees her more often, supporting Cialdini’s views, in happier settings, especially at his house. Elizabeth continues to loathe Mr. Darcy because she associates him with the stalled relationship of her sister, Jane, and Mr. Bingley, as well as the wronging of Mr. Wickham. After it is revealed that Mr. Darcy, in fact, was only looking out for his friend and the one wronged in the situation of Mr. Wickham, Elizabeth allows herself to see him as a kinder figure, slowly associating him with good events.

Though Austen does not parallel every psychological premise of relationships in Pride and Prejudice, she does use many of the methods described by Buss and Cialdini to form a realistic romance. Her only major flaw is allowing her readers to believe that passionate love can last forever, following the definition that “true love is… eternal passion.” (Haidt 124) In the novel, Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth are only in the first throes of passionate love, giving readers the idea that this is high point of romance can exist forever. True love can be eternal, but cannot exist as just passionate love; it needs companionable love as well. Readers should embrace the realism of the world famous romance of Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy, but take it with a grain of salt, as nothing can ever reach the standard given to it by books, nor can psychology predict all the results of our human nature.

• Photo by Morton Lin / Used with Permission

I finally round the corner and find my destination. Its a small cafe, one of the few that isn’t a Starbucks in this horrid nation. Its survival always strikes me as a bit ironic, nestled deep inside a businessman’s playground a Mom and Pop shop thrives. The glass doors are being unlocked as I approach, the boy with the key scampers away after performing his duty; and I enter. The cafe is deserted; excepting, of course, the staff; the man behind the counter nods to me as I enter, I nod back. I like to think they know me here, they probably do: I have been coming nearly every morning for a week. I order a coffee — black. Perhaps this cafe succeeds because it doesn’t fall victim to the obscurities contained within other gourmet coffee dispensaries. This cafe doesn’t have great variety, but what it does do, it does very well. However, that was not enough for the plenitude of other cafes to fall victim to Starbucks’ aggressive expansion… I don’t know, it doesn’t really matter. All that matters is this coffee, and its ability to waken my perception, the sun’s valiant battle with the clouds, and the game.

The last two, of course, directly correlated. What sort of businessman would get his suit wet just to enjoy something he could watch on his colossal TV back in the mansion? — Yes, it must clear up, for me to be successful. I take a sip of my coffee, the acrid concoction burns my tongue and slithers down my throat. I can feel it interacting inside my stomach. I hope I can keep it down. I do not think puking on the streets qualifies as innocuous.

From my seat at the window I can see the streets become populated, slowly but surely taxis trickle through. Businessmen walk by, with briefcase and suit. They never look left nor right. They never look up nor down. They continue forward, stiff, unyielding. The only signs they are not automatons is the occasional the white fog their breath creates. But that will not last long, for they now lengthen and soon will turn into silhouettes, stark against a painted sky.

I look down at the granulated wood which makes up my table. I can’t bear to watch those entities, those who work without consciousness of those that they harm. I am living proof that global capitalism is a blight upon this planet. I’ve been orphaned since I was three, my family was not given a chance to raise me. Their profit is worth more than our lives, I suppose. That is why this remonstrative statement must be made in bold.

“Lovely view, isn’t it?” says a stranger to me, referencing the sky. He sits down beside me. I resist the urge to cringe. I prefer in all things to observe, rather than partake. This man: his straight tie, white teeth, white skin, his black briefcase, black blazer, and black heads; I hate him. His stupid smile as he sat down next to me, like he was doing me a favor. Did he see me here and think, ‘that one looks sad, looks unemployed, but he doesn’t look contagious, I’ll make his day.’ I felt my stomach taking offense, I lurched a bit. The man’s expression changed, he must be thinking, ‘perhaps I was wrong, perhaps this one is contagious.’

I just stare at him. Not viciously, not affectedly, I just stare, blankly. And he stares back, at first evenly. Then questioning, he must be making excuses for me in his head, he must be telling himself that I’m deaf, or I’m was mute, or I’m just not quite right. Finally, after I watch his slow lapse into something approaching fear, he stands up with a stumble and leaves me alone. I laugh to myself and turn back to my coffee. I take another sip and look out the window with the cup still to my lips. It is a rather lovely view.

• Photo by Andrew Mason / Used with Permission

Why are some secrets in our lives so difficult for others to understand? Is it because that we think they should be part of the experience in order to understand exactly what it feels like for them too? Why can’t we simply talk about it? Because we are too afraid to share with others?

Many people wish they could speak their minds as easily as they share their own thoughts here at IV. But some things are difficult to put into words and feelings. The result? Confusion. Simply utter confusion. You don’t know what you can say at that point, and you can’t understand why you can’t talk about it. Why do we keep secrets to ourselves? You know that one phrase, “If you keep something in for too long, it will kill you” or something in comparison to that? I’m beginning to think that it will probably happen to those who do not wish to expose their secrets to the outside, public world. Secrets can kill, or so I’ve heard, right? So why can’t we all speak?

• Photo by Tania De la Paz / Used with Permission

Our skies would be blue-er than ever. Any scientist could tell us why the sky is blue, but the light blue color would be masked with the opaque, dark blue color of our natural gasses. A competition between blue and gray in the sky would ensue as human and animal gas battle for ground (so to speak) with pollution and smog. Cities would be covered in a blanket of light blue gas because humans are too perfect to fart. The sky above farms would be saturated with a dark blue color because cows don’t believe in perfection. If only fart was blue.

Think back to first grade: a small “toot” would result in everyone around you scooting their chairs three feet away from you, as though you had a contagious disease. Now, you might not have been the one that farted, but since the sound of your shoe rubbing against the leg of your chair sounded like a fart, everyone within a 2 foot radius of you runs away in terror, hoping that they won’t be next. If only we could all look around for blue gas to see who really “dealt it” and finally clear your name of the dreaded nickname “Fartticus”. Does the blue gas stain furniture? No one wants to sit in a fart-stained chair. If only fart was blue.

We know humans aren’t perfect, but we’ll find every way to portray our seemingly flawless nature. Do you fart? Not a problem, just wear blue pants that hide the nasty side effects of cutting the cheese (bleu cheese, if you will). Now, it would be impossible to tell who dealt it. Dark wash denim jeans would become a staple in every household, and dark blue dresses would flood the markets waiting for the perfection-seeking consumer to buy. But wait, you need to prove that you don’t fart; you need to prove that you are the perfect human being. Be a rebel, buy the only pair of white pants in the store and flaunt your lack of gas. Hopefully, blue gas is washable – stained white jeans are not returnable. If only fart was blue.

Would you contribute to the atmospheric invasion of blue gas? Would you be incriminated because of the blue color seeping through your clothes onto your chair? Would you buy the most pairs of denim jeans to mask the imperfection of human nature? As my fifth grade camp counselor once asked our nature group, what if fart was blue?

• Photo by Maxime Gendre / Used with Permission

What’s better to do?
It’s been forever
Since I last had a moment
To myself.

All is quiet.
Except for mother nature.
Water splashes
Against the rocks.
Wind blows
Whistling through my hair.
The sky
Slowly turns red
As day nears its end.

I take a deep breath.
The air is sweet and salty.
I stare at the golden sun
Fading beneath the horizon.
I’m not going blind,
The sunset is nothing short of beauty.

Out of the stillness
You came along.
I didn’t notice
But I heard
Those soft sopken words.
“Can I stay here with you?“
I didn’t even look around.
“Yes.”

I wonder why…
You decided to come see me.
Your presence must mean something.
Something special.
Your response was immediate
“Sharing a secret moment
“With you
“Is all that I want right now.”

The wind stopped.
The sun dissapeared.
The sea felt silent.
Did I hear that correctly?
“Why?” I ask.
Silence comes all around.
You say nothing.
You just simply
Look at me in the eyes.

I cannot bring myself.
To look any longer.
At a beauty I don’t deserve.
This is too good to be true.
No one would have ever said this
In the past.
Why should it happen now?

Stars come out
One by one.
You look up.
Relieving me…in a way.
The breeze feels cold.
But the air itself is warm.
The last of the seagulls leave.
I look up, too.
The moon is full.
And the entire beachside cliff
Is drappled with silver light.
A shooting star cuts through the darkness.
I hear you whispering
But I only caught one word.
”…together…”

I look at you again.
You look back.
We smile.
“It’s getting late” I say.
“We should head back.“
You quietly nod.
Never taking your eyes off me.
We both stand up.
“Can I come see you again?” You say.
I pause.
I hestitate.
I felt my smile dissapear.
Memories flood back.
Betrayal
Misleading Thoughts
and Departure.

Am I afraid?
Afraid again?
Is this my last chance?
I remember
But am I ready?
Once more?

I look back.
The ocean seems so calm.
The moon is brighter.
The stars doubled in numbers.
You patiently wait for my answer.
And then,
Looking at you.
I realized,
That the worst thing
I can do right now
Is to break your heart.
Would this be your first…?

“Yes.“
“Why do you care
“About seeing me?“
I wonder.
“Knowing the unknown,
You reply.
“Doesn’t mean much to me.
“I saw the sorrow in your eyes.
“You’re not alone.”

And so,
You leaves for the night.
I look back up.
The night sky
Seems to be smiling.
My smile came back, too.
“I’ll come back
I whisper.
“I promise
“To never run away
“Again.”

• Photo by Tony Hammond / Used with Permission

One of the seniors sitting near my side of the audience was blowing bubbles into the air. I watched almost every bubble that came my way.

Each bubble, big or small, reminded me of memories; they would last a certain amount of time before they disappeared in a flash. Life is too short to relive those memories, so you might as well make the most of them. I suppose. I watched those bubbles and began relating them to friends and close relatives and family. A large bubble glided over my head and I watched as it almost reached the trees and suddenly popped. No warning. I felt disappointed. I wanted to catch it and hold in my hands delicately and never let it go out.

Unfortunately, memories can slip from our memories and that’s what made me sad tonight, watching all of the seniors graduate. There will be pictures, but then they will be gone before you know it. Soon, the Class of 2010 will be in their positions and we will disappear from each others’ grasps, no matter how long we hold each other for. We as whole never want to let go; we want to cherish those memories.

Those memories that we can never hold on to. Those memories that we can’t write down on paper in eloquent detail. Those memories that truly mean something to us. We want to hold on to friends we hope we will never lose. The friends that helped get you through the worst times of your life. The friends that you spent so much time with in and outside of school. My hands still shake as I type, realizing that those seniors, who were also my friends, will probably never come back. I have to hang on to them, I tell myself. No I can’t. It’s too late, another voice answers. But I will lose them! I don’t want to lose them! I scream. It’s life, sweetheart, the voice says, fading off into the distant boundaries of my mind, leaving me completely helpless.

The “bubbles” in my life, I caught almost every single one of them tonight. Each one with a picture, representing so much that went on between us. I captured moments that were impossible to relive. However, the one bubble I missed was an important one. I was nowhere near it, and when it found me, it watched for a moment. I tried to turn away from it, but I knew it was there right in front of me. I couldn’t catch it. I turned in the other direction and disappeared. The bubble didn’t pop. That one memory would stay with me for a while. It will be all right, they told me as I stared over my shoulder. I wished for a miracle. Maybe a sign. Nothing. The bubble had disappeared. I turned away slowly, wishing I did and didn’t catch it. This memory was inexplicable by words and pictures. It held something more meaningful than anything ever before. I wish I could’ve said something, but intuition wouldn’t want me to. It would’ve told me to turn away. And I did just that.

• Photo by / Used with Permission

The institution of marriage, and the recent attempt in California to redefine marriage, draws strong feelings because marriage is such a long-standing element in the structure of our society. Our cultures’ roots for the institution of marriage grow out of our Judeo-Christian past and have been shaped by the Greek and Roman cultures as well as the practice of European marriage. Not only has marriage been a part of our cultural and religious institutions, but marriage has been written into law for centuries. Change as radical as redefining marriage is wrong and my opinion, Californians were correct in passing Prop 8 because of what it would mean to the church and because of what it would mean in future legal precedent.

A brief background in the institution of marriage in western cultures is helpful for understanding the high value placed on marriage in our society. Beginning with the people in ancient Judea, society “recognized marriage as the basis of the family” (Durant “Vol I”, 335). However, “Love played a very small role in the choice of mates.” (Durant, “Vol I,” 335). The purpose of marriage was procreation, “A woman was not allowed to remain idle in this matter of reproduction; if a husband died, his brother, …was obliged to marry her; or, if the husband had no brother, the obligation fell upon his nearest surviving male kin” (Durant “Vol I”, 335).

In ancient Greece, the marriage was more often than not pre-arranged as “Romantic love appears among the Greeks, but seldom as the cause of marriage.” (Durant “Vol II”, 302). The betrothed had very little if any say in the matter. This decision was either made by the parents of the betrothed or by professional match makers. A good potential wife was not one who was nice to be around but was whoever had the largest dowry. In fact, it was almost impossible for any woman who did not have a dowry to get married. If the parents could not provide one, relatives would combine their assets to come up with one. Having an unmarried daughter was considered a disgrace in this culture (Durant “Vol II”, 303). In these marriages the husband has all of the control. He is allowed to be an adulterer and can divorce the wife at any time. “Barrenness is accepted as sufficient reason for divorcing a wife, since the purpose of the marriage is to have children.” (Durant “Vol II, 305). Marriage was for the sole purpose of creating a family.

In this culture marriage was neither a religious nor a love bound ceremony. In Roman culture men normally married by the age of twenty, women married much earlier. This was never for romantic love but was for the purposes of having a helpmate, raising children, and a healthy sexual life. Marriage in roman times was liberum quaerendorum causa: for the sake of getting children (Durant “Vol III”, 68). “Women and children were economic assets, not biological toys” (Durant “Vol III”, 70). Marriages were formed by the parents of the betrothed, and sometimes were made during their infancy. The marriage ceremonies were religious, formal and they formed a legal bond. It is actually from Roman marriages that we have gotten our “ring finger”. They believed that a vain ran from the 4th finger to the heart so they naturally placed wedding rings on that finger (Durant “Vol. III”, 69)

Summarizing these ancient, western, cultures then, the most important aspect of marriage was the offspring that these marriages produced. The primary goal was to keep a man’s lineage going, to continue their society. A woman unable to produce a male heir for the husband was considered to be a mark of shame upon the family in these early cultures. Yet, as time passed, the institution of marriage continued to evolve.

According to Erwin J. Haeberle, Ph.D., Ed.D., social scientist, formerly visiting Professor at SF State University and Humboldt University, now honorary Professor in Faculty of Medicine of the University of Hong Kong, the policies of the Medieval Catholic Church and the demands of the Protestant Reformation (Haeberle) furthered the main objective of marital duty: create offspring to carry on the family name. “For the most of Western history…procreation and cooperation were the main marital duties.” (Haeberle). In time, “Theologions increasingly found a religious significance in marriage… the influence of the church on marriage was greatly strengthened” (Haeberle). In the 13th century the priest actually took charge of the proceedings (Haeberle). Eventually, “Puritans brought this concept of marriage to the Americas were it survived.” (Haeberle), and today “In the United States, marriage is both a religious experience and a legal, civil contract.” (Andryszewshi, 61).

In recent times, there is much dispute over this practice and custom as the acceptance of long-term homosexual relationships has increased and gay rights advocates have pushed for legal recognition of these relationships. As a result, in the state of California, there has been a large movement to legalize homosexual marriage. The question of whether or not homosexual marriage should be legalized has come to vote two times in the state of California: once in 2000 with Proposition 22 and again in 2008 with Proposition 8. Both times the voters upheld the traditional concept of marriage by voting against the legalization of homosexual marriage. Proposition 22, approved by over 60% of voters in 2000 stated “Only marriage between a man and a woman is valid or recognized in California” (CA Secretary of State). This was challenged in the courts and in May of 2008 the California State Supreme Court ruled against Prop 22. This ruling essentially allowed homosexual marriage against the will of the voting people. Citizens then put forward Prop 8 on the November 2008 ballot, stating “Shall the California Constitution be changed to eliminate the right of same-sex couples to marry providing that only marriage between a man and a woman is valid or recognized in California?” (CA Secretary of State). Again, this put the legality of homosexual marriage up to public vote. Once again the public voted against the legality of homosexual marriage. As before, this decision has been challenged and it is once again before the California courts. A decision on Proposition 8 will be made this June.

In the state of California religious institutions continue to play a significant role in marriage, as they have for many years. However, not all religions endorse homosexual marriage and there is uncertainty about the impact to religious bodies if the court overturns Prop 8. As weddings have customarily been a religious ceremony, some homosexual couples would like their relationship vows to be said in a religious ceremony. This creates a problem for those religious institutions that do not accept or approve of homosexual marriage. This disapproval has long standing and a basis in ancient religious texts and in historical belief. It is not new, is not frivolous, it is an important expression of a long-held theological belief. If homosexual marriage is legal, and a church refuses to perform a marriage between two homosexuals, that religious institution can be sued. Many view this as a violation of the churches freedom of religion; however, the courts don’t necessarily agree. In New Jersey, a Methodist church lost a suit after they refused to perform a gay marriage on their private property (Hausknecht). Among organizations of many faiths, there is real fear that the courts will force religious institutions (not just houses of worship) to behave contrary to their beliefs. According to Marc Stern, general counsel for the American Jewish Congress and a special in church-state issues, the debate over gay rights will impact religious institution beyond the issue of same-sex marriage. “The ‘great unanswered question’…is whether organizations such as Catholic Charities, religiously affiliated hospitals and church-owned camps are considered to be religious organizations under the law” (Frazier). Upholding, legally, a traditional definition of marriage allows churches and other religious institutions to continue observing and celebrating consistent with their beliefs and preserves, for us all, the right to free expression of religion that our nation’s founders valued so highly. Additionally, fears that legal acceptance of same-sex marriage will have “spill over” effects to private citizens who hold views consistent with their religious organizations appear well-founded. In Massachusetts two families lost a federal law suit when they protested the revised sex education program to which their children would be exposed. The 1st USA Circuit Court of Appeals stated: “Given that Massachusetts has recognized gay marriage under its state constitution, it is entirely rational for its school to educate their students regarding that recognition.” (Hausknecht) In Albuquerque, a small photography studio that refused to photograph a same-sex commitment ceremony was fined by the New Mexico Human Rights Commission. (Hausknecht). In both of these cases the citizens believed members of religious congregations that did not approve of same-sex marriage. The fear that the courts are forcing religious institutions, and their members, to accept decisions contrary to their beliefs, is based on real cases such as these.

“The right to amend California’s Constitution is not granted to the People, it is reserved by the People. The Supreme Court has repeatedly acknowledges the reserved power of the People to use the initiative process to amend the Constitution.” (Pugno) Yet, the same-sex marriage supporters have put a lawsuit before the Supreme Court claiming Prop 8 was a revision to the state constitution and not an amendment. Yet, even California State Attorney General Jerry Brown agreed that Proposition 8 was not an improper revision the constitution (Schubert). He, however, wants to see it overturned because he believes “The rights of same sex couples should be elevated over the right of the people of California to define marriage as only between a man and a woman.” (Schubert). Lead Attorney for protectmarriage.com, Kenneth Starr responded, “To embrace what truly would be a revolution it is utterly without formalization in the courts jurisprudence.” (Schubert) All of this is to say, the California Supreme Court should rule on the side of the people, Proposition 8 will most likely be upheld. If it were not, it would open the door to many more groups trying to use the courts to get their way. The voice of the people would be severely diminished if the courts were willing and able to overturn their vote; much of what this democratic country stands for would be diminished.

Homosexual marriage has been illegal in California for decades, the California Supreme Court changed that by overturning the voice of the people but this has now been corrected by the passage of Prop 8. We have a long history in Western culture of marriage being between a man and a woman. In the state of California this has been practice and law for decades. Altering this definition of marriage would negatively impact religious organizations and their members. Additionally, the way by which Prop 8 was written and then approved of by the voters was consistent with law and Prop 8 should not be overturned, doing so would be terrible legal precedent. Maybe in the future, if there are clauses that protect churches, if the voice of the people changes, if the circumstances change, same-sex marriage could be legalized. As of now, same-sex marriage is illegal, and under the current circumstances, this is good. Californians were correct in passing Prop 8 because of what it would mean to the church and because of what it would mean in future legal precedent.

• Photo by Thom Watson / Used with Permission

We are told from birth that we are different, that we are special. We are made to believe that we can be whatever we wish. This is all well and good, we will be taught what we will at birth as an enticement to cease our incessant tears, and later to stem our – almost uniform – depression. However, if we are to buy into these phrases and if we are to be somewhat conscious of the world around us, we have only two possibilities which we can utilize as explanations for the state of things: that all people will not achieve what they wish and that we may be included in those that will fail, or that we are indeed special and that others have failed exactly because they are not.

The former, will almost doubtlessly affront all at sometime in their lives; however, the latter tends to be the more prevalent among human psyches primarily due to its impartation at birth and ability to recover from nearly any sort of disillusionment. For it is simply a reaction of the mind to believe oneself capable of anything. Existence without hope of transcendence from abject bindings is rarely heard of, it is rarely allowed to survive by ourselves. The problem with this method of thinking, as we see it, is not the presumption of possibility and endurance of hope, but instead the presumption of superiority and concurrent disdain for others; we do maintain that the human will is unfettered and all is within the realm of possibility, that intelligence is developed and that artificial personal constraints borne without explicit proof are unjust.

We must make it apparent that it is completely impossible for one to be conscious of surrounding circumstances as well as one’s own possibility for failure; and, at the same time, to feel ourselves better, in some way, than that same plight affecting our peers. On the one hand, we have the allowance of an abstract capacity for failure, on the other we have ultimate, irrefutable choice. We cannot have both. Those that have succeeded may well choose the first hand, admitting that they are indeed capable of failing in an endeavor, insofar as it is apparent to both them and others that they have not, and foreseeably will not, fail; that is, they would have the ability, in retrospect, to conclude that it was possible for them to fail. Those that have not succeeded, may also assume an extreme aspect of the former: That they had no chance to succeed at all, that such a potential was simply devoid in them, from birth – a position which demonstrates, what we will call, bad faith, as Sartre employed the term.

The likely induction for those who have not succeeded, as those just above, but steer clear of a fall into bad faith is to choose to exempt themselves from the failures of others, and believe that they will not fall into the same pit falls. This, in its turn, will, for a time, give them an elevated sense of superiority – perhaps, in extreme cases, prophetic airs will here be adopted.
From that illegitimate sense three things may happen: That they will succeed and retain that sense, that they will fail and attribute it to incompetence in the party they were reliant upon to succeed – possibly augmenting the present sense of superiority –, or, lastly, that they will fail and lose this sense, from which point they may continue the fall into bad faith as afore described. It is, at this point, important to note that once one has succeeded, as we have spoken of earlier in this paragraph, it is entirely possible for them to later assume the attitude mentioned earlier – a non-superior sensed success who realizes it only after the fact.
To those whom will fall from a failure into bad faith, or into arrogant superiority: we must promote the example of the others that will fail and consequently fall. That will, in lieu of a conversion to bad faith, will only be humbled: they will work diligently to achieve. They may fail again, they may succeed – and if they do they may also slowly ebb into superiority.

II

We can now sensibly assert that most people, if not consistently, for some period of their life will feel superior, and thus excepted, from all others. We will go on to promulgate that, working from those afore stated assumptions, this tendency is evocative of many of our society’s features and frictions: in all of our politics and social interactions it injects an assumption that the side which opposes the view taken by us and our close fellows is farcical. Under this strain, we deny any convention including coherent thought on the part of our opponents – we deny them, in our minds, the basic capacities of humans. We need not always even exude the aforeoutlined sense of superiority, we must have only one or more fellows in our camp. Rarely, and this is generally only when that belittled viewpoint is adequately represented within the group of fellows, can we accept that a solution or proposition contrary to ours is simply a disparate approach, and not, in any way, inferior – until it has the chance proven so.
It is also in these such situations that our group of close fellows will assume the attitude of a minority, when the truth may be different. We will claw so harshly at the system that one on the outside may well believe that we are the sole defenders of an infinitely just cause. All groups will ridicule the ‘stumbling populace’ as if they amalgamated do not constitute an example of that phrase – however correct it may be, that is not a discussion for here. When we discuss issues amongst those like-minded to us, we will scarcely discuss the issue but instead rally to discourse on the incompetence of our ideal’s opposition.
This is a Disdain for the Majority, by the Majority. For in the same way that many will try and fail, with a recurrent theme of portraying themselves to themselves as far superior – consistently attributing any ills actuated, to others involved; we will attribute the ills of government to those less enlightened than us. Again, this is not always the case, the outline illuminated earlier is adequate to demonstrate progression and regression of this sense of superiority as well.
This phenomenon’s most base form is one that is not unfamiliar: the unwillingness of a human psyche to admit it being incorrect. Far after we have been defeated will we continue to fight. Slowly drifting into less involved battle, in stead attacking supply lines, feinting, and using assassins. Which may or may not be the way to win a war; but it certainly is not way at all to win an argument. Instead of bringing the facts and examples to bear upon each other, we bring personal issues and discrepancies to the forefront once the battle becomes pitched – few will open with such a salvo. This is undeniably because we cannot stomach a defeat. It is much easier, to retain our lofty thoughts of ourselves and our ideals, than lend credence to those both contrary and promoted by Others – for of course, then we would fall from our sense of superiority, be humbled, turn to bad faith, or be twofold disgusted; none attractive.

III

Indeed, this tendency is reckonable even in the affairs of nations. As those which once fostered a genuine ideological or economical superiority often acquire a collective messiah-complex and attempt an extension of whatever their particular attribute is to the surrounding entities, if not the globe – for an example we need only glance over our shoulder to the Cold War, both the United Soviet Socialist Republics and United States of America attempted such a feat, while, in both cases, their supposed subjects retained a majority of indifference, with variably strong superior-conditioned zealots on either side. Neither nation attributed any capacity for cogent ideological thought to the other, both perceived their counterbalance as veritably barbarous and the world as an object to, by them, be centrifugalised. Both nations had not truly succeeded for themselves, in both there were, and are, poor and disenfranchised persons scattered across the landscape, within every cranny; they would not glance from their objective to their own status – both fell in prestige and economic integrity from the affair. The sense of superiority for nations, while it can be manifest in economic growth, is mostly rooted in the ideologies disseminated, economics and other important national issues can affect the ideological superiority, however, it is observed, that they generally do not.

• Photo by Springsun / Used with Permission

But at the same time, we live in suspense. We dread the day that we die. We dread the bad scores that we could possibly think of, especially at this time of the year; finals. It’s the one thing that we all live in suspense. We lie to ourselves, trying to say that it won’t be so bad, that we will all be able to get through this. But are you being honest with yourself? Or are you just trying to block out the bad news that could await you after you get through it?

I’ve lied to myself so many times in order to survive these last seventeen years of my life. I lie to myself, saying that even though I wasn’t able to study so well, I could still do well on tests or in competitions. In the end, the lie always wins. And the lie will stay victorious forever.

I lie about everything I do, and about how I feel. Whenever someone comes up to me and simply asks me “Hey, how are you?”, my immediate response is “I’m doing all right. What about you?”. Why can’t I ever tell the truth? I want people to know how I feel, but I don’t want to break down and cry in front of them and make a scene. That one basic question everyone asks everyone else, is the most common question that I have lied my response, day by day. As I grew older, I’ve become more mature, and it has simply become automatic for me to say this little white lie.

I lie about my relationship. I say everything is all right, and people ask “Why is it just all right? Aren’t you happy?”. I want to say I am, but I can’t. I never see him, and I feel as though we’re growing apart. They would ask me “Why isn’t he coming to watch you swim? Didn’t you ask him to come?”. I spill part of my feelings out. “I actually don’t mind if he doesn’t come or not. I don’t want to bother him if he’s doing something else, you know?”. Okay, well, I partly lied about that too. It truly bothers me. It bothers me so much that I’m thinking into the future and imagining the type of suspense that I will have to deal with when he leaves. What if he finds someone else? What if we fade off and I didn’t even know it?

I lie about my whereabouts. Where I am, and what I’m doing. As far as my family knows, I’m out studying with friends and being a good girl. Wrong choice. Sure, I’m studying, just not with friends. I might be somewhere else, maybe in downtown Walnut Creek. Maybe I set up a private appointment that they don’t know about with someone else they don’t know about.

I lie about my emotions. I can’t tell people how I feel. It’s so hard for me to describe how I feel and for someone to understand exactly what I’m going through. I’m lying that I understand the homework, and that I lie that I will be able to get through this week without cracking. As I type, the stress and pressure hurts so much that I can barely hold in my tears. I think about my future, and I lie to myself that I will not end up miserable.

Tomorrow, I will lie once again about where I will be.

Please, help me tell the truth. And fast.

• Photo by What What / Used with Permission

We may soon have 51 white stars embroidered in our regal flag. Although unofficially admitted as of yet, this new 51st state has been a proud recipient of America’s government-sponsored programs such as welfare, defense, healthcare, and housing for nearly sixty years. This state shall be entitled Israel. Recently, the American people have complained about superfluous government programs and expenditures, or the copious debts we accumulate; but in fact the largest waste and harmful money spent has been in aid to Israel. For years, headlines have, sporadically, exposed us to reality with heart-wrenching accounts: “12 killed in car bombing” or “suicide bomber kills 43 on street corner”. Even before its conception in 1948, Israel has been at war with its Palestinian neighbors. The Jewish people, regrettably, have been persecuted for centuries; their loss is certainly lamentable. However, whatever grievances we initially harbored have long been superseded by economic, strategic, and political self profits (for both Americans and Israelis). For years, Israel has been forced to answer to no authoritative figure; they have received unconditional support from the U.S. with every transgression made. The exorbitant amount of economic aid given to Israel from the U.S. has exacerbated and prolonged the Israeli– Palestinian Conflict.

To fully understand the denigrating role of foreign aid, one must be exposed to the magnitude of aid given. For over sixty years, the United States has given Israel over $150 billion in economic and military aid. With the 1948 U.N. partition plan– in which the independent state of Israel was founded– President Truman and Congress approved a $135 million package to cover the costs of providing Holocaust survivors with homes. Throughout the Cold War, the U.S. continued to increase aid in order to bolster the tiny pro-democratic haven (Ross). In 1963, President Kennedy authorized the first weaponry transaction– Hawk antiaircraft missiles. Up until 1967, when Israel conquered the Sinai, Gaza Strip, West Bank, and Golan Heights in the Six Day War, aid constituted about $63 million annually (95% of which was economic assistance and food aid). Just before the Yom Kippur War in 1973, aid soared to $634.5 million; after the war, this figure quintupled. In 1976, Israel became the largest annual recipient of U.S. foreign aid (85% of funds now in military assistance). It has remained in this position ever since (Mearsheimer and Walt). Unlike all other recipients of aid, Israel is, fundamentally, given free monetary handouts, disguised by the title, “loan”:

Congressional researchers have disclosed that between 1974 and 1989, $16.4 billion in U.S. military loans were converted to grants and that this was the understanding from the beginning. Indeed, all past U.S. loans to Israel have eventually been forgiven by Congress, which has undoubtedly helped Israel’s often-touted claim that they have never defaulted on a U.S. government loan. U.S. policy since 1984 has been that economic assistance to Israel must equal or exceed Israel’s annual debt repayment to the United States (WRMEA).

Through an array of discreet transactions that allows money to circumnavigate through the loopholes of its own system of foreign aid, the U.S. has undoubtedly favored Israel with gifts and donations. Although President Obama’s administration publicly supports an equal two-state solution to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, on average, the U.S. gave more than $6.8 million daily to Israel and less than $.3 million daily to the Palestinians during 2007 (If Americans Knew). America has sent a convoluted message to the world. Diplomats have often professed to envisage a world in which Jews and Arabs live in socio-economic peace. These same diplomats have reprimanded both the Palestinians and Israelis for aggressive behavior, ordering both sides to lay down their arms, yet in sixty years America has never withheld or reduced the amount of aid to Israel. In fact, about 70% of foreign aid to Israel is spent on weapons manufacturing.

American aid to Israel is no longer spent on development assistance (as with most recipients of aid), but is instead used for “economic support funding”. The bulk of U.S. support has transformed– from housing payments for Holocaust survivors– into a commitment to preserve Israel’s military supremacy. The first military support for Israel was launched secretly in 1948– when the US supplied Israel with three Flying Fortress bombers to attack Cairo (ironically, Egypt is not the second largest recipient of foreign aid). The Cold War brought an influx of defense funding to Israel. Presidents Truman and Eisenhower were aware of “the falling of a second iron curtain across the Palestine region, dividing Jews from Arabs. Although both the US and the USSR had initially been favorable towards Israel, it was perhaps inevitable that before long they would try to use the regional stand-off to increase their local influence” (Ross 69). America’s devotion to Israel strengthened to new heights when, in 1955, the USSR armed Egypt with 200 armored personnel carriers, 300 tanks, 200 MIG, 15 fighters, and 50 bombers. America responded by arming Israel with a force of equivalent magnitude, leaving the Palestinians out in the dust. Since the waning of the Cold War, however, “Three quarters of the military aid to Israel goes for importing US-made military equipment such as F-16 and Apache attack helicopters. This creates a job market for US citizens and transforms Palestine into a test ground for US made weaponry, used daily against Palestinians” (MIFTAH). In essence, the U.S. is paying Israel to fight its wars; Israel receives unconditional support without any significant drop in aid. Not only has Israel benefited militarily (with the acquisition of new land), the foreign military investment has ripened Israel into a manufacturing powerhouse.

The billions of dollars injected directly into the Israeli defense contracting and manufacturing firms have artificially bolstered Israel’s economy to unnatural heights. Since its conception in 1947, Israel has functioned as a state built by war. Defense, including aggressive defense, has always been its top priority (Ross 98). When Israel began to show signs of plausible sustainability, enormous amounts of immigrants surged into Israel. After World War II, Holocaust survivors received reparations of thousands of dollars from Germany. In combination with the additional aid from the U.S., Israel experienced a relatively simple transition incorporating this surge of immigrants. The majority of fledgling governments have not hatched with effective welfare or education capabilities, yet Israel was able to do so with the help of foreign aid. As of 1997, the total benefits per Israeli have amounted to $14,630; the spending of this money (for taxes, housing, healthcare, etc) is left entirely up to the discretion of the Israelis (WRMEA). Within 15 years after the first foreign aid investments were made, Israel’s GDP had grown by 11% annually (Halevi). Aid to Israel morphed into strictly military aid as the nation became enveloped in Arab wars. During the Six Day War of 1967, Israel assimilated three new territories; subsequently, the Palestinians were integrated into the agricultural and construction workforce, constituting about 40% of the Palestinian labor force. However, Palestinian per capita income equaled 10.2 percent of Israeli per capita income (Halevi). The real money has been spent in weapons manufacturing:

While most countries receiving U.S. military aid funds are expected to sue them for U.S. arms, ammunition and training, Israel can spend part of these funds on weapons made by Israeli manufacturers. Also, when it spends its U.S. military aid money on U.S. products, Israel frequently requires the U.S. vendor to buy components or materials from Israeli manufacturers. Thus, though Israeli politicians say that their own manufacturers and exporters are making them progressively less dependent upon U.S. aid, in fact those Israeli manufacturers and exporters are heavily subsidized by U.S. aid (WRMEA).

Israel’s economy has benefited from the state’s transgressions. While most countries’ economies are degraded by war, Israel has actually seen GDP growth. With each new conquest, Israel acquires land, resources, and trade routes. Vital, of course, but the real profits have proven to be threats made Israel’s enemies. Angered Arab neighbors only made a few offensive movements into Israeli territory throughout the latter half of the 20th century, but their rhetoric has caused Israeli politicians to insist on increased defense spending. To sustain its expensive defense budget, Israel requires enormous funds– funds which are evidently paid for by the U.S. In conclusion, Israel’s hostilities against the Palestinians and neighboring countries have proven beneficial to the economic stability and growth of the Israeli nation. Israel can afford to sanction economic embargos (as it currently does in the Palestinian Gaza Strip):

Total U.S. to Israel is approximately one third of the American foreign-aid budget, even though Israel comprises just .001% of the world’s population and already has one of the world’s higher per capita incomes. Indeed, Israel’s GNP is higher than the combined GNP of Egypt, Lebanon, Syria, Jordan, the West Bank and Gaza. With a per capita income of about $14,000 Israel ranks as the sixteen wealthiest country in the world; Israelis enjoy a higher per capita income than oil-rich Saudi Arabic and are only slightly less well-off than most Western European countries (WRMEA).

A socio-economic gap has arisen between the Israelis and the neighboring Palestinians. This gap, fostered with the care of the United States, has caused envy and anger among Palestinians. Their distrust in the Israelis has subsequently led to a much too common distrust and resentment of Americans.

The abject economic conditions the Palestinians face have, evidently, instigated turmoil between the Palestinians and both the Israelis and Americans. With the U.N. partition of 1948 and the founding of the Israeli state, war insinuated between the Jews and Arabs. When Israel proclaimed itself victor, approximately 700,000 Palestinians were placed into refugee camps (MidEastWeb). With each subsequent war (paid by the U.S.) — affronts in which Israel ravaged or claimed neighboring territory– masses of Palestinians became displaced from their homes. As of 2002, approximately 4.6 million persons have been displaced; about 3.7 million are registered with United Nations Relief and Works Agency for Palestinian Refugees. Because of the Israeli Law of Return, Palestinians who were “forced to flee their homes are forbidden from returning to their towns of origin” (MIFTAH). As with the Jews during the Jewish Diaspora, a majority of Palestinians found themselves displaced in Gaza, the West Bank, Jordan, Lebanon, and Syria. As a result, radical factions (and lobbies) have arisen and encouraged anti-Semitism among Arab compatriots– a primary cause of international warfare with Israel. Ultimately, these wars have been paid for by America. Actually, both Hezbollah and Fatah, currently two large political parties within the Palestinian “state”, originated abroad: Hezbollah emerged in 1982 as a group of Iranian guards sent to Lebanon to fight the Israelis; Fatah was founded in Kuwait by Yasser Arafat in the late 1950s (Ross). The American– Israeli financial partnership has provided Israel with the means to “share intelligence information regarding Arab militant groups, like Hezbollah, as well as information regarding the proliferation of weapons of mass destruction in countries such as Iran, Iraq and Syria” (MIFTAH). Most often, the “means” therein stated constitute incessant bombing (a part of U.S. military aid) and destruction of “suspected” terrorist homes among Palestinians.

It should be noted that section 116 of the Foreign Assistance Act (FAA) states specifically, “No assistance may be provided under this part to the government of any country which engages in a consistent pattern of gross violations of internationally recognized human rights” (MIFTAH). However, the Israeli Army partakes, daily, in methods condemned by the Geneva Convention as torture. Such abuses have been legalized in Israel: “prolonged detention without charges, strip searches at checkpoints, beatings, torture, and home demolitions” (MIFTAH). In addition, section 4 of the Arms Export Control Act clearly describes the role of military aid, solely, as the transfer of arms for self-defense purposes only. Even the US State Department, in 2001, deemed actions taken against the Palestinians as an “excessive use of (hostile) force” (MIFTAH). Of course, the powerful Israeli statesmen and their American lobby professed their cause to be one of “global self preservation”; evidently, every war waged by the Israelis has inherently justified on the grounds of self defense. As a result, funding continues to flow from the U.S. Treasury into hands of Israeli manufactures, into hundreds of the millions of bullets produced which end up in Palestinian corpses, into the spirits and hearts of fellow refugees, to the crude bomb made in Syria, to the limp body of an Israeli grunt; thus, funding has eventually reached the vengeful minds of the Israeli lobbyists, and the cycle begins once more.

Blatant injustice. When bull dowsers come rolling down a hill unannounced, knocking down homes– with innocents still inside– blatant injustice. Despite claims of justification, such unconscionable acts cannot be reconciled. And when such acts continue for a generations, without reprimand, the victims, understandably, become accustomed to the denigration aforementioned and thus assume a mentality of abhorrence. Gone are the days when turmoil surmounted to brawls of religious persecution, although lost to antiquity is the “story of two peoples and one land” (Ross 2). Now, provocation has been replaced by mere revenge. Every day, terrorists (or freedom fights– relative to perception) are created out of young and old, boys and girls. If ever the U.S. were to stage peaceful negotiations between the Israelis and Palestinians, it would need to wane, of not entirely diminish, all forms of aid. Israel cannot continue to instigate such turmoil without repercussions .The billions of dollars poured into mock state of Israel has not only made the Israeli military all the more potent, it has angered an incredible surge of Palestinians. And for our financial blunder, humanity has paid dearly.

Works Cited and Consulted

• Mearsheimer, John J., and Stephen M. Walt. The Israel Lobby and U.S. Foreign Policy. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2007.
• Morro, Paul. “U.S. Foreign Aid to the Palestinians.” CRS Report for Congress. 29 May 2009.
• O’Brien, Rebecca D. “Who gets U.S. Foreign Aid? | Parade.com.” PARADE | Parade.com. 29 May 2009.
• “The Palestinian Refugees.” MidEast Web. 29 May 2009.
• Stewart., Ross,. Teach Yourself The Israeli-Palestinian Conflict (Teach Yourself). New York: McGraw-Hill, 2007.
• “US Aid to Israel and the Palestinians.” If Americans Knew — what every American needs to know about Israel/Palestine. 29 May 2009.
• “US foreign aid to Israel.” Colorado Campaign for Middle East Peace. 29 May 2009.
• Zunes, Stephen, Tom Malthaner, and Richard H. Curtiss. “WRMEA: U.S. Aid to Israel.” Washington Report on Middle East Affairs: Home. 29 May 2009.

• Photo by Florian Seiffert / Used with Permission

The IV Staff is grateful to its readers for their support. Thank you.

It is not not like Frank Sinatra,
but low like Frank Sinatra,
notes stretching like Frank Sinatra,
mournful jubilation like Frank Sinatra.

I make sure to steal glances at the stars –
I don’t want to know if a star is really a star
or really an airplane.
I never look long enough to watch the star move,
and in this way,
I cheat the modern language
by pretending it is music.

Tonight stretches wider than a mile.
Audrey Hepburn has hips like a goddess.
not like aphrodite, who has hips like Marilyn,
but like Artemis, who is ephemeral,
who doesn’t take shit from anybody,
who smiles and walks away from fights,
who spears the moon with her arch laugh.

I am small,
and may have had hips like Audrey Hepburn were I few inches taller. I get phantom growing pains in my shins,
never moving an inch,
but the ache for hips like Audrey Hepburn’s
tugs at my insides
rattling the marrow.

Spine curves back,
straightens out,
military rigidity.
imagine a string connecting the tip of your scalp to the heels of artemis,
and if your skin rips as the world turns,
do not show it.
mouth soft, back hard.
they said to me, “keep your chin up, sunshine“
and I listened.

There were morning glories in la Provence
the size of plums –
and the sun bent to creep low from behind the trees,
seeking the blue
not in the sky, but in the petals.
turn away from from the sky,
and look upon earth.
look only upon earth.
it is impossible to be lonely in a place so messy, so full of blue.

Look at the stars too long and the ground at your feet is infinitely further away.
you sit, try to reclaim your roots,
try to stay put.
Your hips sink to the ground, surrendering to gravity,
but when you rise, it is effortless. no magnets.
you miss the tug.

You watch the satellites pass and wonder if it had to be this way.

Speaking in tongues that have wrecked the silence forever,
the purr of cars on the freeway
reminds you to breathe.

• Photo by Hanna Smith / Used with Permission

Let’s start off with the stereotypes. As many of you know, Asians aren’t exactly known for showing signs of affections toward family members, let alone their friends. In fact, touching others pretty much came in the form of a beating. I grew up in a similar environment. As a matter of fact, when I was still in China, my parents left me behind in the care of my grandparents at the age of one so as to leave for the U.S. and pursue their studies. My grandparents loved me, of course, but I never got close to any of them. I had been passed all around China through a chain of family friends. It was like this for the next three years of my life. Growing up in America through five different elementary schools and living with only one of two parents for five years would prove to have an enormous impact on me just as much.

I’ve read somewhere in a research article that touching was vital to mental development. Apparently, those who grew up without much touch from family love would grow up to be significantly more emotionally fragile. The example used were children raised in the orphanage. Even as adults, they turned out to be more significantly more emotionally fragile than those who had been raised with parents.

By then I was thinking, “That couldn’t be me” but I was wrong. The only touch I ever got from my parents as an elementary school kid were in the forms of beating. B– on a math test? Arm bruise. C+ on a history assignment? Spanking. Very poor English grammar all-around? Beating with a meter stick. The list goes on and on. No hugs, no pats on the back. Nothing. I cried excessively from the pain and bruises. Whenever I hug either of my parents these days, it feels so neutral because their touch was the same touch that had once cause me so much pain. Their hugs give me no feelings of being loved. I feel so alone as a result. Isn’t it unusual for someone who cares about their family to not feel anything when hugging them? It’s a mystery to me.

My excessive touching seems to be a direct result of having had so little when I was a kid. I recall my first hug from a girl outside the family. That wasn’t even until freshman year at Northgate High. I remember recalling the feeling of knowing that my friends care for me, that warm feeling in my chest like drinking a bowl of chicken noodle soup when you have a cold, the feeling of believing in that everything will be alright. It was, to me at least, the healing touch. Whenever I’m feeling down, I hug a friend. It shouldn’t result in a complaint.

Actions speak louder than words. Hugs, not those stupid chemicals on the market, are the cure to depression.

• Photo by Jason “Jasmic” / Used with Permission

It was never part of the Chinese tradition to display affection, even to your own children. In their culture, not being yelled at or criticized was a form of praise – it meant that you weren’t doing anything wrong at that moment, and that was reason enough to celebrate.

I grew up with no verbal acknowledgment of love. I never heard the phrase “I love you” when I left for school, when I went to bed, or even just because. I never thought it was a big deal, so I went about my daily life. There was no resentment because I never knew what I felt like to be called “darling” or “honey”. To be honest, if my parents suddenly started calling me those names now, I’d be a bit incredulous.

The only time when I miss being showered with compassion is when I’m under stress. Instead of relieving my stress, my parents manage to add to it by “reminding” me to study and take practice tests. I keep telling myself, they’re doing it for you; they don’t want to see you miserable over another bad test score. I can only take so much pressure before I snap.

It is exhausting trying to ignore the constant “reminders”. Yelling match commences. Release anger. Purge the thoughts. Yell it out – scream at them until they listen. Cry until you can’t breathe. Keep reminding yourself that the more you get out now, the less you’ll show in public. Mind is back in control. Yelling match ceased.

Today, I hugged my mom for the first time in 16 years.

• Photo by SideLong / Used with Permission

Around me is a peaceful set of tides

Ahead of me is the body of seas

Whipping on my face is the ocean breeze

The songs of the whales, the waves of the blue

Droplets like roses with there morning dew

I can feel the rhythm of water as told

You’d be surprised how many secrets it can hold

I sit here and listen to the ocean say

The ocean spoke with its light, gentle spray,

“sun for light and clouds for shade

Mother Nature shows what she has made”

where water and sky meet, and raising mountains of great size

Blue days, blue nights, blue seas, and blue skies.

• Photo by Matt Hinsa / Used with Permission

I thought about what my grandmother had meant…there are essentially two parts to a life: the body and the soul. Through the endless cycle of life and death, the body will die and the soul will always be alive; the body acts as a dwelling place for the soul to attach itself, and once the body dies, the soul “frees” itself and lives on. Mike Gaines is alive in soul and in memory, and his soul is now “free.” This is why Mike Gaines is not truly “dead.” Because Mike Gaines is a soul, only without the physical body, and this soul lives, through the legacy he has left. This experience has left many deeply troubled, even to those who never knew him. It has been especially hard on those who could relate, or had similar experiences with the death of a friend or family member, causing the old, buried, hidden memories and pain to resurface once again. As teenagers, we are often reckless and carefree; we sometimes feel as if we are immortal, and that nothing can ever harm us. Many of us, blessed with the things that a lot of people around the world do not have, tend to take life for granted and do not think about death often, the concept of death seems so surreal.

This experience has really put life into perspective. I know it has affected me, and the way I live my life, as well as many other people. I have come to realize that it is important to appreciate life while it lasts, because life is beautiful. Life is a gift, that’s why they call it the present. Death seems to attack when you least expect it. It can come at any moment. So live like there’s no tomorrow, love and appreciate everyone, welcome friendships with an open mind, and an open heart, the way Michael Gaines would have done.

• Photo by Wendell “Wink” / Used with Permission

Through the cracks of unknown spaces?

Where has the time gone?

Into the pores of unseen places?

Where has the time gone,

And who had the thought

of making time infinite

And our precious lives not?

• Photo by Toni Verdú Carbó / Used with Permission

Caring for others—a gentle giant—
To all who knew him.

A young benevolent soul—looking down—
At his loved ones with the angels.

One who carried himself—through life—
Living to the fullest.

Those who approached him—got nothing—
But ten times the warmth in return.

Never gone—the most beautiful—
Of God’s creations.

Sumalangit nawa ang kayang kululuwa—
May his soul rest in peace.

• Photo by Lawrence Lew / Used with Permission

MICHAEL ANTHONY GAINES
September 23rd, 1992 — May 19th 2009

Written by Friends
Compiled by Andrew Lam
Inspired by Eric Simmons
Managed by Intravenous

ZUBIN MODY
What up, Mikey? I will never forget all the times we had in the hallways at Northgate, shaking hands like we had known each other for years, and saying each other’s names like we were notorious rappers in the business. Your heart was too big for this world, and your love could be felt in other universes. I wish you good luck as your journey continues above the clouds over our heads.

ERICIA BYER
Mike, my thoughts and prayers go out to your family. May you rest in peace.

CHRIS SHELVER
Michael Gaines was a unique person, who always had a smile on his face. He was great to be around. Although I was not around him much, when I was he always made me feel upbeat and positive about life. I can’t believe he is gone. Just yesterday, I was sitting on the bus, looking out the window, when I saw his uniquely interesting hair style. I cannot believe that he was to pass away a few hours later. Thank you Mike for all you have done for all the people who love and care for you.

CLARA PAINTER
I never really knew you but I wish I had. You touched many lives and will be truly missed! Rest in Peace.

LYNDSAY PETERSON
If tears could build a stairway,
and memories a lane, I’d walk
right up to heaven and bring you
home again.

GABRIELLE SOTO
I didn’t know Michael that well, but I do remember him. He was in my sixth and seventh grade P.E. class. I danced with him a couple times when we had the “social dancing” unit, though we never spoke except maybe a few words. I was too shy, too introverted to talk to anyone that wasn’t my closest friend. This school year, I have seen him, every day in the hallway, just walking to his next class. And now I wonder why I never talked more with him, and wish I had because now I will never get a chance to know better the person that everyone referred to as a “great guy” and “kind” and a “nice person”. I wish I had gotten to know him like so many did. And though I didn’t, the news of his death shocked me just the same. My jaw dropped when Mr. McMorris read the news; I just couldn’t believe that somebody so young had passed away so suddenly. The rest of yesterday, and today, have sort of gone by in a blur. There was a noticeable hush in the school today, in the hallways, in the classrooms. Because even those who didn’t know Michael were affected, and disturbed by what happened. It made everyone, myself included, realize how precious life is. We think these things don’t happen, or that they couldn’t happen to someone we know, but that is unfortunately not the reality. Michael, you will be greatly missed by all.

MICHAEL DE GARMO
Michael Gaines, you were truly a great person and it is hard to see you go. Your personality always brought smiles to people’s faces. R.I.P.

ROMAN SCALISE
Today we lost more than a classmate; we lost a positive person in our lives. Some of us never got to know Mike better than to know him as a nice and fun loving person. I am very sad along with tons of others that he is gone. We will all miss seeing him in the halls laughing and having a good time. I send my prayers to him and his closest family and friends. R.I.P.

KATY BLUMER
I sat behind Mike Gaines all year. I didn’t know him well, but anyone who knew him knew what kind of a guy he was. He sat surrounded by friends. They teased each other mercilessly, the way sixteen-year-old guys do. Mike never teased back, never even protested, just grinned that giant grin of his and laughed. Not once that year did I hear him disparage anyone, even as a joke. I’m not exaggerating when I say he was the sweetest guy I knew.
In the coming weeks, Northgate will be a sadder place. Mike’s not here anymore, so it’s up to us to do what he did. Remember his warmth and good humor. Don’t pick stupid fights; comfort those who need it, even if they’re complete strangers. Remember that your life is fragile. Take good care of it. Let’s make Mikey proud.

NATASHA MALHOTRA
Since seventh grade his laughter warmed everyone hearts every where he was. I never knew his personally but he always had a smile on his face. I hope he will Rest in Peace.

JAY KIM
I have so many thoughts going across my head at the moment. I never had a chance to get to know Mike in person nevertheless I always thought that he would be a sweet kid when I see him in the hallways with his smile on his face. Mike, My thoughts and prayers are with you and your family. You will be truly missed. Rest In Peace.

DANIELLE MURTHA
Mike was such a sweet person, and I know that since high school has started I haven’t really talked to him. I really wish I would have. I take everyone for granted, like I’ll wake up the next morning and they will always be there. I wish I would have stayed in touch with Mike through these past couple years, because I’m going to miss him a lot. He was a sweetheart, and such a nice person. I am going to miss him. We are all going to miss him. So I pray for the family, because I know the loss of a loved one hurts worse than anything else. But he was always kind to others, and he was a sweet guy, and happy, and we should celebrate him. Celebrate his life.
We love and miss you, Michael.
Here’s to you, bud. Here’s to everything you’ve been. You touched all of our lives, and we will never forget you.

JASON YU
Michael Gaines could be described in one word: friendly. At first, he was just another one of the eighteen people in my Biology class. We all took notes together, had fun with Mr. Tellian together, and shared stories together. I would always remember Michael as the person who would listen to all of your stupid stories, and even though everyone would be ragging on you for whatever stupid thing you’ve done, Michael would just be the one person to just laugh along, and just listen to your story. As a freshman, I didn’t get to know Michael as long as other people have, however, in these nine months of school that we’ve had, I have noticed that this man is a person who never said anything bad about anyone, he was always that one who would lift you up, not bring you down. He was the person who would treat you like a brother, even if you’ve known him for a short period of time. He was taken from us, and it’s a heartbreaker, however, if there’s any bit of learning that could be taken from this, it’s that life is so fragile. It could be taken away from us in a heartbeat. He is gone, but his personality lives on. As long as we treat each other with respect, as long as we bring each other up, we’re paying our respects to Michael. He was taken from us way too early, but during his short time on Earth, he left his mark.

CAROLYN ANDERSON
I am sad to hear what happened to you. Everyone wore black in memory of you today. The whole school misses you.

LENORE FISH
Some may say that although I never truly knew you personally, it would not be proper to write this; but I disagree. You will always be remembered and that is something everyone can agree with. Michael Gaines, to me and to everyone else you will always be remembered but above all you will always be loved.

MICHAEL WRIGHT
I never knew you very well Michael Gaines, but you’re gone and it’s too late for me now.
After reading what everyone has written about you I can’t help but see the way you have affected so many people.
It seems your kindness and loving nature will never be forgotten by those who really got a chance to know you.
May you rest in peace and never be forgotten.

KELSEY AUSTIN
I never even knew your name. I never even talked to you or heard your voice. But every day I would walk out of math and you would walk right by me. Sometimes you looked sad. Sometimes you looked happy. One time I heard you laugh and it made me smile. Smiles are all it takes to affect someone. Not hearing your laugh ever again won’t nearly be as hard for me as it will for the people that knew you, were friends with you, and your family. But it affected me.

EUGENE SVIDLER
Michael, I didn’t know you that well, but we had a few classes together and you were always nice to everyone. You never had anything negative to say and I’m glad I knew you. I regret not talking to you more. Best wishes to your family, you will never be forgotten, man.

HALEY FRASER
I speak for many people when I say that one did not need to know Mike well to know he was a genuinely easy-going and kind person. I never heard him say anything negative about anyone, and I really admired him for this. I will miss hearing him laugh everyday in English and History, and I will never forget him.

EMMA FULLER
You will be missed and remembered forever
R.I.P. Mike

PARAG JOSHI
What can I say About Mike Gaines? He was one of the happiest kids I have ever known. Always had a smile on his face. Never sad… never mad. For the past few months I would always say hi to him in the halls and just yesterday, on his last day with us, he said hi to me for the first time. I don’t know why Mike was taken from us and I don’t think it is fair, but I know he is in a better place and he is looking down on us from heaven.

Rest In Piece Mike Gaines

ADAM WALCHIRK
Now everything seems to move slowly.
I’m not sure which way I should go.
Life’s given me so many paths how can I choose one.
I’ve had a lot of friends, never thought I’d lose one.
And I swear they got the wrong one.
And I swear I won’t forget you in the long run.
I wish I could fast forward to the day we are together.
Mike you will be in my heart forever.

R.I.P. Mike… You will never be forgotten.

DAVID HO
I can’t ever say that I knew Mike Gaines as well as a friend would have. For me, he’d just been a guy who was in the same grade as me, and a guy who I’d shared a few classes with in the past. But now, as I think about the past with him in it, I remember and realize how special of an individual he was. When we used to be in the same class, we’d pass in the halls, and he’d always say hello to me. We used to chat idly about anything, and he was always there to talk to.
I think back to the last time I ever saw him. We were at a crowded “College and Job Fair” inside the NG library and I was bored. There really wasn’t anything there that interested me, and none of my friends were around with me at the moment. I was simply wandering around; I had no one to talk to, and was getting ready to leave. But then I noticed Mike standing nearby, and we just happened to make eye contact. I don’t know if he remembered me from the previous year, but we ended up exchanging a friendly chat. We chatted on about a random topic, and I stood there smiling, listening, and talking to him. We talked as if we were brothers.
Mike was really special. There is no one like him. He was a friend, and a brother to everyone. He treated everything whom he met as a true friend. Though I never spent a ton of time with him, I can guarantee this, if you treated Mike with respect, he’d give you ten times more.
Now that it’s time for me to say goodbye, I’m stuck here, regretting the fact that I’d never been a true friend to Mike. My most treasured memory of Mike is him creating his own rap for his persuasive speech, and performing it in Mrs. Jenkins’ class. He put a smile on all of our faces that day, and I know he’s smiling at us now. He’ll put a smile on those who remember him, and those who ever met him will smile at their memories of him. Those who were his friends will never forget him. May you rest in peace Mike, your presence will be missed. Thank you Mike, for always being there, and for being the guy who you were.

MARCO SAN MATEO
Mike Gaines was more than just a student for the student body of Northgate but he was also a great friend to us all. Mike was always a friendly guy and he was always easy to talk to when you’re feeling down in the dumps. When I first met you in 7th grade you always had my back. When we first went to aims in are freshmen year of high school year you made me feel more at ease to be myself because I had a friend with me. When sophomore year came around you were in my aims class again and I had more friends to keep me at ease and I met more people. As time passed by I didn’t see you as much anymore and then when I first heard that you passed away I was devastated. Mike you were more than just a friend to me you were like a brother to me man. R.I.P. buddy we will miss you so.

BEN GARCIA
I never really knew Mike, and I had only talked to him a few times. Even from those couple of times I could tell that he had a big heart. I would see him walk by everyday at lunch with a big smile laughing with his friends. I wish I could have gotten to know him better. R.I.P.

BRENT HISAKA
I won’t act like I really knew or was even acquainted with Michael. That might seem odd considering he has lived on the corner of my street since before I could even remember. I vaguely recall seeing him for the year or two that I took the bus to school in middle school. Never, though, did I approach him. Why, then, am I writing? I may not have been hit quite as profoundly today as so many of those at Northgate, but I saw things today that I will never forget. Two of my close friends, Jacob Schiller and Cody Stirm, two men who have always composed themselves with the utmost humor and happiness…were crying. Now this, this unsettled me more than so many things I have encountered in my life, however short it may be so far. Short…who am I to comment on how short my life has been so far… Michael, a mere junior in high school has passed on. That’s short. Far shorter than anyone deserves. Even the worst of souls deserves to see their college graduation, to go to college. And surely Michael was the best of souls, the kindest of people. What else could move Jake and Cody, two such happy men to such emotion? I may not have known Mr. Gaines, but if his passing could spark such emotion, such mourning in so many people, he must truly have been an amazing person.

No amount of condolences could ever assuage the loss of the Gaines family, yet I extend mine regardless. No mother should have to bury her son.

I’m by no stretch of the imagination am I a religious person, but at a time like this, something inside me makes me wish that there is a God, and that Mike is with him right now. R.I.P.

LISA RANKIN
I only wish I had the chance to get to know you better. The saying is true when they say you never know how precious something is until it is gone. The people around me who knew you well, spoke only kind words about you. Never once did anyone have anything bad to say about you. You had made an ever lasting impression on everyone you met in your life, and trust me, Mikey, you are unforgettable. You are so kind and generous. I could see that you genuinely cared about the people that were close to you and you only wanted to look out for them. That makes you unforgettable, Mikey. I will always remember you in math class freshmen year and Mr. Olsen calling on you all the time and you taking your time to find the answer (I think you may have been his favorite!). And Ms. Hodge always challenging you, but of course you always won. And even in middle school in Mrs. Lee’s science class. You were my first lab partner and you were so peaceful to be around. You never made anyone feel uncomfortable or stressed. The aura you had around you was so calming and relaxing. And true. You were you. And only you. And you will always be cherished and missed for that. For being Michael Gaines. We love you, Mikey. And you will never be forgotten. May you always live forever in our hearts.

MANDI HEPPLER
R.I.P. Mike Gaines. I never met you but from what I hear you are an angel. Rest in peace Mike. You will be missed.

ERIC BUCKLAND
Mike Gaines; whether you were good friends with him or you had only met him once or twice, you know what a cool person he was. I was just starting to get to know Mike, and the worst part is that I’ll never really get to be good friends with him. The last thing I said to him was “Hey Mike” to which he responded with his usual greeting “What’s up, Buckland?” in the gruff but friendly way with which he always said it. That is all we could say. Hey Mike. No one got a chance to say good bye. We should not remember Mike because he passed away suddenly at the end of his junior year. We should remember the Mike who brightened our days and brought laughter to our lips. Mike, you are, and will be, missed.

BRENT NETTELL
I didn’t know you that well.
In fact, I didn’t know you at all. To my recollection, we never even spoke.
But, this doesn’t change the fact that this event has affected me, just like it has everyone else.
That a precious life has been extinguished, and so suddenly.
I didn’t know you, but I do know that other people did. That you were an important figure to your friends and family. Your life was a precious one, a life that can never again be replaced.
In fact, my biggest regret is that I never got the chance to know you.
That I never got to talk to you, and get to know you, before you so suddenly departed.
Fly high, Mike Gaines. We will all miss you dearly.

SARA LY
I met Michael at the beginning of my high school career. I didn’t know him that great but I was always aware of his presence. As it came, he and I were in the same English class in our sophomore year. We weren’t the best of friends but we were classmates and Michael considered me his friend and for that I am honored.
Anyone who knew Michael knows that he has a kind heart. He would always lend a helping hand even if he wasn’t the one you were asking. His compassion knows no boundaries and that was what made him loved.
There was a time last year when I had ridden the wrong bus home from school. Michael was kind enough to walk me all the way back to my house when it was on the opposite side of his own home. He didn’t have to and I didn’t ask him to but that was the way he was. He went out of his way to help me and I’ll never forget his kindness.
People always talk about death and what would happen when it strikes. No one expected for it to strike Michael so suddenly and at such a young age. It saddens me that his life has been robbed because of this untimely event but I do hope that he lived it to its fullest. I know that Michael is in a better place because someone like him, someone that generous and caring, deserves it, at the very least.
Michael will be greatly missed. No one could ever replace him in our hearts and it upsets me that he has to leave us like this. Many of us would have never expected it. When I heard the news that someone had passed away, I was shocked, but I didn’t know who it was until a few moments later. During the time that I didn’t know who it was I was curious. What grade were they in? Do I know them? The shocking news left me heartbroken and hurt. I couldn’t believe that something this awful would happen to such a great man and I still can’t believe that I will never see his face again.
Somewhere in the clouds, angels are taking care of Michael and somewhere in the clouds Michael is watching over us. He will never leave us and he will always be cherished. May you rest in peace Michael Anthony Gaines.

ARVIND RAMESH
Today, when I heard that Mike Gaines had passed away last night, I felt sick inside. I felt terrible, and what confused me the most was that I didn’t even know him that well. My distant relatives and distant acquaintances have passed away throughout my life, and I have never felt a single morsel of sorrow. But today when I heard Mike passed away, it stuck with me. A feeling that I had never really felt before; true sorrow. Upon later reflection I realized I felt this way because Mike had such a big heart and was always so kind to everyone, and I could not think of a single time when was mad at him or he was mad at me. R.I.P. Mike, I’ll miss you.

BIJAN PARVIN
I never really knew Mike until this year when I shared threads with him. I did a couple classwork assignments with Mike and came to realize how kind of a guy he really was. Mike was a guy who would do a favor for you and ask absolutely nothing in return. He was a great guy with a great heart. It’s really hard to realize that he’s not going to be around anymore but we all can rest knowing that Mike is somewhere in a better place.

KATIE REUTTER
I wish I could have known you, talked to you, become friends with you, but now I never can. It is unbearably sad and unfair that death took those opportunities away from us. But, you were a joy in many people’s lives, always giving them your heart and soul. As I talked with my brother he remarked in fond remembrance that you always gave him a dollar in middle school when he needed it. My brother did not even know you. I will always remember you as the caring, loving, open-hearted being that you were. Maybe I’ll get to know you later, whenever and wherever that might be.

WILL MELTON
I didn’t know Mike too well, but from what I did know from talking to him and seeing him around other people, he was clearly a really nice guy. It’s sad to believe someone can pass away at such a young age. I’m not quite sure what else to write, all I can say is that I don’t have a single negative memory about him and that he will be missed.

PAUL OKENDO
When we are born, there is one thing that is gonna come to us all. And that would be death. But for Mike Gaines, his life barely started. Mike was always the one to have someone’s back, or be the first one to offer a helping hand. He was always laughing and making some form of a joke. He always tried to put a smile on someone’s face. He was the kind of kid that everyone knew around the Northgate campus. Everyone loved Mike dearly and we will surly miss him. R.I.P. M.G.

MONICA WOELFFER
It just doesn’t seem real. Tomorrow we will walk into the halls of Northgate and our fellow peer, Mike Gaines, will not be there to join us. It really just seems unfair to take away a life that was so young. He had hopes, dreams, and goals that he planned to accomplish. Sure, I was not a close friend, but this whole situation seems surreal. From the very few conversations I had with Mike, I realized that he was an optimist. An optimist in a world filled with negativity. His strong spirit should be an inspiration for us all. We need to look on the bright side, for Mike.
Mike will truly be missed. He may be gone now, but he will never be forgotten. Though it may seem totally clichéd and straight out of a Disney movie, Mike will always be with us in spirit as long as we keep him in our hearts. R.I.P. Mike Gaines.

GABRIELLA DE LUCA
I never knew you that well, but I saw you every day. We shared Art class in seventh grade, and you were always sweet, kind, and funny. You shall be missed dearly. My heart goes out to family and friends of Michael Gaines for he shall remain in our hearts forever. This tragedy will only make the ones who love you stronger. God bless you Michael Gaines.

EITAN KARNI
Mike was always a great guy. I would eat lunch with him and he was always happy and in a good mood. He was just such a nice person. I enjoyed being in his presence and talking and joking around with him. He was also very compassionate. As an example, he would sometimes go to the cafeteria and return with a handful of cookies to pass around to everyone. Mike was a one of a kind guy and will be missed greatly.

JOEL FRATTINI
Mike was always the guy with the big heart. You could always count on him. If you needed a couple dollars you could go to Mike and he would give it to you without thinking. He always had your back. He always acted as if you were his brother. May he rest in peace.

MATT BATASKA
The one time I spoke to you, you brightened my day. You were such a kind, sweet guy. I wish I could have gotten to know you better. I’ll miss seeing you in the hallways.

TYLER REYES
I remember being in his 8th grade science class, every day we sat across from each other and just talk about what ever. One day I said, “Mike Gaines I’m sorry, just DON’T EAT ME!” the whole table erupted in to laughter including him. I saw him every day in the halls, said hey and patted him on the back; I would have never guessed that yesterday would be the last day I got to do that.

CODY STIRM
He was perhaps the kindest and most generous person I knew. He had so much to give to everyone, not just to his friends. He shared everything and never expected anything in return. He was the friend who everyone was happy to have around. He made us all smile. He was a very funny and creative guy, and very fun to be around. He never complained and always kept a positive attitude. Mike is someone I will remember forever, especially after spending nearly every day around him, having the silliest conversations and laughing. He was always one to find good humor in everything. He had a great heart and a great soul. We love you Mike Gaines!

SALMA ABDELAZIZ
You were a good guy Mike. You’re in a better place now.
Rest in Peace, keep us safe.

AARON HERNANDEZ
R.I.P. Mike you were a good guy and awesome friend… You put smiles on people’s faces… I’ll never forget you… MY hommie.

ANONYMOUS #1
Today is a day I won’t forget. Today is a day I learned a lesson that took all the years I have been alive to learn.
I learned to “know” a person for who they are, what they represent and what they mean to those around them.
Today, for the first time, I “met” Michael Gaines.
My daughter told me after school today of his death. She told me she didn’t know him personally, but she knew who he was. She told me how the students at Northgate High School honored his memory by wearing black clothes and holding a short memorial service in his honor at school .
How can a student at Northgate just suddenly die like this? Who was Michael Gaines? Why did this happen? Many questions raced through my mind. I turned, as I always do, to the magic of the Internet, the all-mighty, all-knowing, Internet, to try to find some answers to my questions.
Instead of finding answers to just those questions, I found more. Much, so much, more.
I experienced the joy, perhaps for the first time in my life, of “meeting” and
getting to know someone through the eyes, thoughts and words of others. I don’t know what Michael looked like, how tall, whether he wore glasses, color of his hair, sound of his laugh or color of his skin.
But, let me say, I feel after reading all the thoughtful words and comments made by those who do know those details, I DO know the spirit of Michael Gaines.
It touched me to the point of having to wipe tears from my eyes, over and over again, as I read the impact Mike had on those around him.…..his friends, classmates.…..those he simply passed in the hallway of the school.
It touched me to read the beautiful words, hand-picked by those who walked through life with him, chosen to be typed into memorialization.
What an impact this life, this one person, had on so many. Simple things. It’s the simple things people feel, remember, appreciate. How clear this was made to me as I read words of his classmates and friends.
He touched those around him. He tried, in simple ways, to make the world around him a little.…..just a little.……bit better with his actions, his words. He wasn’t flashy and shiny and loud and imposing. Yet, he managed, in so many ways, on a daily basis, to make those around him have a little bit better a day because his spirit passed through.
His spirit. Not his accomplishments or achievements. Not his power or his opinion.
Just his spirit. That is who he was and that is who we all are.
Reading words typed by his friends and classmates made me stop and think: I wonder if any of these young people ponder how they will be “remembered” if they were to suddenly have their life taken away from them?
I wonder if they have a sense of how “their classmates” will speak of or remember them? I wonder if the rest of us, touched by Michael Gaines’ passing, think we know how those we leave behind will choose to tell others about us, about how we lived, who we were.….…?
I wonder if anyone will ever truly be able to write about me as positively, as thoughtfully, as those who have written about Michael Gaines have written about him.
I am a mother. I have three children. My youngest is a freshman at Northgate. My parents are living in their mid-70’s. I have been particularly blessed with many, many relatives in my life I have enjoyed the company of for as long as I can remember. I often wonder how it will be to deal with the death of those I have known my entire life.
Taking time out of my day to read and get to know Michael Gaines has been something I will not soon forget.
Because of his passing I was brought to see the absolute goodness and talent in students at Northgate, as measured by their incredible thoughts poured into their keyboards. It is so reassuring to see inside the hearts of some of those who wrote about Michael.
Because of his passing I have found a reason to appreciate the internet, the technology, the era we live in.….…the era of detached social skills, artificial relationships and void left where human interaction once dwelt. I have seen the value of seeing inside someone’s heart and soul.….…..both Michael’s and those who wrote about him.
Because of his passing I have watched the outpouring of respect for life shown by the students of Michael’s school, his life, as evidenced by the frantic “call to arms” to wear black in his honor today via the almighty text message.
I have stopped in the midst of my incredibly demanding, stressful life as a mother of three and tax attorney working full time to reflect on how, if I were to leave this life tomorrow, those who knew me would speak of me, what they would remember as having value to them, what example I set for others.….…
I say to the family and close friends of Michael: thank you for sharing him with the rest of us. Know that this young man had an incredible impact on the lives of so, so many.….people like ME, who did not ever have the pleasure of knowing him. Try to find comfort knowing that although his life was so short, way too short, that unlike so many of us still here bumping around into each other day after day, what he stood for made a huge difference in many lives. What a tribute. If we all could be as fortunate at the end of our lives.….…
And to Michael, wherever you are, and I believe you know this: thank you for living a life that brought such value to so many. You truly are One of the Good Guys.

CHRIS HOPKINS
Boy what a smile! His smile will live with us where ever our lives may take us.

DEREK KRYSKOWSKI
You have created a flame in all of our hearts that will never be burnt out. R.I.P. Mike Gaines.

NIK HERNANDEZ
It seems like everything flew by just a little too fast. Sitting on the bus from 7th grade all the way to this year, still saving me seats on the bus. Looking at your empty seat across from me in English just won’t be the same. Turning around to talk in History will be no longer possible. Nothing will ever be the same with you. You were funny, smart, knew how to make people feel just that much better about themselves. And in just one night, it’s all taken away. I miss you Mike. Rest in paradise.

STEVE KIM
Hey Mike
I still can’t believe you left us like this… but I am glad that I got to know you… We hanged out during summer break and it was hella fun! I’m going to miss you and never forget you. Much love brotha and God bless you and your family

MEGHAN VERCAMMEN
I am sorry to say that I did not know Mike Gaines but all I can tell you is that I, too, know what it is like to lose a close friend. A friend that was loved by so many people in his or her life. A friend who has been taken away from us unexpectedly by an illness. A friend who we missed so much, that we wish we could turn back time, just to see his or her face and hear his or her voice again. Even though I did not know you, I love you. We all love you. We all miss you. May you rest in peace, Mike Gaines.

ANISHA NARAYAN
Mikey — You’ve always had a great sense of humor and were always a genuinely kind, friendly person. My favorite memory was when you wrote the Martin Luther King rap and acted for our 60’s project, it’s what made the project (and everyone’s day)
It’s not fair that you had to go so young, and you had so much potential. You will be missed dearly. Rest In Peace.

DEBADRITA BHATTACHARYA
Just to think, it was only yesterday I saw Mike walk past me to class after brunch. A year ago was the first and unfortunately the last time I talked to him. One day before school started I went to the school library. I remember a friend of mine was talking to him. I went to my friend and the three of us had a hearty conversation. I found Mike to be the most wonderful, kind, and humorous person I had ever met. Never will I forget that moment. He was the kind of guy who left a mark in your mind even if you just talked to him once for five minutes. His smile would put a smile on each and everyone’s face! Rarely, in today’s world, are such people found who not only want their own happiness but the happiness of others.
Death can take the body of the person, but his memories, his deeds, and his love for humanity will prevail in our hearts. We all have something to learn from Michael. I have learned how to be a good human being and how to love everyone no matter what. No matter where Michael is, his memory and his teaching will always remain with me. I hope his family and friends all the best. I give them all my support!

TIFFANY FAED
Michael Gaines was most possibly the nicest person I’ve ever met. When I was a sophomore I was so lost, didn’t know where my classes where yet. I was rushing to the bathroom to try and remember, I remember I was so mad at myself thinking “I’m a sophomore I should know where my classes are” and as I think this is am passing him, and he looks at me and stops me and says “do you need help?” and he helped me find my class. Over the next year and half we exchanged few words but the times I did he was smiling and giving a warm aura. “There is nothing in the world so wonderful as to love and be loved; there is nothing as devastating as love lost.” Always and forever remembered with love,
R.I.P Mike Gaines

ALEJANDRO RAMOS
He smiled at absolutely everything. Happy or mad. He didn’t show it. Because he was a great kid. R.I.P. Mike

JINNY SUN
It is strange to think that a student from Northgate will never walk down the dreary and windowless halls. I suppose even now I am waiting for the truth to hit me, for I cannot even begin to comprehend the tragic loss of a person and what life will be like. I remember Mike from elementary school to high school, and I still believe deep inside that I will see him again. For all the memories, thank you. For all the joys and jokes, thank you.

FRANNIE UCCIFERRI
I am sad to say that I never really knew Mike Gaines. He was a good friend to some of my friends, but we never ran in the same circles.
After hearing the tragic news, I saw my friends-Mike Gaines’ friends-looking as though the world had fallen from underneath their feet. The whole thing seemed unreal, too terrible to be true.
I listened as these people talked about Mike, told stories about their mutual experiences, and shared jokes that reminded them just how much he meant to the people he knew.
The fact that I did not have the chance to know Mike Gaines is a regret I will carry with me forever. I never was able to know the genuine, generous person who touched his friends with his love, humor, and kindness. However, by hearing the way his friends loved him, I know that his time here has made the world a better place. Mike Gaines, rest in peace.

SEAN SIDDHU
Mike, I will always miss you man. I still can’t believe what has happened. Yet if there is one thing I have learned from being around you, it is that you always find a way to make the best out of something. I know you’re probably writing some raps up in heaven right now. I won’t disturb you; just know that I will never forget you. You will always have a place in my heart. I love you man, Sean

KIM GRIFFIN
I didn’t really know you too well, but I wish I had made the effort. What I do remember though makes me smile. I remember you reading poetry in Ms. Ludden’s class. I remember how it made me laugh and reminded our class to enjoy life. You brought joy into other people’s lives and I want to thank you for that. You will be missed.

KAREN JENKINS
When I read the amazing and heartfelt messages on this site [IVWriting.com], I had to add my thoughts and memories of Michael Gaines. He brought his heart and soul to second period English last year, in room 44. This was one of those rare classes where people bond and form close friendships, where people knew each other from many years back — and then keep adding more and more memories through a year of class activities and discussion. Michael was a quiet presence, full of heart and he always had his signature smile ready. More than once, when he had been quiet and I would call on him, he always had an insight or comment to share. Quiet but not shy. Soft-spoken but not hesitant. I’ll always remember, and I’m sure students will too, his original rap song, complete with mixed music, that he performed as part of his persuasive speech. Now doesn’t that memory bring a smile! Or his Catcher in the Rye monologue, Michael ranting like Holden Caulfield and stealing the show from his group. I’ll remember Michael, and the great display of friendship and support from his classmates, and from his mom who was so devoted, caring and supportive.

JARED FRIEDMAN
Although I never got the chance to get to know you, I could tell that you were an awesome person. You went too soon, but I hope that your last thought was your best one. A member of the Northgate Family is gone, but not forgotten. Goodbye dude.

ALEX ROGALA
Every day, as I strolled from P.E. to my locker and rubbed my eyes awake, I passed by you in the gym. We never talked; and I doubt we ever even exchanged a glance; but I will miss seeing you every morning.

ANTHONY CHIN
Although I never knew Michael Gaines particularly well, I know that the guy treated everyone he met like a brother and a friend. He had a quality of unconditional love that does not come along very often. I remembered he was always a great guy to talk to about the latest video game or anything of that nature. Even though he may have been limited physically, he will always be remembered as a lover of a life, a true friend, and an overall amazing person.

CHRIS ANDRES
Mike was the nicest guy I ever met. He is a funny, out-going, kind, generous and fun to hang around. I first met Mike in English class last year in Mrs. Jenkins class. He sat right next to me the whole year and we would talk with other friends in class and we would just have a good time together. We would talk about class stuff and other stuff like cars, girls, music especially and allot more other things. In class we both became close friends. Everyone loved Mike when he was in class. He would make jokes and rap for us in class. Mike will always be with us in our hearts. He will be missed dearly. I will always remember Mike because we became close friends. The last time I saw Mike was yesterday after 5th period, I was walking and he was in the hall and he said what’s up biscuit and I said what’s up Mike Gaines! And that’s the last time I talked to him. Mike is a special person; the lord blessed him with his kindness, and generosity. Everyone loves Michael Gaines and so he will be missed. Michael Gaines rest in peace my friend! I will miss you!

MAYNOR GUERRA
I didn’t know Mike too well but I would see him in the halls a lot and every time he would be like “what’s up Maynor?” in his deep voice that made my day that much better… Mike was a kind and generous guy he put smiles on everyone’s face he will always be missed he is in all of our hearts we miss you mike… R.I.P.

ALI KHAVARI
I have known Mike Gaines since middle school but last year I got to know him a little better. Last year, sophomore year, Mike and I were in the same World History Class. During that time, I learned a lot about Mike. I learned that he was probably one of the nicest guys at Northgate. He was friendly and kind to everyone he met. Every day, I would walk down the ramp leading to the cafeteria towards Mr. Boyd’s class. As I rounded the corner and entered the classroom, I always saw Mike in his seat with a smile on his face. No matter how early I arrived, Mike was always there. From his wonderful personality to his great sense of humor, Mike always made the class more interesting. We spent numerous days discussing sports and our lives outside of school. He was a great friend. Northgate will always remember Mike Gaines. Rest in Peace Big Mike.

ZACH GARMAN
It took me less than a minute to figure out that Mike Gaines was the most genuine person I’d ever met. Mike cared about people for who they truly were inside, regardless of who they were on the outside. He was one of the most caring people that Northgate’s halls have ever seen, and the love he has shown to everyone at Northgate is being reflected by his passing. Mike Gaines, you are gone, but you will never be forgotten. You changed my life and made me think twice about things when I met you in eighth grade, and you’ve changed my life and made me think twice about life now that I have to say goodbye. People like Mike are the people who can change lives. I know you’re looking down on us and because of the love and acceptance you showed to each and every single person that you met, we’re all looking right back up at you. You showed me what matters in life Mike and I’ll never be able to thank you enough. But thank you Mike Gaines. In your short time here, you changed the world.

SUSIE BOWMAN
Mike was in my international relations class freshman year. Today, after hearing the news of his death, I replayed one thing over and over in my head, something I think I remembered him saying. I just replayed Mike saying, “Hey Susie.” Such a small thing. But I couldn’t stop thinking of it… Just the way in which Mike said things, so sweetly, and with no alterior motives. He was down-to-earth. Mike was one of those people who I can’t imagine would ever turn someone away–he was genuinely friendly to those he encountered, and I am blessed to have been one of them. As for the rest of us here… We’ll be missing him. But I hope Mike is looking down on us happily, just waiting for us to join him.
So thank you, Mike, for being a friend, thank you for your good-heartedness, and thank you for being yourself. All of our lives have been blessed because we knew you. You’re in our thoughts and prayers.

EMAN BIDOKHTI
Mike Gaines you were the nicest kid I have ever met, you didn’t deserve anything like this, hope you are in a better place now. R.I.P.

JOSHUA CHZEN
I never really got to know you,
but the couple times we talked,
I found that you were one of the nicest guys I had ever met.
I’m just sorry I didn’t get to know you better.
May you rest in peace.

MATT WILLIAMS
Knowing Mike has been a privilege. Mike was the nicest person I have ever known. He would go out of his way to help anyone. I will always remember Mike and what he did for all of us. I will miss you Mike, we will all miss you.

KARINA KARAPETIAN
“You’re in our thoughts
Please know how much you are loved
and how deeply your loss is felt by all.“
Although I didn’t personally know Mike, I often saw him at school. He was always surrounded by people who were constantly laughing and smiling. It hurts me so badly to know someone so young and so kind is no longer with us today. We need more people like Mike in this world, people who are always smiling, never upset.
It’s awful news to us all; death is one of the hardest things to deal with. During this difficult and sad time we as all have to come together as one and be strong. To all Mike’s family and close friends, my heart goes out to you. Stay Strong

SHANNON WOO
Mike Gaines always made me laugh. I didn’t have any classes with him this year, but I did have P.E. with him last year. He always had a smile on his face and was always laughing. I rode the school bus with him too. He was always cracking jokes and sometime rapping. He was an amazing person and I wish I had more time to spend getting to know him better. He is always in my memories and me and communities everywhere are praying for him and his family. You will be missed Mikey!

SARAH SARDELLA
Today while sitting in 5th period as I heard Mr. McMorris’s voice over the intercom, I expected him to announce a sports accomplishment or for him to remind us we were great students, I was not expecting to hear about the tragic death of Mike Gaines. All 5th period I sat, blank, staring straight ahead. Blank. All I could think about were his family and his friends. As I walked to 6th period I was in a daze, then I asked my friend Simone what Mike looked like. I remembered who he was. Suddenly, the feeling of despair deepened. His family and friends must be suffering so much was all I could think about. I sat in German and failed a quiz. I walked to my friend’s car after school, still in shock. I hugged anyone I could. I wanted to help. But I couldn’t. I could not bring him back. I spent the afternoon at Katy’s house, discussing life, death, dying. I reminisced my mother’s near death experiences. I reminisced how a girl named Shelly passed away when I was a freshman. I grew upset, feeling worthless. Suddenly my vibrating phone jolted me out of a daze. It was my brother. I soon learned he knew Mike. My shock deepened. Now my own brother was one of those friends of Mikes I was worried for. I wanted to help, but Matt didn’t want to talk. As I let Matthew be for a while I talked with some people who knew him. I began hearing the wonderful person he was. How kind and caring he was. How come had I never met this wonderful person? In a world with so few loving and caring people, why did we have to lose him? Finally Matthew calmed down enough to talk with me. “He was really nice…” he half mouthed. Waves of emotions overtook me again, the tears swelling in my eyes. Mike Gaines, we will all miss you. I will never forget you, even though I never had the chance to know you. ! My brother respected you; you were a friend to him. I wish you were here, I wish I could thank you in person. I am angry with myself for never getting to know you. I know that wherever you may be, you will continue to be the wonderful caring person I wish I had the chance to meet; the person who was beloved by all.

RYAN MCCAULEY
I never got the pleasure of really knowing Mike but I saw him almost every day and he always was living life to the fullest with a smile on his face – R.I.P.

EMILY KANE
For some reason, one moment sticks out in my mind. In sixth grade, we had to “partner dance.” I remember frantically looking for a partner, and seeing nobody. Mike Gaines just walked up and said “I already have a partner, but come over here and dance.” That’s the kind of person he was. He loved everybody and everybody loved him.

JOHN VROOMAN
Mike was the happiest dude there was. Always nice and smiling no matter what. You couldn’t upset him if u tried. Death is part of life. He would have wanted us to come together as a school and treat each other with respect and kindness as he did, because u never know what’s going to happen. May we never forget him and live the way he would have wanted us to. He will be in our hearts and prayers forever — R.I.P. MGaines.

WEISI KANG
Michael — If only I had said a few more words to you while you were here, on Earth. If only I had taken advantage of the opportunity to know you better. But I can get to know you right now. You had such a great influence on everyone around you — your friends, your classmates, and your teachers. All I have to do is ask: you will always be remembered. Until we meet again.

STEPHEN COLLINS
When I heard the announcement over the loudspeaker today, I sat down in disbelief. I remember Mike Gaines as someone who was always friendly and nice to anyone that he met. Just 3 days ago, I passed Mike in the halls. Even though I had not had an extensive conversation with him since freshman year, he stopped to say hey and chat it up before class. You will be missed Mike.

KEVIN CHINN
Mike – how you gonna leave me here
2009 was ’bout to be our year
I just wanna hear your voice I can’t believe my ears
We just got confirmation on the worst of our fears
And yeah there’s still tears, God there’s still tears
I just wish I wrote this song while you were still here
And all of our peers, Mikey they really miss you
Since you’ve been gone there haven’t been enough tissues
Damn, honestly I can’t believe it
I thought you’d rule the world never thought that you would leave it
But I gotta keep going this is something I know
So I’ll carry you with me everywhere I go
But I feel so slow, I think I’m going insane
Think back on you and block out the pain
Remember when I told you we’d get higher than the planes
Kept my promise, you’re in heaven, rest in peace Mike Gaines

ALEX GODWIN
I have known Mike since middle school. He was always friendly and these past high school years he has eaten lunch with us every day. He was always very generous probably the most so of anyone I know. Mike was a great person to joke around with, bringing the mood to many conversations. He was a good friend and I will miss him a lot.

LEEZA PIKE
I knew Mike as a sweet, kind, funny, and a considerate guy; who always had a smile on his face no matter what. I can’t believe this happened. Rest in peace Mike you will always remembered.

JIMMY TANG
Many of you might have known Michael Gaines or Mikey or Mike Gaines, but the fact that Mike Gaines is really gone seem to be just a dream. I will remember Mike Gaines as the loveable and humorous kid who could crack a joke and somehow make me laugh. Mike and I became close friends during our bus rides to school and home; Mike was always the funny one and could make anyone laugh. I will remember you Mike for your love of jokes and South Park, I will never forget our South Park moments. Rest In Peace Mike

ELYSE GIRANDE
I’ve known Mike since I was in the 7th grade. He was someone that would do thing for anyone, even if he didn’t know them. School is going to be so weird, not seeing you in 5th period it’s hard. You have made such an amazing personality and you would give your shirt off your back to anyone. You were a great bodyguard to me and you wouldn’t want us to be sad, you would want us to think of you of all the good things that you did. You have touched so many people, even if you don’t know it. I miss you and everyone at Northgate misses you. Keep in touch with us someway and you will never be forgotten.

ERICA JENNINGS
I never really had the time to get to know you and I wish I was able to. My thoughts and prayers go out to you and your family and you will forever remain in the hearts of many.

KELLY PETERSON
I went to preschool/daycare and regular schooling with Mike and although we haven’t talked much recently, the things I do remember about him was his big, boisterous laugh that always made me smile. He always had a smile on his face and was nice to everyone he met without ever judging anyone. I send my condolences to his family and know he’s in a better place.

KAJ LAANEN
What goin’ Michael? I remember meeting you back in the fourth grade, and I’m glad I got to meet you. I think I saw you everyday back then waiting in the drop off at highlands, just hanging out and talking. Then I met you again as freshman in P.E. and you were just as I remembered you. You were still that same nice kid, and now that you’re gone everyone is going to miss you and your laugh and your presence. You were a relaxed guy and even though I hadn’t seriously talked with you in the last year, you were still that nice guy and I’ll remember you as that great friend. Rest in Paradise Michael.

STEPHEN SULYMA
I have known Mikey since I was he was in first grade. We went to the same Daycare together. The first day I was there I saw Mikey playing catcher on the court we played Kickball on. Mikey was the first one to come up to me and the first to introduce me to everybody else there. Because of him I was able to have a fun 5 years at that daycare and make friends through Grade school. I will miss you Mikey and your Great Smiling attitude.

ANDREW LAM
I didn’t know Mikey that well but we did hang out a bit in freshmen year. He always had a positive attitude and never made enemies or got into conflicts with anyone. His humor was always welcome and he was an all-around friendly guy. I will miss his smile and laughter the most.

ALLEN ZHAO
I’ve never had a single class with you except for 7th grade PE, but we’ve been riding the same bus together since 6th grade. Make no mistake; you were always an influence upon the rest of us when we were all fighting to get on the bus first when it came late. And now, knowing that none of us will ever see you again, will leave an empty space in all of us. R.I.P. Michael Gaines, you will be missed.

TIM SWANSON
You were a big guy, with a bigger heart. This sounds corny, but I think it hits the nail on the head. You would give a kid the shirt off your back and the money in your wallet, whether or not you knew for sure they actually needed it. People would give you a hard time sometimes, but you would just roll with it, and laugh with it. I couldn’t always understand what you were saying but we’d laugh it off. I’m going to miss that. The world will be a darker place without you, but wherever we’re off to next, I know you’ll be there waiting for us, a smile on your face. Rest in peace.

PAUL WICKMAN
Mike Gaines was one of the nicest kids you would ever meet he always had a smile on his face and was always friendly to everybody easy person to talk to. You will be missed Mike.

ANONYMOUS #2
Hey big Mike!
Man! I miss you so much
We used to hang out and u always made sure if I was having fun… you were a great guy… and a well educated wonderful young man! Why does this kind of stuff happen to such a great people? I think it is God’s plan to take you up to heaven because you EARN it… Mike please watch over us in heaven and be with us… My prayer goes out to your Mother and rest of your Family… And I hope that we can meet again in heaven with a smile… start again from where we left off…LULU MARTINEZ
I never really got the chance to know Mike, but from what I can tell he was a great person who was always happy. R.I.P. Mike, we will miss you.

ANNIE BENNET
I had only met Mike when I asked him to dance in 7th grade when no one else would. I wouldn’t say we became friends, but we knew each other. I saw him in the hallways and said hey, gave a little head nod, or just a wave.
I saw him every morning right after A period, and he was always in the center or close to it.
You could see his smile from a mile away, people always called him a Teddy bear, and his hugs were legendary.
Even though he is gone, he is always going to be here, in the gym before school, in the halls between classes, at his lunch spot. He will always be at Northgate, and he will never be forgotten.

Mike, I never knew you as more than an acquaintance, but after all the stories I heard, I wish I could know you as a friend. Bye Mike, you will be missed, by me and everyone.

ANONYMOUS #3
You were one of my close friends…
I am very ashamed that I never did anything for you… you were the one who gave me things I need and you were always there for me… I am truly sorry… I never thought you will leave me like this… I hope you’re in better place right now and I truly pray about your mother and please watch over her and us… Much love.

ANNIE BENNET
I had only met Mike when I asked him to dance in 7th grade when no one else would. I wouldn’t say we became friends, but we knew each other. I saw him in the hallways and said hey, gave a little head nod, or just a wave.
I saw him every morning right after A period, and he was always in the center or close to it.
You could see his smile from a mile away, people always called him a Teddy bear, and his hugs were legendary.
Even though he is gone, he is always going to be here, in the gym before school, in the halls between classes, at his lunch spot. He will always be at Northgate, and he will never be forgotten.

Mike, I never knew you as more than an acquaintance, but after all the stories I heard, I wish I could know you as a friend. Bye Mike, you will be missed, by me and everyone.

EMMA MOSSINGER
I am so sorry that this had to happen. I never met you, but I will always remember you. Everyday I would walk by your group during lunch and see you smiling and laughing. Now I regret that I never went over to meet you. Your laughter will live inside me forever. May you rest in peace.

ALLEN MORLA
Mike, it just saddens me to think that I didn’t appreciate you enough until after you’re gone. Man, I wish I could go back in time, with you, me, and Gordon owning in Call of Duty. I wish I could go back in time and go to Evie’s with you and the crew just one more time. I wish I could be sitting in English class, look to my left, and see you at the end of the row, talking nonsense with Sean. I wish I could hit you up with a high-five as we both walked out separate ways, leaving school. I don’t miss you just for what you did, but also for who you are. You were nothing less than caring, honest, and you were probably one of the greatest guys to be around. All I can do now is see “devilcigar6”, and be reminded of all the good times we had when we had you. Much love Mag, you’ll always be in my thoughts and heart.

MICHELLE DAWKIN
Michael — may you rest in peace. Thank you for sharing your loving heart with this world. you are greatly missed.

ELLEN PANEK
I was reading some of the things that people wrote about Michael today, and a lot of the ending words were, I know you will be happy wherever you are. Wherever you are, those words are so shallow and depressing. I know that after we leave this life that there is a heaven, and I know that is where Mike is. I didn’t know Mike that well, I had some classes with him and he was my friend. However he was a sweetheart, he was caring and was always up for a good laugh. Mike is in a better place now and is happy. He has found peace, and he has found comfort. It has been hard for everyone at school, but today I was so impressed by all of the people who showed respect for him by wearing black, by writing notes for him and his family. Mike will be missed, but it is so important to know that we will all be able to see him again someday. He is in a wonderful place, and I am grateful that I was able to know him. He was amazing and always made me laugh, and whenever I saw him he always, always, always had a huge smile on his face. I don’t think I can recall one time when he was not grinning, and it was contagious, it definitely put me in a better mood instantly. Thank you Mike for all the good times. You will truly be missed.EVA MINUTOLI
It was Tuesday afternoon, and I was pushing my way past everyone in the crowded hallway. I heard a laugh echoing throughout the hall, and glancing up I saw Michael Gaines. He was laughing and joking around with a friend. I was stressed over something probably really pointless. But his smile was so genuine and so contagious that as a result I found myself smiling too. I kept walking towards my next class, and started to think about everything that needed to get done in the next few weeks. The next afternoon, Mr. McMorris announced that Michael had died. And I found myself going back to that smile yesterday. I asked myself how he could have been smiling, when death was so incredibly close? Tears welled up in my eyes, as people all around me were silent. What could be said? We were all in such shock. Someone our age was gone, and there was absolutely nothing anyone could do or say to change that. Although I did not know him personally, he affected me in a great way. His friends say that he was always smiling, always happy: a truly kind and caring person. I’m so thankful for the lesson that he taught me. He made me think about what truly mattered in my own life, and what was utterly pointless. In an instant, someone can be gone. There is no warning, no clues to how long someone can be on this earth for, and when the time comes for them to leave, they are simply gone. But in a sense, they are still around us. Everywhere you look, you find memories. A person can live forever in the hearts of those who loved them. Death is a reminder to the living of how important the people that you love and care about are. Without these people in your life, there would be no point to continue living. Michael is a constant reminder to laugh more, and to tell and show the people I care about how much ! they mea n to me. You never know when someone could be gone, it takes just a second, just one moment for someone to leave, and never return. I will always remember that smile, Michael, and I could never forget it. My heart and my prayers go out to you and your family. I know that you are in a better place. Rest In Peace

DYLAN WRIGHT
I remember Mike Gaines was in my English class last year for a day; I never really got to know him, but I saw him in the hallways sometimes. It’s seems so cruel that things went so wrong so early in his life. Best wishes for his friends and family; rest in piece man.

MARLENA BAUTISTA
A Passing Glance

There he was, day after day,
A light in the dreary crowd,
The strength it gave
Pushed away my stormy clouds

Never were we to meet,
Never were we to speak,
But a glance was all I’d need
To lift me up, week after week.

He’ll never know, I hope you might,
Of the kindness he did me,
For I now see myself in a new light,
For but that one passing glance.

MAURICE ELGAZAAR
You know it’s weird… 5 years on the bus together and I don’t have much to show for it. Every day, I was just 2 or 3 rows behind you. I remember asking you for amps… I remember how cool Max thought he was when you would just give him one… how he would show it off to everyone in the back of the bus. You’re a rare type of person Mike, not many would bring a backpack full of drinks, just to give them all away.
Our story isn’t like the rest of them up here, ours isn’t about the jokes you told me, or the laughs we shared. Not many people even know what happened that day or even why. Only those who were on the bus knew. You surprised us all, funny thing is… mostly me. What happened that day isn’t important; it’s what happened the day after. I remember you coming up to me, telling me that we needed to talk. I didn’t know what you were going to say, but I definitely didn’t think it was going to be positive. You surprised me, you surprised all of us, you dropped everything…and immediately… I felt two things…shock… and RESPECT. Respect is how Max and Chris carried your backpack to your house that day. I never understood the real reason why they did that until now… When it’s too late. If you were still here…I bet you would be wondering to yourself…why would Maurice write this of all people. And I would tell you.… no matter what happened between us… I will never forget what you did, and what you didn’t do. Very few people in this world have my true respect, but you are one of them, and you always will be. May you rest in peace, and may God be with your family and loved ones.

SHRUTI KAANAN
I can’t say I knew you, Mike. I can’t pretend that we were close friends or I’ve got a personal story to share. I don’t even know if you like being called Mike! I don’t know your favorite color, or what your favorite food was. I saw you in the halls sometimes. You and your crazy hair had a tendency to tower above everyone else. You seemed like the kind of guy who would do just about anything for anyone. You seemed like you were generous and in love with life. It’s not fair that you had to lose it all now. What type of music did you like? What was your favorite class? What makes you nostalgic? What was your childhood like? Why didn’t I get to know you better?
Mike, you’ve inspired everyone to appreciate life and the people around them. So for that, thank you so much. I just wish you could see the impact you’ve made. Though somehow, I get the feeling you can. I get the feeling you’re watching, and smiling like you always do, from up there.

DEREK NOLLSCH
Michael Gaines. I did not know you personally, but I did not need to know you to see how important you were to us. You embodied the spirit of Northgate. You were respectful, kind, and accepting. We will miss you Mike.

ANTHONY PERALES
Always heard how great of a person he was, I didn’t know him really well, but I always saw him around. About a month ago I ran into him turning a corner to go to my bus, anyone else would have started something, but he was all cool about it and asked me if I was alright. I was surprised and thought he was joking with me, but he was serious. He had a lot of potential, he could’ve been huge. But for some reason it was time. We shouldn’t be too sad; he was here for a reason. He was here to remind us how life can be, you can be the nicest person in the world, but all good comes to an end. He was here to remind us to appreciate everything we have. He was a friend to many, and he lies in our hearts… Now and forever… we be missing you…even those who didn’t know you…we be missing you…when we look up, we be seeing you smiling down at us…R.I.P.…Mike Gaines…We miss you.

MIKKI MACARAEG
Michael—with a smile on his face—
Would go on with a normal day.
Caring for others—a gentle giant—
To all who knew him.
A young benevolent soul—looking down—
At his loved ones with the angels.
One who carried himself—through life—
Living to the fullest.
Those who approached him—got nothing—
But ten times the warmth in return.
Never gone—the most beautiful—
Of God’s creations.
Sumalangit nawa ang kayang kululuwa—
May his soul rest in peace.

WEI QUAN
I knew Mike when I was in seventh grade. I sat with him on the bus. I knew him as a funny person and very friendly. He would talk to me about mature things that I would not understand till now. I also remember him being friends with a fellow classmate named Antonas Regenas, who moved away the following year. Mike, myself, and a few other friends attended Antonas’s birthday party one night and it was the first sleepover I ever had. I had the most fun time of my life there and I will never forget it. I will miss him and he will be in a better place.

JUSTYNA KILMOWICZ
I’ve been going to school with Mike since 7th grade, yet I never talked to him. I wish I had. This year, I saw him every day in the hallways, on my way to my next class. The one thing I remember most about him was his big smile, always present on his face.
Although I didn’t know him, I will still miss him, his absence will affect all of Northgate. R.I.P. Mike.

EUGENE
It’s been two days without you.…
Mike, I know you’re in better place now and I hope I can join you someday and we will meet again…
Class of 2010 is going to miss you and never forget you Mike! I hope you can watch over us and help us out when we are struggling… and I am trying to get over this but I can’t…
Rest In Peace Mike. Time for me to say Goodbye.

ROSCHELLE LOWE
Michael, I may not have known you that well but having two classes with you showed me how genuine and nice you were. You were always smiling whenever I looked across the room in English and whenever I looked to my right in History. I honestly wish that I’d taken the time to try and get to know you better. Though we never exchanged very many words, I’ll always remember you. You’ll never be forgotten. Rest in peace, Mike. You’ll be missed.

CHLOE RUSSELL
I will always remember the rap you did for your Persuasive Speech in 10th grade, and how you could always make us laugh and smile with joy. I had English with you for almost two years, and although I may not have known you too well you will definitely be missed by all of us. Thank you for always putting smiles on our faces and brightening up our days. You will be missed, RIP Michael Gaines.

SANDEEP KAUSHAL
Mike, you were a great a kid whenever I would pass by you through the halls you would always have a big smile on your face. You were always positive and happy never down. I’m going to miss that, you always thought about others before yourself I remember freshmen year P.E. You would treat us to energy drinks that you would buy with your own money and how you would always spot me if I didn’t have lunch money. Mike you were truly a good hearted person and I know you’re in a better place right now. My deepest condolences go out to his family and all his loved ones. Rest In Peace… I’ll keep on smiling for you.

TOMAS KNEPPERS
Mike Gaines was the type of guy who never was without a smile on his face. Nothing dampened his spirit. His smile was an inspiration to us all. He will be missed.

AMIR REZWANI
I never had the privilege to get to know sir Michael, and I wish I had, because I’m SO sure he would become my best friend in a matter of minutes. I had spoken to him only a few times in my life. From my few encounters with him, it honestly felt like I had grown up with him. The way he spoke to people, it was as if he had grown up in the same household with them. He was comfortable, warm and inviting. I’d never heard of anyone who disliked Mike Gaines, nor had I even heard of someone refer to him as “yeah, he’s ok.” Although I may not have known the MAN, it’s still impressive considering I hear criticism about people I don’t know either. I recall him rapping a couple times in P.E. during my sophomore year (last year). He showed signs of potential. Normally when students rap, I let it go through one ear and out the other, but in this case, I actually listened.

During our time on the field (in P.E.), I have very little recollection of the events that took place. It might not be a bad thing either. Mike was never getting upset at anybody. Team Sports Period 1 was the place where students were doing pushups every five minutes from “dropping the f-bomb” or the “s-bomb” and other profanity as big Al Durazo put it. Never had I seen Mike do a pushup for using profanity, he was part of the very select few that were in this level of composure and discipline. But among these fellow “composed individuals” Mike stood out for one reason. He might have been the only guy that didn’t even yell at anyone. Heck, I didn’t even see the guy get upset at anything. He was “The Gentle Giant” in its purest definition. Regardless of his nature, no one messed with him, regardless if they viewed as intimidating or if they viewed him as harmless. Either way, big Mike garnered monumental respect from everyone.

It’s sad to see anyone go, but in this case, where the man was so quiet and so incredibly friendly and welcoming it sucks even more. The man was incredibly hard to miss, walking down the steps leaving the Science Wing every morning; I would pass by Mike Gaines and couldn’t help but notice him because of one sole fact. I heard laughing and saw smiling from every person in his presence. I couldn’t help but smile and admire the fact that he was such a “people’s person.” Mike may not stand in front of us ever again sadly, but he will ALWAYS remain a part of his deep in our hearts. He would’ve made one heck of a spouse and a father, and he was a heck of a son, a friend, and a person.

God bless you Mike Gaines, may God help guide your family through these difficult times, with Prayers.

SARAH WILSON
Mikey was not my son, or my brother.
My father or my cousin.
He was not my better half.
He was my friend. He was everyone’s friend.
And from what I can tell you, it was constant that he should have a smile
on his face and change in his pocket. (Mo’ money Mo’ Problems, Gordon says, with a grin he can’t betray.)
He was always generous, whatever you wanted he’d give to you. A personal Santa, if you will.
More than likely that $100 PS3 game you wanted yesterday would be dropped on your doorstep tomorrow.
And all you would think and feel was, “Hey! Thanks, Mikey.”
I loved to listen to him talk because, there, in that baritone/falsetto
Barry White voice of his was a depth of life I couldn’t fathom.
If ever there was someone who was alive, it was Mikey.
I remember him telling me about Eric’s, new iPod touch, in his words
“That’s awesome. Straight up TOUCH SCREEN!”
I wish I had known him better.
He said “Hi” to me almost every day.
I wish I had known him better.
He was a genuinely good person.
I wish I had known him better.
But what I will remember is the profound effect he has had on everyone, who knew him.
What will I remember? The best of the best
Simply, “Mike Gaines.…”

LESLIE FISI
Mike Gaines. What can I say about this brother of mines? Sadly, I found out about his passing on Facebook, since I was not at school, but right when I heard the name I immediately could picture his face in my head, no joke. He sure did have a unique laugh and smile like none other. Mike Gaines, bro you surely will be missed and please look over us from up above. I know that you’re probably still carrying on in heaven and we all love you. Much love bro.

KRISTINA DIDERO
I didn’t know Michael Gaines; I had never met him. But the more I talk to the people who knew him, the more I wish I did. His warmth and kindness shines through the words of his friends. It is obvious that Michael was not only a truly miraculous person, but an inspiration to all. He was so loving, so caring, and so happy. Anyone who knew him has been really lucky in life.

A sea of black and one of red has never looked so beautiful. One individual has touched the lives of many, and even those who did not know him have come to realize how important he is to others. In a school of such diverse groups of people, Michael Gaines has brought unity, a remarkable occurrence. He was truly someone rare and special; Michael Gaines accomplished something extraordinary in life—he made people happy.

As Michael watches over us now, I’m sure he is glad to see how much we respect him and how much he means to us, but probably crumbles at the sight of our tears and sadness. We shall celebrate his life and together we shall spread his message of love to the rest of the world.

Michael Gaines was a good friend and a sensational person. He will be dearly missed. May he rest in peace.

KEVIN B
How long does a smile take

How long until he will again wake
How long must someone know you
until they can show you,
How much they care?

One smile, one second.
One joke, one poke, one time is all.
He is lost, and now we fall.
Into a darkened future.

I know not his pain
he never did complain
and for that I’m sorry.
I could have been his close friend.
If we could start again.
But never shall I know,
and forever will I simply be,
Acquaintance.….

STEPHEN SULYMA
Mikey Memorial Rap
I can remember back in the day
where all we did was play.
That was in a brighter past
when every day was a blast.
Crowding around the, watching people play
Watching you play, Mr. Michael A Gaines.
And then I left you
something I shouldn’t do
in that small day place.
Then came middle Sega school and there was surprise
you standing there with your bright shining eyes.
But now you’re gone and no one will forget
something nobody saw coming how God let
you, GO? Its a mystery
10 years of friendship will never leave me.

MADDIE HAGEN
I never met you but you seemed like a nice guy. I passed you on the way to 4th. Sad we never met. You will not be forgotten. Rest in Peace.

ROHTIH BAHTIA
Thanks for lending me money when I needed it and being there for me. I saw you every day in the morning and at lunch. You will be missed. Rest in peace.

CHRISTIAN ANTALAZCKY
Thanks for buying lunch for me. I saw you almost every day but I will miss you.

ANTONION LAU
Never really knew you but people told me you were the nicest person in school. Rest in peace Michael.

SUJAY
You will always be remembered. Love ya big guy.

FATIMA HERRERA
Rest in peace Michael. We will always remember you

LISA
Rest in peace Mike. Have a good time in heaven.

BRUCE
I never really knew you but everyone says that you were one of the nicest people.

AMANDA
Passed you in the hall every day. Kind of blows my mind that you’re gone forever. Rest in peace.

ARIK BARILKO
Never really liked you, but you looked like a nice guy. Hope that you had a fulfilling life.

MELISSA DANISH
It’s too hard for me to grasp the fact that you’re gone. I watch the door so to see you come. I wait till the day we are in heaven together. Love always.

ANTONIO H
I would always see you during passing but never actually met you. It would have been a pleasure to meet you. Rest in peace.

MICHAEL
You were an amazing, loving, caring, sweet & genuine individual. You will dearly missed.

MATT BUTLER
Rest in peace bro. You’ll be missed.

LINDSAY G
Michael, I never really knew you but I wish I had because I know the impact you had on those you knew and how everyone misses you. Rest in peace.

MIKEY BELL
You always had a smile when I saw you. I’ve heard a lot of great things about you.

EMILY
I didn’t know you well but I’ve known you forever. We’ll never forget.

MARGARET
Michael, you will be missed to those who loved you and those who now know you.

ASHLEY
Hey Michael, you were a great guy and you will be missed.

GLORIA
Rest in peace Michael. You are already missed and will not be forgotten.

ANDREW WOO
Though I never knew you, I heard that you were a great person. Rest in peace and best wishes to your family.

NICK FICKETT
Take in peace Mike

CYNTHIA
Hey Michael, thanks for letting me borrow money all the time. Rest in peace.

PAT P
I never knew you, but on Monday I found myself right before lunch saying to myself that I wanted to know you. Follow your heart, if time allows it.

JIMMY
Rest in peace Michael

AMANDA LI
Even though I’ve never gotten the chance to know you, but from other people, I got to know that you were an uncommonly nice person. Rest in peace Michael.

FRANKIE GUITRON
Man, God speed. I hope heaven realizes it has one of the greatest people on the earth gracing his presence among the angels.

EMANUEL MOURA
I always saw you laughing walking through the halls. Now that you’re gone, it’s like the halls are empty. Rest in peace Michael Gaines.

ANONYMOUS #4
Heard a lot of great things about you. You’ll be in my prayers

TYLER MCCLELLAN
I remember going to PE everyday. You and I would say Hi. You were and still are a great guy. Rest in peace bro.

ALLY HEUER
I know I didn’t know you but I have never heard anyone say something bad about you. You were always nice and funny. I wish I knew you. Rest in peace.

ANDY CHOI
Hey Michael, I heard that you were a really nice guy and I’m sad that I didn’t get to meet you. I hope we can be friends in the Afterlife.

JULIA HOH
You were a really sweet guy and you will be forever missed. God bless you.

RYAN PALMER
Never really got to know you, sad that I didn’t. Rest in peace.

NICK MOREHOUSE
Michael, I never really had the chance to get to know you but from what I hear from other people, I understand that you were a really cool guy. Rest in peace Michael.

CANDACE EDWARDS
I hope you rest in peace. You will be missed. I heard lots of wonderful things about you.

MICHAEL ENDICK
I saw you get on the bus almost every time but never did you have a frown on your face. What happened to you was terrible and unfortunate. I hope you find peace.

ANONYMOUS #5
Michael, I didn’t know you very well but I hope wherever you are, you’re happy.

CHRIST CONNEN
Yo mike. I met you in summer school and you seemed like a great person. Hope you have fun over the rainbow.

ANONYMOUS #6
Mike, I didn’t know you well but your presence was felt and you will be missed.

PHILLIP KATAGUE
Rest in peace Mike! We’ll always remember you.

KAILANI KANG
You will be missed. Rest in peace,

MAX
Mikey, I’m sorry we didn’t chill out more. Padres are still better than the giants bud. Peace.

MACKENZIE
Rest in peace Mike. May the angles lead you buddy.

KRIS SWITZER
I didn’t know you much except that you are a kind hearted wonderful person and that you are truly missed. The first time I truly met you was after challenge day this year and I was crying, you came up to me and gave me a hug and told me that it would be ok. You are a wonderful person and I know you will find happiness wherever you are.

ANONYMOUS #7
Mike — Sometimes its wrong, but time goes on. You will be missed.

RUSS WOOD
Rest in peace.

AURELIO G
You will be missed big guy!

MORGAN MITCHELL
We’ll always miss your laughing on the bus. Rest in peace.

SEAN FOLEY
Even though I didn’t know you that much, I feel the same pain and sorrow as everyone else. I hope you’re resting in peace.

NICK BRANCACCIO
Didn’t know you really, saw you a few times. You seemed like a cool guy, and tell me what its like in a dream or something. Rest in peace.

JASON FERRY
Hey Mike, you were fun to be around especially in bio. Rest in peace.

SPENCER GILCREST
Bro, I didn’t really know you well but everyone said you were very nice and I think it’s a shame that you had to pass before you finished living. You’ll be missed.

ALYSSA A
I sat next row to you at lunch. You will be missed.

JULIA H
You will be missed! Rest in peace.

ELISE N
Hey I never really got to know you better than the guy who sat in front of me in math. You always seemed hella nice though, and you will definitely be missed.

SHELLY PIPO
Hi.umm… I didn’t really ever get to talk to you but from what I’ve heard you were a great person; so polite and respectful and generous. Rest in peace.

TRAVIS HACKING
Dear Mikey, from what I hear, you’ve been doing some work kiddo. Rest well in peace because you’ll do so in everyone’s hearts.

VILI B
Mike-we all miss you. We all knew you, even though not personally and we love you.

CHARLES ASHBURY
From talking with Michael and a couple of other times, I could always tell that he was an honest and kind person. Rest in peace.

RISHI A
I never really knew you but whenever I see you in the halls, you were always smiling. I can tell you were a good person. Rest in peace.

MAX LEVY
Mike, It’s horrible that you are gone and you will be deeply missed. Rest in peace.

CONNOR JEAN
Dear Mike, I have heard many positive things about you and I feel very sorry for this mishap. You sound like a great kid and I wish I could have gotten to know you sooner. We all miss you.

AKAYLA GINESH
Mike, I didn’t know you that well, but you were a cool dude. You will be deeply missed and forever engraved in our hearts with gold lining. May you rest in peace and have it made up in heaven. Love always.

NATALIE DIB
You will always be remembered and I heard nothing but good things about you.

ANONYMOUS #8
Hey Mike, you were nice and it was great to know you.

BRUCE
Mike, I didn’t really know you but I heard that you were a very nice person and that your work was really good. You will be missed.

ALLY
Dear Mike, when I met you last year I thought that you were one of the funniest people I met. No one will forget your jokes or your contagious laughter. Rest in peace.

TAKARA RAGLAND
Mike, although I didn’t know you very well I’ve heard your work and seen through other people your personality. You are a wonderful personality. You are a wonderful and kind person and you will be missed everywhere. Rest in peace.

IAN
I knew you since 1st grade. You’ll be missed. Rest in peace.

BEN
Mike you’re always such a giving person.

SURAJ PATEL
Bro, I wish we could have chilled more. You may have been the nicest guy whom I ever have met in Northgate. No one will ever forget you and for the short time I’ve known you, you’ve already engraved your name in my heart.

BROOKE
Mike, even though I never really got to know you I could still tell the type of person you were and that it was one of greatness. Every time I saw you smiling and seemed to be such a great person. You will remain in everyone’s hearts forever.

STEVE SONNIER
Hey Mike. Sorry that you had to go so soon. I never really got to meet you but from the overwhelming responses to your unfortunate passing, I can tell that you were a wonderful person to be around. I hope that wherever you are, you are looking down with your big smile and waving Hi to us. We all miss you and god speed.

TRACY SIMMONS
I remember your smile
the way you always laughed
Coming through the line with your friends
I saw you through glass
while I worked in the snack shack
I saw you walking the halls with your friends
You were always so happy
and I would feel myself smile
We never spoke
save the times I took your order
But I remember those times so strongly now
Your smile lightened the rainy days
All the times you spotted money for your friends
tell me that you were kind
I heard your music for the first time yesterday
I cried
You were, and always will be
one of the kindest souls.
talented beyond your years
surrounded by friends
respected, even loved, by everyone who saw you
Always there to lend a hand
But now you’re not
And the world seems a darker place
If I wave to you now,
will you see me?
If I shout a ‘Good Morning!‘
will you hear?
Yes
Because nobody as wonderful as you
could ever truly leave.
You touched us all, Mike.
Be at peace, and Godspeed.

SHANNON WOO
I have been through this far too many times and I can imagine how his mother is feeling right now. Waking up yesterday morning I felt something was wrong. It was a bright and sunny day out so as usual I just brushed it off and started my day. It always seems like there was a voice inside me telling me to check on everyone to see if they were alright. Walking into 5th period, I didn’t realize I would soon be told news that would once again change my life. I sat down ready to do review in chemistry when McMorris came on the intercom. At first I thought he would talk about sports or congratulate NG for being such a great school as he always does. He spoke with a slow and cold voice. The words that came out of him mouth and in my ears were barely processed. Shock over came me. I looked around the room and every single person had their hands covering their mouth. Tears running down my classmates faces. I felt like my heart skipped a beat. I was still for a moment. Not wanting to take it in… Sarah Wilson leaves the class room crying. Lisa follows. I look down and my hands are shaking uncontrollably. My mind goes through something unexplainable and i burst out crying. Tears start to gush from my face.

In 2006, my younger brother Jason passed away from an asthma attack. My mind replayed the flash backs of his death. The same thoughts I had when Jason passed went through my head. This was happening in a mere amount of seconds. I couldn’t be there anymore. Not in the place i was told. I get up and weakly walk out of the class room. I collapsed and cried my hearts out. I noticed that Annie Bennett had followed me out. I cried in her arms. I remember saying over and over again “not again not again.…I can’t handle this”. Ms. Starr runs over and tells me not in front of the class. She tells me I need to get up and she and Annie would walk me to the library. The past few years I had reoccurring anxiety attacks. I hadn’t had one in a few months, but I felt this was bring one on. Walking, I stopped in front of the Physio/Bio room. Collapse again. Stares and whispers. I just keep saying Mikes and Jason’s names. I get up and walk further. Through the doors. Looking outside, the day seems gloomier. Walking past multiple people crying. Ms. Starr tells me to keep talking and breathing. Pale. Warm. Dizzy. Feeling as if I was going to pass out, I collapse again. Another hand. I feel Frank help lift me up and we walk to the library. Friends on mike start coming into the sectioned off room. I sit down in a chair. It all seems unreal and I hoped no family would ever have to go through what mine did. Ms. Starr calls over the crisis counselor and He sits down in front of me. He says Ms. Starr told him about my brother and he asked me if I know Mike. I replied with a mere yes. But to me that yes meant more. Mike was an amazing person. I had never ever seen him without a smile. So full of life he didn’t deserve to go so young. I look up and the people standing around the room look devastated. People that I never knew Mike had known were all here crying. He had touched so many countless lives. I stayed until 5th period was over. I wait there awhile before leaving for 6th period. I didn’t want to leave. I still felt faint! And too many thoughts were running through my head. School is out and i get on to the bus. Everyday I see Mike sit three seats behind me. But today it lied empty. I couldn’t help but cry more. Kevin Chinn walks past me with a ghostly empty stare. I couldn’t think of what his thoughts may have been. The loss of a best friend is unbearable. I have. In front of my eyes. I get home and I can’t do anything. I lay down on my bed and cried myself to sleep. A million texts flood my phone telling me to wear black in honor of Mike. The text spread like wild fire and it just showed how many people cared for him.
Walking up to school the next day a group of people surround the front sign of the school. I get closer and a memorial had been started for him. Flowers, pictures, letter, posters, candles and even energy drinks are laid out for him. I walk towards the sign with Roman S. and we each place a bouquet of flowers. Mine orange. His White. I stand there still filled with pain and friend walk over to comfort me. Hugs and pats everywhere. Tears once again. I hear a voice say “Mike wouldn’t want us to be sad everyone! He would want us to be happy. He is up there right now looking down at us say ‘I got it made guys! Don’t sweat it!’” we all begin to tell stories about Mike. We laughed together and we cried. The bell rings and a few of us stay. The attendance office is writing up passes to our first period class. It’s time to go but I have a feeling of something that is incomplete. I turn around and see Kevin Chinn standing and staring at a picture of Mike in tears.
Being late to first period I still didn’t want to talk to anyone. But Erica was concerned. I told her why I broke down and about my brother and how Mike had touched my life. I knew today would be a hard day to get through. Let alone this whole week. Today seems like a gloomy cloud now. I can’t remember much I was in such daze.
At lunch everyone who wore black was called to go outside. A picture was supposedly taken of everyone. It seemed like every single person at the school was wearing black in his honor. I took a picture. I didn’t go to 5th period i stood outside of what is supposed to be the door and stared at my desk. Mr. Taylor told me I didn’t have to stay and I could sit out for the day. Me, Annie, Erica and Mary-E sat outside of the classroom. The day was over again and getting on the bus was even harder than before. I was imagining mike sitting in his usual seat when a kid in front of me began to cry. I tried to comfort him. Getting home the only thing I wanted to do was pray. And talk to Mike. I let him know that we all miss him deeply and he’ll never be forgotten. I had read in the bible that God takes away the young because he has a better plan for them then we did. They must be very important to be needed so early. Mike gave so much of his life to entertain us with his music and his presence in general. He had one of the biggest hearts I’ll ever know and I’ll never forget him.
I miss you big Mike!

FARZIEN RAD
Michael Gaines was the nicest kid I have ever met, plain and simple. He didn’t care about your age, sex, race, or income; he treated everybody like a brother. That is what Michael was, a big brother, and not just my brother, but everyone’s brother. Michael treated everyone with unparalleled respect. And then there was his smile. Mike had the biggest smile, which I now realize was a reflection of his big heart. I remember walking into second period English to see Big Mike sweating all over, drinking an AMP, and telling us about how he cracked someone in what was supposed to be Flag Football. Then there was his persuasive speech, which was written about the west coast rap movement. Mike turned on his iPod and began rapping one of his own songs which had been heavily influenced by TWA. Mike was the only person I knew who had a speaker built into his binder. As sophomore year went on, my friendship with Mike also grew. At the end of the year, Mike gave me his phone number, and suggested we hang out over the summer. I never called.

Then there was last Friday. I really wanted to go to the DP show with some close friends, but none of them really wanted to go. I ended up going to the DP show by myself, but after walking in, I noticed an empty seat by an old friend, it was Mike Gaines. I shouted out Mike’s name, slapped him on the back, and sat down right next to him. Every so often, I would look over at him to see his wide grin. When intermission came the two of us went outside and had the first meaningful conversation in almost two months. We talked about out old English Class, raps, and college. The night of May 15th was honestly the first time I heard Mike talking about going to college. Mike told me that he was making a conscience effort to raise his grades. Mike didn’t have the highest grades, but there is no doubt that he put the extra work in to make himself a better individual. We even joked about me being stuck in Merced, while he transferred to Stanford. “Yo it’s Mike Gaines calling you from Stanford” he said. The two of us went back inside and the show ended forty-five minutes later. I gave Mike Gaines a quick high-five and ran in an effort to beat the traffic. That was the last time I ever saw Mike.

MAG was different than any other student and Northgate. You could not miss Mike in the halls. He always acknowledged friends walking by; you could not walk by him without hearing your name or a pat on the back. It was who was on the inside that separated Mike from the rest of us. He was the nicest, kindest, most respectable person I have ever met. People didn’t respect Mike out of fear, but out of love. I know you are sitting up there in heaven sipping AMPs from champagne glasses, writing lyrics with some of the greats, getting all the girls. I guess you now realize how many lives you single handedly touched. Thank you for your friendship and brother hood Mike Gaines, I will never forget you, nor will I forget what you stood for. Keep Hustlin’. RIP MIKE GAINES.

ANTHONY CHIN
Death is never a pretty thing. For some it is easier to accept, but for others it could haunt forever. It can sometimes be sudden and unexpected, or just a matter of time. Today Wednesday May 20, 2009 during 5th period, Mr. McMorris announced that one of our own Michael Gaines, a junior, passed away from an asthma attack the previous night. Many knew Mike as the big guy who would treat everyone like a brother or a friend. In my own interactions with Michael, I felt the same way and I thought there are not many people that come along like Michael with this unconditional love for his fellow peers. Although not everyone knew Michael well, they always had something positive to say about him. Nobody could ever rag on him or say that he is a jerk.

While his death might have seemed sudden to many, I believe that it was only a matter of time. I knew that he had asthma and some type of diabetes. This combination obviously limited his physical activity and led to his condition. While it is tragic to lose Michael, especially since he passed on way before his time, we cannot forget who he was and what he stood for.

While we mourn, we must think about how Michael treated others in such a friendly manner regardless of appearance, lifestyle, gender, etc. In fact, we should embrace his unconditional love. We should take this time to reevaluate ourselves and see how we treat and affect others, because we should desire to help build each other up and leave a positive image of ourselves just like Mike did. We must also take this time to cherish what we have and live our lives to the fullest. This does not mean that we should be reckless and be willing to throw our lives away because there is a possibility we may die soon. It means that we should take the time and energy to invest in developing strong bonds and relationships with the ones around us: family, friends, classmates, teammates, etc. Especially in our constantly technologically innovative society, we are prone to just interacting through AIM, Facebook, on the phone, or some indirect form of contact. This has some value, but I believe that we should take the time to meet people face to face, because this is where the greatest times and memories are made. I hope that his death will not be for nothing and that the way he lived and treated others will touch a life.

I understand that his death will be painful for many who have never experienced the death of a loved one or even for those are very familiar with death, but I believe that it is important for us to not overreact to his death. I know it is only normal for people to mourn for a short length of time but I think that even Mike himself, wherever he may be, would not wish for us to be excessively depressed about his death. Personally, his death did not strike me particularly hard, but it did make me think deeply and seriously about how I should cherish the time have with my peers and how my actions affect the lives for others. Nevertheless, we can never forget who he was and what he stood for. Wherever he may be, we all know that Mike’s journey on Earth is finished. Yet, he lives on in the hearts of those who knew him. We must realize that although his time is up, our journey on this Earth is not finished. In his honor, we should never forget Mike, learn to be more loving like him, appreciate our lives and our personal situations, and live life to the fullest without any regrets. Personally, this is how I think he would want us to live. So to all you Broncos out there and those who were fortunate enough to know Mike personally never forget who he was and what he stood for.

ROANNE QUIOZON
I saw Death today.

Death himself did not compose an approachable posture and greet me, but housed various mediums.

Begrimed on faces, branded on skin through tears, and fixated on what was the routine saunter through the hall.

This was the first time I saw Death. I wasn’t reading of Death in an acclaimed turn-of-the-century novel, I wasn’t observing Death masquerading on the faces of actors through the convenience of a screen, I wasn’t listening to Death disguised in that song you and I know very well, traipsing up to the chorus, wedging in between the verses.

No, I didn’t witness Death through a page, a film, or a lyric.

This was something else.

I heard the message – Death took one of Northgate’s students with an asthma attack – and then he made his appearance, sprouting on each of the faces of my geometry class, one by one, stretching their eyes open, arousing a silence, striking all with his company.

“Michael Gaines” was what we heard. Some shuffled in their seats to ask who it was, some remained rooted in that alarm, some had already yielded to the tears. After I rushed through a quiz I had had no intention of studying for, I observed the room again. Death remained sheltered here and he had no intention of leaving.

Death was fresh on any countenance I saw while I walked in the hall. Death was bursting from the library, erupting from that small gathering by the bathrooms. Death was implanting himself everywhere.

Even though I wasn’t a close friend of Mike’s – even though the only words I’ve exchanged with him were the cultured “excuse me” as I passed periods not too many a day ago – Death left an effect.

Mike was the friend of many, a student under the roof we share, a familiar face in the sea of hallway traffic, a frequent resident of the bus ride home.

Death played with each and every one of us today. Death wandered and left us with the token he chooses to bestow: pain. We are plagued with that pain, yes, we must help one another endure said pain, that is certain, but alongside that pain, we are gifted with his memory.

That memory you have of him – keep it. Don’t lose it. From being in a class with him, from a short encounter before fourth period, from recurrent spans of free time spent with him – challenge Death through the remembrance of Mike, and one day, maybe not soon, maybe not far, your memory will glow and overpower that pain. The pain that Death left behind will shy away, swell as it withers, and slowly expire, while you will keep that memory of him.
Mike, may you rest in peace.

JOANN LIANG
In life, death comes in many different forms; painful, peaceful, sudden. Today, on May 20, 2009, death has come to us in a way that we, as a school, could never imagine. The death of a friend is a pain to everyone, young or old. A certain number of us have known Michael Gaines for years, or even just recently. Some of us never even met him, yet it still hurts. Why? Because death can come upon us at any time, of any day. The cause: a severe asthma attack. It was scary to think about. “It’s a way of life,” Christian Ortiz said. “Where do you think we will go?” I ask, staring out the window into the small concrete Atrium. He shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s one of life’s greatest mysteries…” “And we won’t know what it’s like until we get there?” He nods at my response. “Exactly.“
It has come unexpectedly for us. Some people came in and saw the faces of others, how their eyes were so red, thinking to themselves, “Why is there pain in their eyes?” That answer would come only a few minutes later after 5th period had started. The announcement came over us and it hit us all. Hard. It was silent in the room. The sniffles and shaky breaths broke the ice every so often. Mr. Lewis sat down at his desk and said “It’s all right to talk amongst yourselves, or you could go to the library to see a crisis counselor.” Two people took the leave and for the rest of the period, no one spoke. Several of us were just too hurt to even speak about it.

From Ben Campo’s room, I heard laughter and his class was continuing. I tried to take out my journal and write what was on my mind, but nothing happened. Not even half a page could describe what I had really wanted to say. I never knew him, I never even seen him before. But still, the death of someone shook me. He was a good person and he cared. He would be friendly with everyone and it made someone somewhere feel a little bit better about themselves. I stepped out into the halls and stared out the window. I didn’t cry yet, but I wanted to. Sitting in silence wouldn’t do me any good if I kept it all in. Travis Lyons came down the hall and saw me. “Today…is our moment of silence,” I whispered. He nodded and hugged me tightly. That was when I let the tears fall. We talked for a few minutes, what it felt like having to watch or hear one of our close relatives pass away. “It was just really bad, having to look at all the pain that they have to go through.” he said. When he left, I looked around. The hall slowly filled with more friends of Michael’s. It was painful to look at, the way they cried, the way they couldn’t control the forbidden question inside their heads. I wandered to the end of the hall and as far as I could see, only one other room was dead silent. I ran to the bathroom and saw Tiffany Faed leaning against the wall. She saw me and hugged me tightly as I tried to rush for a tissue. “One death can hurt so many,” I said, trying to take a deep breath. “I know, I know,” she whispered and walked out with me back to the Atrium. By then, a group of friends were standing in a circle, silently, talking about what we should do in memory of Michael’s death.
I walk into the band room and Emily Kane was still there with Natalie. She was still crying. “I didn’t even realize he was gone,” she said sobbing and trying to wipe her tears away. “I mean, I didn’t even bother asking ‘Where’s Michael,’ you know?” I hugged her tightly, knowing that more tears would well up again. “It’s not fair!” Emily cried as she shook in heavy breaths. “I know, I know. It’s never going to be fair,” I whispered. By then, the room was filled with the sound of silence and there was almost no movement. People around us watched while we mourned and tried to pull ourselves together.
One death can hurt so many.
Rest in peace, with all our hearts.

ANISHA NARAYAN
As I write, I am thinking about a conversation I had a couple days ago with my grandmother. My grandmother, always a deeply religious person, spoke to me of the concept of reincarnation: although the physical body dies, the soul lives on, and takes on different physical forms. With death and birth, a life, a soul, never truly dies, but rather is “reborn” into a different physical body as the cycle of life progresses. A very interesting concept. The idea that a person dies only in body but not in soul intrigued me, and I sat for a while, thinking to myself. Life and Death are two of the greatest mysteries, and it may remain a mystery forever. However, one thing I realized is this: While it may be true in the literal sense of the word, Mike Gaines is not truly “dead.” His soul lives on, and stays with us, forever ingrained into our hearts and minds. Although he is no longer living, breathing flesh, a part of him will always remain. Memories will be with us forever, his genuinely kind personality, big heart, and way of treating all people he met as a friend and brother, have not gone with his body, but are still alive and existing…existing, through us. He lives, through us. His personality and way of living made an impact on all who knew him, including myself, and we will carry on these ways with us as we go about our own lives. We will mourn the loss of his human, flesh presence, but his soul, his ways of life, the memories and impact he has left, will forever remain. Michael Gaines lives on. He lives on, his presence is still with us, through memories and the way he has impacted our lives, and through the way it has affected the way we view life itself. Through this experience, both those who had seen death as well as those who were introduced! to death for the first time, have learned about the delicate balance of life, and the fragility of the human being. We are fragile. We are mortal. Physically, we are breakable, but mentally, we are invincible.

I thought about what my grandmother had meant…there are essentially two parts to a life: the body and the soul. Through the endless cycle of life and death, the body will die and the soul will always be alive; the body acts as a dwelling place for the soul to attach itself, and once the body dies, the soul “frees” itself and lives on. Mike Gaines is alive in soul and in memory, and his soul is now “free.” This is why Mike Gaines is not truly “dead.” Because Mike Gaines is a soul, only without the physical body, and this soul lives, through the legacy he has left. This experience has left many deeply troubled, even to those who never knew him. It has been especially hard on those who could relate, or had similar experiences with the death of a friend or family member, causing the old, buried, hidden memories and pain to resurface once again. As teenagers, we are often reckless and carefree; we sometimes feel as if we are immortal, and that nothing can ever harm us. Many of us, blessed with the things that a lot of people around the world do not have, tend to take life for granted and do not think about death often, the concept of death seems so surreal.

This experience has really put life into perspective. I know it has affected me, and the way I live my life, as well as many other people. I have come to realize that it is important to appreciate life while it lasts, because life is beautiful. Life is a gift, that’s why they call it the present. Death seems to attack when you least expect it. It can come at any moment. So live like there’s no tomorrow, love and appreciate everyone, welcome friendships with an open mind, and an open heart, the way Michael Gaines would have done.

KATIE REUTTER
Death.
You know it’s inevitable, there, waiting to happen in the distant future.
You hear about it every day, people dying, the numbers rising.
it’s in the big picture, so you let it pass by without a second thought.
But.
When someone you know, or have seen, passes away without warning,
you are stopped dead in your tracks, jolted back to reality.
Indescribable feelings pour over,
and soon life doesn’t feel the same.
Strange feelings of loneliness, hopelessness and disbelief linger.
Why does death seem so foreboding now?
One day he is there, alive, a joy to all.
The next day,
gone.
Just like that.
No one can keep up with death.
We have to cherish the time, the people we have before it catches us,
because who knows when it will.

Rest in Peace, Michael Gaines. You will be missed.

ALLEN ZHAO
Sometimes I wonder about death. It means peace to the one dying, but torture to the ones surviving and witnessing. We think about what it’s like to die, and sometimes, we may even forget about our own lives. What it means, the value of it, and appreciating what else is there to bless you.

Death to many defines being gone forever, but I believe otherwise. Rest assured, memories are there to stay forever. The most precious of our memories lie at the bottom of our human hearts. They will never be forgotten. We say we want to forget this painful experience, but that’s an insult to the dead. Why should we forget about the death of Michael Gaines? I knew him long enough to understand the caring, optimistic individual he is. And I write this, alongside the memorial to be posted, to remind us all that we can’t save those we love from dying, and that we must keep going on while holding tight to what we hold dear. Michael Gaines was a student who worked alongside us and hung out with us. His presence, whether if we had experienced much of it or not, was a significant one, as it is for all humans. His absence leaves a gaping hole in the society of friends and family.

Can we fill in that hole? The answer is no. Michael Gaines was one of a kind. No one will ever take his place in our hearts and minds because they can’t. His death seems to put him a great distance away from us, but I’ve always believed that close to heart means never far apart. We hold on tight to the memories of Michael Gaines, but let go by accepting the fact that he has gone on.

I remember in 7th grade, my grandfather died of Parkinson’s Disease. After I moved to the United States when I was five, I hardly ever saw him again. Yet, I held tight onto the memories of my time with him. Every moment I recall, every memory I remember, seem so real. It’s almost like living in the wonderful past again. Knowing that he had gone was so hard to accept, but something that must be accepted in order to recover and move on. I hold on tight to the memories to keep him alive in my heart.

And so we accept and move on. I’m not saying that it will ever be easy and that applies to almost all of us. His family, I’m sure, got hit especially hard. A parent’s greatest pain, I’m sure, is outliving their own children. I’ve lost a family member myself and I can relate to those of you undergoing the worst of this crisis.

In summation, I’ll say this. No one will ever truly be dead as long as there are those to remember them forever. Keep those memories close to heart. Michael Gaines’s death once again made me reconsider something I have now that he will never have again: my life. Lives are precious, and we only get one. We need to make the most of it. We need to appreciate what we have and make the most of it. We will all derive nothing but strength from his death, and move on. I’ll continue to mourn even though I do not consider myself too close to him even as a friend. The feelings I have in the light of his death proves that I, too, am human and should make the most of my life, with the memories of him, however little, deeply entrenched at the bottom of my heart. However painful, don’t forget the past, learn from it.

MICHAEL WRIGHT
We are running a race, every single one of us. Some of us may be further along in that race than others, and some of us may be almost done. Who knows when we will finish the race, maybe tonight, tomorrow, 20 years? But eventually we will all reach the finish line. The only question is, how soon. Last night Michael Gaines reached the finish line. And let it be that, a finish line, a point of exalting. May we celebrate the life and the journey and not mourn for the end of his race. For as he ran, he instilled something different in each and every one of us. And as he finished he left us with inspiration. An opportunity to live our lives in the model he showed us. Michael ran the race with love and let it be known that his race is complete. Michael Gaines has finished the race. May he Rest In Peace.

WILLIAM JOHNSTON
This anthology has not been created by Intravenous; the contents have not been created by the students who have participated in it. The actions of one person will resonate through the lives of all those who ever are to know them, however slightly – the ripple reaches outward as the water itself expands and engulfs its originally barren boundary. This process explains with exactitude the creation of this prodigious offering — in less than twelve hours after we all were informed that the rock which evoked the ripple had eroded thirty five pages have been filled with the memories of, regrets regarding, celebrations capitalizing a certain Michael Anthony Gaines. Things which would have still have been thought, had they not herein been expressed. Things which accentuate not only the beautiful character constituted by their subject, but that same character ingrained in the authors. Things which demonstrate that despite the million ways of minimizing and marginalizing our fellows – some recent and some ancient – the basic love of human life persists unflagging in all of us. We are united as a community in his memory; if we remain separate in all other aspects, we hold that link. In this way, we fortify his memory against inevitable erosion by the Earth’s rotation.

• Photo by Kevin Chinn

• Photo by Gary Hunt / Used with Permission

Rest in Peace, Michael Gaines. You will be missed.

• Photo by Thomas Mues / Used with Permission

While his death might have seemed sudden to many, I believe that it was only a matter of time. I knew that he had asthma and some type of diabetes. This combination obviously limited his physical activity and led to his condition. While it is tragic to lose Michael, especially since he passed on way before his time, we cannot forget who he was and what he stood for.

While we mourn, we must think about how Michael treated others in such a friendly manner regardless of appearance, lifestyle, gender, etc. In fact, we should embrace his unconditional love. We should take this time to reevaluate ourselves and see how we treat and affect others, because we should desire to help build each other up and leave a positive image of ourselves just like Mike did. We must also take this time to cherish what we have and live our lives to the fullest. This does not mean that we should be reckless and be willing to throw our lives away because there is a possibility we may die soon. It means that we should take the time and energy to invest in developing strong bonds and relationships with the ones around us: family, friends, classmates, teammates, etc. Especially in our constantly technologically innovative society, we are prone to just interacting through AIM, Facebook, on the phone, or some indirect form of contact. This has some value, but I believe that we should take the time to meet people face to face, because this is where the greatest times and memories are made. I hope that his death will not be for nothing and that the way he lived and treated others will touch a life.

I understand that his death will be painful for many who have never experienced the death of a loved one or even for those are very familiar with death, but I believe that it is important for us to not overreact to his death. I know it is only normal for people to mourn for a short length of time but I think that even Mike himself, wherever he may be, would not wish for us to be excessively depressed about his death. Personally, his death did not strike me particularly hard, but it did make me think deeply and seriously about how I should cherish the time have with my peers and how my actions affect the lives for others. Nevertheless, we can never forget who he was and what he stood for. Wherever he may be, we all know that Mike’s journey on Earth is finished. Yet, he lives on in the hearts of those who knew him. We must realize that although his time is up, our journey on this Earth is not finished. In his honor, we should never forget Mike, learn to be more loving like him, appreciate our lives and our personal situations, and live life to the fullest without any regrets. Personally, this is how I think he would want us to live. So to all you Broncos out there and those who were fortunate enough to know Mike personally, never forget who he was and what he stood for.

• Photo by Randi Hausken / Used with Permission

Death himself did not compose an approachable posture and greet me, but housed various mediums.

Begrimed on faces, branded on skin through tears, and fixated on what was the routine saunter through the hall.

This was the first time I saw Death. I wasn’t reading of Death in an acclaimed turn-of-the-century novel, I wasn’t observing Death masquerading on the faces of actors through the convenience of a screen, I wasn’t listening to Death disguised in that song you and I know very well, traipsing up to the chorus, wedging in between the verses.

No, I didn’t witness Death through a page, a film, or a lyric.

This was something else.

I heard the message – Death took one of Northgate’s students with an asthma attack – and then he made his appearance, sprouting on each of the faces of my geometry class, one by one, stretching their eyes open, arousing a silence, striking all with his company.

“Michael Gaines” was what we heard. Some shuffled in their seats to ask who it was, some remained rooted in that alarm, some had already yielded to the tears. After I rushed through a quiz I had had no intention of studying for, I observed the room again. Death remained sheltered here and he had no intention of leaving.

Death was fresh on any countenance I saw while I walked in the hall. Death was bursting from the library, erupting from that small gathering by the bathrooms. Death was implanting himself everywhere.

Even though I wasn’t a close friend of Mike’s – even though the only words I’ve exchanged with him were the cultured “excuse me” as I passed periods not too many a day ago – Death left an effect.

Mike was the friend of many, a student under the roof we share, a familiar face in the sea of hallway traffic, a frequent resident of the bus ride home.

Death played with each and every one of us today. Death wandered and left us with the token he chooses to bestow: pain. We are plagued with that pain, yes, we must help one another endure said pain, that is certain, but alongside that pain, we are gifted with his memory.

That memory you have of him – keep it. Don’t lose it. From being in a class with him, from a short encounter before fourth period, from recurrent spans of free time spent with him – challenge Death through the remembrance of Mike, and one day, maybe not soon, maybe not far, your memory will glow and overpower that pain. The pain that Death left behind will shy away, swell as it withers, and slowly expire, while you will keep that memory of him.

Mike, may you rest in peace.

• Photo by Malik ML Williams / Used with Permission

Death to many defines being gone forever, but I believe otherwise. Rest assured, memories are there to stay forever. The most precious of our memories lie at the bottom of our human hearts. They will never be forgotten. We say we want to forget this painful experience, but that’s an insult to the dead. Why should we forget about the death of Michael Gaines? I knew him long enough to understand the caring, optimistic individual he is. And I write this, alongside the memorial to be posted, to remind us all that we can’t save those we love from dying, and that we must keep going on while holding tight to what we hold dear. Michael Gaines was a student who worked alongside us and hung out with us. His presence, whether if we had experienced much of it or not, was a significant one, as it is for all humans. His absence leaves a gaping hole in the society of friends and family.

Can we fill in that hole? The answer is no. Michael Gaines was one of a kind. No one will ever take his place in our hearts and minds because they can’t. His death seems to put him a great distance away from us, but I’ve always believed that close to heart means never far apart. We hold on tight to the memories of Michael Gaines, but let go by accepting the fact that he has gone on.

I remember in 7th grade, my grandfather died of Parkinson’s Disease. After I moved to the United States when I was five, I hardly ever saw him again. Yet, I held tight onto the memories of my time with him. Every moment I recall, every memory I remember, seem so real. It’s almost like living in the wonderful past again. Knowing that he had gone was so hard to accept, but something that must be accepted in order to recover and move on. I hold on tight to the memories to keep him alive in my heart.

And so we accept and move on. I’m not saying that it will ever be easy and that applies to almost all of us. His family, I’m sure, got hit especially hard. A parent’s greatest pain, I’m sure, is outliving their own children. I’ve lost a family member myself and I can relate to those of you undergoing the worst of this crisis.

In summation, I’ll say this. No one will ever truly be dead as long as there are those to remember them forever. Keep those memories close to heart. Michael Gaines’s death once again made me reconsider something I have now that he will never have again: my life. Lives are precious, and we only get one. We need to make the most of it. We need to appreciate what we have and make the most of it. We will all derive nothing but strength from his death, and move on. I’ll continue to mourn even though I do not consider myself too close to him even as a friend. The feelings I have in the light of his death proves that I, too, am human and should make the most of my life, with the memories of him, however little, deeply entrenched at the bottom of my heart. However painful, don’t forget the past, learn from it.

• Photo by Kıvanç Niş / Used with Permission

Then there was last Friday. I really wanted to go to the DP show with some close friends, but none of them really wanted to go. I ended up going to the DP show by myself, but after walking in, I noticed an empty seat by an old friend, it was Mike Gaines. I shouted out Mike’s name, slapped him on the back, and sat down right next to him. Every so often, I would look over at him to see his wide grin. When intermission came the two of us went outside and had the first meaningful conversation in almost two months. We talked about out old English Class, raps, and college. The night of May 15th was honestly the first time I heard Mike talking about going to college. Mike told me that he was making a conscience effort to raise his grades. Mike didn’t have the highest grades, but there is no doubt that he put the extra work in to make himself a better individual. We even joked about me being stuck in Merced, while he transferred to Stanford. “Yo it’s Mike Gaines calling you from Stanford” he said. The two of us went back inside and the show ended forty-five minutes later. I gave Mike Gaines a quick high-five and ran in an effort to beat the traffic. That was the last time I ever saw Mike.

MAG was different than any other student and Northgate. You could not miss Mike in the halls. He always acknowledged friends walking by; you could not walk by him without hearing your name or a pat on the back. It was who was on the inside that separated Mike from the rest of us. He was the nicest, kindest, most respectable person I have ever met. People didn’t respect Mike out of fear, but out of love. I know you are sitting up there in heaven sipping AMPs from champagne glasses, writing lyrics with some of the greats, getting all the girls. I guess you now realize how many lives you single handedly touched. Thank you for your friendship and brother hood Mike Gaines, I will never forget you, nor will I forget what you stood for. Keep Hustlin’. RIP MIKE GAINES.

• Photo by Sara Petagna / Used with Permission

We encourage everyone who still wishes to submit thoughts of Mike Gaines. On his passing, on his life, and on who he was as a person; to submit it here. Any length (even a few thoughtful sentences) is perfect, and they can still be added to the compilation.

A couple of physical copies are available at the memorial on the Northgate High School sign. Depending on demand, we can arrange for more copies to be printed. If you have ideas regarding the distribution of the compilation please contact williamjohnston@ivwriting.com

It has come unexpectedly for us. Some people came in and saw the faces of others, how their eyes were so red, thinking to themselves, “Why is there pain in their eyes?” That answer would come only a few minutes later after 5th period had started. The announcement came over us and it hit us all. Hard. It was silent in the room. The sniffles and shaky breaths broke the ice every so often. Mr. Lewis sat down at his desk and said “It’s all right to talk amongst yourselves, or you could go to the library to see a crisis counselor.” Two people took the leave and for the rest of the period, no one spoke. Several of us were just too hurt to even speak about it.

From Ben Campo’s room, I heard laughter and his class was continuing. I tried to take out my journal and write what was on my mind, but nothing happened. Not even half a page could describe what I had really wanted to say. I never knew him, I never even seen him before. But still, the death of someone shook me. He was a good person and he cared. He would be friendly with everyone and it made someone somewhere feel a little bit better about themselves. I stepped out into the halls and stared out the window. I didn’t cry yet, but I wanted to. Sitting in silence wouldn’t do me any good if I kept it all in. Travis Lyons came down the hall and saw me. “Today…is our moment of silence,” I whispered. He nodded and hugged me tightly. That was when I let the tears fall. We talked for a few minutes, what it felt like having to watch or hear one of our close relatives pass away. “It was just really bad, having to look at all the pain that they have to go through.” he said. When he left, I looked around. The hall slowly filled with more friends of Michael’s. It was painful to look at, the way they cried, the way they couldn’t control the forbidden question inside their heads. I wandered to the end of the hall and as far as I could see, only one other room was dead silent. I ran to the bathroom and saw Tiffany Faed leaning against the wall. She saw me and hugged me tightly as I tried to rush for a tissue. “One death can hurt so many,” I said, trying to take a deep breath. “I know, I know,” she whispered and walked out with me back to the Atrium. By then, a group of friends were standing in a circle, silently, talking about what we should do in memory of Michael’s death.

I walk into the band room and Emily Kane was still there with Natalie. She was still crying. “I didn’t even realize he was gone,” she said sobbing and trying to wipe her tears away. “I mean, I didn’t even bother asking ‘Where’s Michael,’ you know?” I hugged her tightly, knowing that more tears would well up again. “It’s not fair!” Emily cried as she shook in heavy breaths. “I know, I know. It’s never going to be fair,” I whispered. By then, the room was filled with the sound of silence and there was almost no movement. People around us watched while we mourned and tried to pull ourselves together.

One death can hurt so many.

In memory of his death, wear black tomorrow, May 21.

Rest in peace, with all our hearts.

An additional note from my journal I had written earlier today, although it is pretty redundant:

It’s surprising how someone’s life can be taken in one instant. It’s a scary feeling and it hits all of us. Hard. Even if some people never knew him, it’s still our time of silence. The emotional burden hurts everyone and tension is heavy. No one says a word. I never met him personally, but from looking at the faces with tears pouring from the eyes, it hurts me as well. He was a great friend to everyone and he was always there. But now, he has moved ahead and what he hopes for in return is appreciation and silence. Death is a strange thing: we are either prepared for it or not, but it will come and take us away in a flash. There will be pain and there will be no time for words, but we hope that death will not take us away as death had painfully taken Michael Gaines. Rest in peace, with all our hearts.

• Photo by Mark Barkaway / Used with Permission

• Photo by Niklas Sjöblom / Used with Permission

• Photo by Karen Houle / Used with Permission

• Photo by Ashley Rose / Used with Permission

Perhaps the most spectacular of all his failures was the war in Iraq, or as Bush called it, the War on Terror. This conflict had many aspects that undermined his presidency. First of all, he technically did not even have the right to invade Iraq. While the United Nations were still trying to reach a consensus about what should be done, “Bush impatiently led a ‘coalition of the willing’ into the country and his decision is still considered by the UN to be illegal” (Greene). The fact that Bush was not willing to wait shows that he went in too hastily without much thought. Explaining his thoughts on the war plans for Iraq, Bush said, “‘We weren’t ready to execute then…I mean we’re not even close’” (Woodward, “Plan of Attack” 66). Despite the fact that the U.S. was still ridiculously unprepared, Bush insisted on heading into a war that would last nearly his entire presidency and push his country almost $600 billion deeper into debt (Woodward, “State of Denial” 14) in addition to costing an enormous amount of American lives. This would never have taken place, however, if not for the event that triggered it – the 9/11 attacks.

On September 11, 2001, the United States was the victim of two massive attacks orchestrated by Al-Qaeda. While these came as a shocking surprise to most Americans, Bush apparently had prior warning that this kind of danger was imminent. A couple weeks before, “CIA Director Tenet had explicitly warned him about the immediacy and seriousness of the bin Laden threat. Focusing on domestic issues and a giant tax cut, Bush had largely ignored the terrorism problem” (Woodward, “Plan of Attack” 24). If he had heeded this, Bush could have prepared some kind of defense against the attacks. Instead, along with the warning, Bush showed his disregard for the safety of the U.S. as well.

Terrorism was not the only problem that flourished; under Bush, torture was also a significant problem. This gross violation of human rights occurred overseas, where Bush most likely hoped that he would not be discovered. As reporter Nick Greene so aptly put it, “By stating that the Geneva Convention did not apply to ‘enemy combatants,’ Mr. Bush paved the way for waterboarding, attack dogs, and other draconian interrogation tactics…” These methods of “questioning” will forever be a blight upon Bush’s presidency. However, his errors did not merely lie outside of America; Bush also made a mess of domestic affairs.

One of Bush’s largest displays of incompetency at home was his handling of Hurricane Katrina. Even before the calamity had taken place, Bush had already begun to botch things up. The Associated Press reported that “federal disaster officials warned President Bush and his homeland security chief before Hurricane Katrina struck that the storm could breach levees, put lives at risk in New Orleans’ Superdome and overwhelm rescuers, according to confidential video footage” (Myers). Bush, knowing this, still did not declare New Orleans – which was where Katrina wrought the most damage – and the other coastal parts of Louisiana to be under a state of emergency (Greene). After Katrina hit, government response was painfully slow. FEMA, the organization in charge of coordinating the relief effort, was headed by Mike Brown, who was appointed by Bush. This man “was woefully underprepared (sic) and failed to facilitate proper aid to the stranded victims of Hurricane Katrina” (Greene). However, perhaps Bush saw it differently; he told Brown that he was “doing a heck of a job” (Greene). Of course, it would be only natural for Bush to defend his own political appointee. Brown was not Bush’s only problem child, however.

David Safavian, another one of Bush’s political appointees, was not a particularly morally upstanding individual. He was nominated by Bush himself to become Administrator for Federal Procurement Policy (Zuckerman). A couple years later, Safavian was “accused of obstructing justice by lying about his mentor, Jack Abramoff, the superstar lobbyist with extraordinary access to Republican power brokers on Capitol Hill…” (Zuckerman). He would go on to be sentenced to eighteen months in prison (Zuckerman). This was a man who was, at one time, “in charge of spending around $300 billion” (Zuckerman); Bush should have done a better job of finding someone of great integrity to handle America’s finances. Nevertheless, honesty alone in a leader is not a guarantee of economic prosperity, or even stability; if that were the case, Bush probably would not have muddled up the U.S. economy as much as he did.

Bush proved not only to be a disaster in politics, but in economics as well. His spending was copious and had no end in sight. Even Barack Obama, while he was still President-elect, “ripped outgoing President George W. Bush for ‘irresponsibly’ doubling the federal debt” (Thomma). Obama had good reason; “The federal debt nearly doubled under Bush’s watch, from $5.7 trillion to $10.6 trillion” (Thomma). Thanks to Bush, the U.S. now owes a colossal amount of money to numerous other countries. It wasn’t just that he ignored the debt; he actually added to it, finding yet another way to harm his country.

Without a doubt, George W. Bush was the worst president in the history of the United States. He blatantly ignored the terrorism threat, and in return, America had to witness the 9/11 attacks. He impatiently rushed into Iraq, and in return, America had to endure a long and expensive war. He overconfidently left coastal Louisiana alone during Hurricane Katrina, and in return, America had to rebuild New Orleans, virtually from scratch. He promoted torture as an interrogation tool; he appointed incompetent and insincere officials; he nearly doubled the national debt. Through this all, America suffered. Now that his presence in the White House has come to an end, Bush will move on to the next part of his life; he has a chance to redeem himself, do some good for the nation, and reinvent his image. But for now, Bush and his presidency will be remembered as nothing but the epic failure of American history.

Woodward, Bob. Plan of Attack. New York: Simon & Schuster, 2004.

Woodward, Bob. State of Denial. New York: Simon & Schuster, 2006.

Greene, Nick. “George Bush’s 20 Worst Moments.” Telegraph.co.uk. 15 Jan. 2009. The Daily Telegraph. 30 Apr. 2009 .

Lisa, Myers. “Bush was warned before Katrina struck.” MSNBC.com. 2 Mar. 2006. MSNBC. 30 Apr. 2009 .

Saad, Lydia. “Little Change in Negative Images of Bush and Cheney; Favorable ratings for both are at or near their all-time lows.” 3 Apr. 2009. Academic OneFile. Gallup Poll News Service. Contra Costa County Library, Walnut Creek, CA. 21 Apr. 2009. Keyword: George W. Bush.

Thomma, Steven. “Obama warns of huge deficits; President-elect takes Bush to task for doubling of the federal debt.” 7 Jan. 2009. The Houston Chronicle. General OneFile. Contra Costa County Library, Walnut Creek, CA. 30 Apr. 2009. Keyword: george bush debt.

Zuckerman, Mortimer B. “One Swampy Mess,” U.S. News & World Report, October 17, 2005. p. 72.

• Photo by World Economic Forum / Used with Permission

Raising taxes and increasing spending is a formula for disaster during rough economic times. When taxes are raised on producers and consumers the flow of money in the economy begins to die a slow and painful death. “We have tried spending money. We are spending more than we have ever spent before and it does not work.” — Henry Morgenthau Jr. — pal, lunch companion and loyal secretary of the Treasury to President Franklin D. Roosevelt. Even Roosevelt’s own Treasury Secretary agreed that spending large and vasts amount of money does not solve the problem, it simply does not work. If anything the government should cut spending and possibly lower taxes during an economic crisis.

By Creating work not jobs The New Deal ultimately failed at its primary goal of fixing the economy. The government only created temporary work for the citizens and when the work was done they were unemployed again which created a pattern of high and low unemployment during the course of The New Deal. “I say after eight years of this Administration we have just as much unemployment as when we started. … And an enormous debt to boot!”. The New Deal just added to the problem of creating a shaky foundation of workers. The creation of an unstable work force contributed to the overall problem of unemployment.

The economy did not recover until the start of WWII which is the primary reason for the recovery and growth of the U.S economy from The Great Depression. As statistics and history illustrate it was the second world war that brought the U.S out of the depression not The New Deal. “Unemployment then decreased to 14.6 percent in 1940 at the advent of a wartime economy and to 9.9 percent with America’s entry into World War II the following year.” As most people know when large scale wars are launched there is a need for mass production of munition. Through the power of industrial production and patriotism the U.S pulled itself out of The Great Depression.

With the increase in spending came the increase in The National Debt. The New Deals policy of increased spending was a great problem which created unnecessary debt. “His recommendation in 1941 was for a 99.5 percent tax on all income over one hundred thousand dollars. And when the budget director said, “What!” Roosevelt’s comment was, “Why not?”.”. This goes to show that the man that people looked up to as a political intellectual did not know a thing about how the economy functions. By increasing The National Debt in the midst of an economic crisis is a product of poor judgment which has the potential to put the entire country at risk.

In today’s economy we face a similar problem in comparison to that of The Great Depression. The Federal Government is making the same mistake it made
decades prior by raising taxes and increasing spending. “Budget and financial experts at The Heritage Foundation caution that Obama ought not to repeat Roosevelt’s mistakes.”. Many financial experts such as Ben Stein have concluded that Obama is not taking the correct course of action in fixing the economy. The best way is to put more money in the hands of the American people by lowering taxes so they can spend in turn companies will not have to worry as much about paying high taxes and will begin to hire more workers which will increase jobs and get the economy moving.

The New Deal policies did not carry out their intended purpose of restoring and expanding the growth of the economy. It failed to fix the problem and raised The National Debt in the process. It did not create jobs and instead created temporary work which made the problem of unemployment worse while also creating an unstable workforce. The original ideas of The New Deal such as regulation and insurance were good improvements that were necessary and that we still keep today but the excessive spending was not imperative to the well being of the country as a whole and it crippled the economy instead.

Badger, Anthony J.. The New Deal: The Depression Years, 1933–1940, New York: Hill and Wang, 1989.

Dr. Folsom, Burt.“Why The New Deal Failed”. http://www.academia.org/campus_reports/2002/summer_2002_3.html

Beach and McIntyre, William and Ken. “Get Over It: New Deal Didn’t Do the Job”. http://www.heritage.org/press/commentary/ed012109f.cfm

• Photo by Jim Bowen / Used with Permission

In order for the world and America’s citizens to be convinced of the moon landing, America had to publicly broadcast and convince every single person watching, reading, or hearing about it that the landing was authentic. The entire world received reports and information about a lunar mission that never occurred. The media relayed hours of information to every news station of this moon landing, including film records from space. “On July 20th 1969 the world watched in amazement as film footage depicted US astronauts Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin taking their historic steps upon the surface of the moon”(Doncaster & Holland 197). NASA and the American government needed to prove that they had really landed on the moon. Faking a moon landing is an extreme measure, but America was willing to do what ever it could to uphold its reputation of being the best.

With the space race in full throttle, America began to fall behind the Soviet Union, which was unacceptable. America’s pride relied upon being first; America refused to be viewed as any less, especially after Kennedy’s “Moon Address” and promise to reach the moon (Breuer). As William Breuer, author of an article detailing the events of the first moon landing explains, “Americas global prestige, Kennedy concluded, could not endure a second place finish in a man’s quest for the moon”(74). Not only could America’s reputation not handle finishing second, but also whoever was the winner of this space race would gain a “great deal of political capital”(Doncaster & Holland 197). America was frantic to be unsurpassed and to maintain its reputation. By landing on the moon first, America would prove it was the best. Pushed to desperation, America realized that it would have to fake a moon landing in order to uphold its position. “Everyone wanted to land on the moon first and…America did not have the proper technology then to land men on the moon and so, faked the whole landing scene in a carefully planned set right here on Earth and then transmitted it” (Moon-landing). America soon became aware that the probability of landing on the moon was dreadfully slim and the technology necessary was far too advanced.

America was frantic to reach the moon, but many obstacles stood in the way. Many professionals deemed going to the moon impossible with the technology available at the time; “much to Kennedy’s dismay, Wiesner and his panel threw cold water on the new president’s space goal, concluding that the United States would not win the race with the Soviet Union to put a man on the moon”(Breuer 74). Even Kennedy’s panel declared it impossible to reach the moon before the Soviet Union impossible due to the many statistics against the success of a moon landing. In more recent studies, Bill Kaysing, a former librarian and writer of technical publications and advanced research at Rocketdyne Systems from 1956 to 1963, estimated that the chance of landing a man on the moon and safely bringing him home was .0014 percent. He concluded that a man could not reach the moon in 1959(Cosnette & Lloyd). With only ten more years of technology, could this statistic improve so dramatically? Even one of Kennedy’s most knowledgeable advisors stated that traveling to the moon before the Soviet Union unfeasible, yet America still claimed to have done it. Not only did America face countless virtually impossible obstacles that caused skepticism, there are also many oddities in the film footage of the moon landing that cause the questioning of its authenticity.

There are many peculiar aspects to the video of the moon landing transmit back to Earth and several unusual incidences surrounding the video and documents from the lunar mission itself. Upon first glance, the footage seems normal; however with close examination many inaccuracies become apparent. For instance, when the craft landed on the moon, one would presume a large cloud of dust would plume up. On the contrary, there are no clouds of dust in the video (Doncaster & Holland 199). Skeptics can also raise an eyebrow at a flame in clear view without any oxygen present in space for the fire to be burning with, the fact the pictures and videos sent to Earth have uneven quality, and even how the film and camera managed to stay in good condition in space (Cosnette & Lloyd). It is not only the video that is anomalous, but also the disappearance of the blueprints for the Lunar Module and the Moon Buggy, which detailed the construction and use of the spacecraft used during the lunar mission. Landing on the moon is one of man’s greatest accomplishments, so why would these documents be destroyed? One would think the documents would be saved and put into a museum to display America’s great accomplishments (Cosnette & Lloyd). There is simply no explanation as to why these blueprints were destroyed; the most rational explanation is that they never existed. Although observing the video and taking note of unexplained circumstances and discrepancies surrounding the lunar landing causes suspicion, modern discoveries possibly offer the strongest evidence of all for the implausibility of America’s so-called 1969 “Moon Landing”.

Modern technology has changed the understanding of space and the reality of past and future lunar missions. Further study of space has exposed new information about harmful radiation in space and has revealed that more studying should be done before America launches another lunar mission. CNN recently issued a report stating, “the radiation belts surrounding Earth may be more dangerous for astronauts than previously believed. The phenomenon known as the ‘Van Allen Belts’ can spawn ‘Killer Electrons’ that can dramatically affect the astronauts’ health.” (Cosnette & Lloyd). If Americans had really traveled to the moon, one would think that these rays would have affected their heath. As Harlan Spence, a professor of astronomy at Boston University said, “We really need to know more about the radiation environment on the Moon, especially if people will be staying there for more than just a few days” (Cosnette & Lloyd). With all of this new information, the possibility of America actually landing on the moon in 1969 is even smaller than what Wiesner estimated when advising Kennedy four decades ago, when Kennedy would not hear of losing to the Soviet Union regardless. There are so many factors that give credence to the position that the moon landing did not actually occur, that they cannot be ignored, and it is clear to see why America would be pushed to desperation to fake the moon landing.

America needed to prove to the world that it was unsurpassed, and in order to defend its reputation, America faked the moon landing. Nevertheless, landing on the moon was practically impossible and it was in fact deemed impossible for America to reach the Moon before the Soviet Union at the time by an adviser of Kennedy’s. There are many questionable aspects regarding the tape sent back to Earth of the moon landing as well as the apparent destruction of critical blueprints, which all raise doubt regarding the authenticity of this event. Additionally, as time has progressed and science has further developed, there are even newer discoveries that suggest going to space is exceedingly more difficult and dangerous than previously thought. Each great country struggles to be the finest in the world and will go to great measures to do so, even if it is not honest. This is just one example of the pride America, or some of its leaders and citizens would go to uphold its global prestige, political power, and superior reputation. In the future historians may well refer to this event not as “The First Moon Landing”, but instead as “The Great American Hoax”.

Breuer, William. “The Race to the Moon” The 1960’s. Comp Willieam Dudley. San Diego, California: Greenhaven Press, 2000. 74–89.

Doncaster, Lucy and Andrew Holland. Greatest Mysteries of the Unexplained. London: Arcturus Publishing Limited, 2005.

Websites:

Cosnette, Dave, and Andy Lloyd. “The Apollo Hoax.” Cosmic Conspiracies. 10 Feb.
2009. 19 Apr. 2009.

Garber, Steve. “NASA Apollo 11: 30th Anniversary.” NASA. 20 Sept. 2002. NASA. 16
Apr. 2009.

“Moon-landing and Our Quest to Conquer the Universe.” UNB — United News of
Bangladesh (July 25, 2008): NA. General OneFile. Gale. CONTRA COSTA
COUNTY LIBRARY. 21 Apr. 2009.

• Photo by State Library of New South Whales / Used with Permission

I thoroughly believe in conserving the planet and finding alternatives to certain power sources. I guess I could turn off my lights more often, and I could watch less TV. I could write fewer essays (ha) and save the energy (from the computer and my brain) to use on another day. I would do anything right now to avoid such situations like the one I’m in right now.

Sure, during the middle of a muggy summer day, I could easily be cooped in my house with a fan and a book and be perfectly content. What happens when it gets dark? The heat has died down, the wind begins to kick up, and my tolerance level for random activities dwindles. What do I do?

I could go outside and play with a stick at the cost of looking like an idiot with no life (what?). I could go running with the street lights illuminating the streets with the risk of being violated. I could sit out on the driveway and stare at the stars (which will hopefully be visible) at the cost of being run over by a Hummer.

The saying, “you only get bored if you’re a boring person” is not at all applicable here. I do not consider myself a boring, monotonous person. In all honesty, I think that I can be pretty exciting sometimes. If I’m such an exciting person, how am I so bored?

The answer is simple: we, as a society, have become too dependent on electronics as forms of entertainment. Without our precious television sets, cable, internet connections, and computers, we slowly shrivel up into a raisin of dullness. I hate to admit it, but I have forgotten what it feels like to live without such luxuries.

Remember when you were incapable of figuring out how to use a television remote? Instead of sitting on the couch, I bounded off to accomplish other tasks, like play dress-up or play with my Barbie dolls. I had no worries in the world, and I could play with my toys to my heart’s content. Oh, how I wish I were still young. I wouldn’t have to worry about missing deadlines, writing novel-length research papers, or brainstorming about my plans for the future.

I’m so bored right now that I’m actually thinking about my future plans for college. I could, like, totally move down to the hills and, like, do nothing all day and get paid for it. Or I could stay around the Bay Area and have my parents breathing down my neck for the rest of my life.

But I digress.

How did people live before the invention of internet and television?

I would tell you, but I can’t look it up on Wikipedia.

Edited by Alex Rogala

• Photo by Zen Sutherland / Used with Permission

I leave society.
My hearts aches.
Why?
I can’t remember.
I thought all had come to pass.
I quietly slip away.
No one will notice.
No one ever will.
My presence had meant nothing.

Outside.
My mind calms.
The hand clutching my heart
Slowly let’s go.
My legs give away.
And my body, my soul
Lands with a dull thud
On Starlight Hill.

I have to rest.
I can’t go back.
Not just yet.
I’m not ready.
The pain nearly killed me.

Laying there.
I stare at the night sky.
The moon is not full tonight.
The thinnest cresent possible.
Stars are in minimal numbers.
Dark clouds begin rolling in.

I don’t understand.
Why must it be this way?
And finally,
I cry,
And cried until I fell asleep.

Rain pours.
I take no notice.
I’m asleep under a tree.
The winds are harsh.
I sleep through the storm.

Clouds clear.
I wake up.
I look up.
See the stars.
Abundant in their numbers.
See the moon.
Seemingly closer.

A soft shallow breeze crosses the hill.
I take it all in.
But I still cannot move.
Weak with depression.
For a reason I can’t remember.
So why did this happen?
I must remember.
My heart has the answer.
Always.

But even when I can’t remember.
I see your face.
Thinking of you.
Wherever you are.
Everyday passing, I know.
Means one day closer.
To our being together again.
And that’s when I will recover at last.
If only you could be here now…
But I must learn to stand on my own.

My sorrow, everyone believes,
Is always about love.
But that’s not true.
That’s not always the reason.
I have others.
They’re just not as often.

I hope that
Whatever happens next
You can be by my side
When it does.
I don’t want to face it alone.
Laying there still.
Feeling sorry for myself.
I want to go back.

Looking at the light.
They dot the eternal darkness.
Renewed hope.
Renewed strength.
I stand.
And walk back.
I’m ready once again
For whatever comes to pass.

My friends wait.
Did they miss me?
Color me surprised.
Too many had betrayed me in the past.
I hope that will all stay in the past.

• Photo by Steve Hardy / Used with Permission

Oh butterfly, my butterfly
Fly me home
Take me to the kaleidoscope
Of blood, flesh, and bone.

Fly me to the fields
Take me to the moon
Catch me with your wings
Wrap me in your cocoon.

Carry me, oh winged things
To my greatest nightmares
To my horrid past
To my most dreaded affairs.

Remind me, my winged things
Of all the terrors I’ve caused
Of all the pain I’ve inflicted
Of all the truth that was lost.

Forgive me winged things
For I have been blind
Engulfed in my own darkness
In the back of my mind.

• Photo by John “monkeyc” / Used with Permission

As far as Northgate, people have often said that about this time, it is the break-up season; some couples are splitting up because they cheated on each other, others break up because it’s not what they all need at this moment in life. Can we all get so much from the other that it becomes overwhelming and painful whenever a couple is together? On the weekends or at a party Friday night, some people go out, get drunk and maybe, end the night with hooking up with somebody that they know is really close. However, this is nothing to them. What if they completely overlooked those guys or girls and realize that they’re losing their life partner right under their noses?

Do you think that there can really be only one true love? If you do, when do you think we can find them? Out in the city? Saying hi to them in the park? A childhood friend or a new recent understanding friend? Can we all find someone who we really love and never do anything to hurt them? Can we, as a people, find the will to not love someone else on the side? Can we find real love and nothing else?

• Photo by bored-now / Used with Permission

When you write about sadness, don’t write of tears rolling down your cheeks. It’s too familiar of a description. Instead, write of the disgusting taste in your mouth, and how you regret eating that late dinner in that Mediterranean restaurant because all you want to do is cry cry cry while bundled up in Tuesday’s laundry. That’s what it feels like.

When you write about a successful love, don’t write of sparks flying. It’s a sentence we’ve all read before. Instead, write of the name, author, and cover image of the book you try to distract yourself with as you anticipate their arrival at your doorstep around 6PM, and how the corners of the pages slightly dent with the budding sweat on your fingers. That’s what it feels like.

When you write about an unsuccessful love, don’t write of trying to glue the pieces of your broken heart together. It’s a saying we’re all tired of coming across. Instead, write of the colour of the mold growing on your fruits because they left you and didn’t do the simple favor of morning groceries, and the little maps on the pillow next to you and how you could swear the same pattern was on their face while they slept. That’s what it feels like.

When you write about anything, everything, anyone, everyone, don’t write of what you’re familiar with. Don’t get too comfortable before you begin. Hear that song you listen to in hopes to scratch away from writer’s block? Don’t listen to it. Listen to a genre you’ve never even heard of. See that word you love so much? Don’t use it. Look up the word you despise most in a thesaurus and play with the language of synonyms and dislikes.

You know that thing that makes sense? You know that element you always notice?

Don’t.

It’s about the things that don’t make sense and the things that we don’t notice as we scuttle through life that haunt us after the last word is consumed by our brains.

And that, my dear stranger, is one aspiration you should keep in mind before that first sentence is written.

• Photo by Churl Han / Used with Permission

On land, you were able to relax.
Underwater, you were able to sleep.
Up in the sky, you are able to move on.

The sky is a pale baby blue.
You cried before.
Your eyes were closed.
You didn’t want to go back.
Except now,
Your eyes are open again.
You are ready.

The wind uplifts your spirit.
The flood of tears stop.
You look up.
The sun seems to smile.
The clouds, beneath your feet,
Are trying to get you standing.

Look around you.
The land is barren but joyous.
You stand alone but strong.
You are quiet but cheering inside.

We’re high up in the sky.
This is a land of clouds.
Look ahead.
Ready to run?
You have a dream to chase.
And that’s the way to go.
Just beyond the horizon.

But you don’t have to go yet.
Stay here for as long as you want.
Your soul can rest.
Lie on the clouds.
They seem solid when you stand.
But they are soft and gentle to touch.
Look up above you.
What do you see?
More clouds?
Is there even a limit?

The sun fades in the distance.
The sky is mixed in color.
Behind you, night has already fallen.
The sky is a dark blue.
Above you, day is slipping.
The sky is a fading sky blue.
Ahead of you, the sun says its last farewell.
The sky is a splash of crimson and orange.

Night completely falls upon where you stand.
A cold breeze blows.
But you don’t shiver.
Lie among the clouds.
Look above.
The black sky speaks of infinite darkness.
But in the darkness.
Pure white stars are your guiding lights.
The moon shines.
It’s silver glow heals all wounds.
Be it heart or body.

Fall asleep, as the clouds give comfort.
Stars twinkle.
The moon glows.
You’ve never been so close to the heavens above.
Another shooting star passes.
Your wish seems so real.
It’s almost tangible.

Good night.
Sleep well.
And wait for the sun to come again.
You will be ready to face the world once more.

• Photo by Albert “istargazer” / Used with Permission

Breathe, you will find air down even here.
Slowly you will drift along the soft flowing currents.
Sink closer to the bottom.
Lie on the floor if you will.
And look above you.
Now I can’t say much else.
Tell me…
What do you see?

Float as you will.
This is almost flying.
You won’t drown.
You can breathe.
The air is the air from your peace within.
That’s all you’ll ever need.

Listen closely.
What do you hear?
That sound…is an animal is crying?
It could be singing…
And a dolphin will come over to play with you.

Seaweed litters the seabed.
But coral dominates the area.
Vibrant colors flash at you.
The sunlight is strongest here.
And the creatures who live here.
Won’t harm you.
Your paradise sounds like a coral reef.
But the reality of it is so much more.

The dolphin who was with you.
Quietly leaves as night falls.
The entire seabed seems to stop in time.
All is quiet.
All are silent.
All are waiting for the sun to come again.

You return to the seabed.
Now tell me.
What do you see now?
When you look up?
When you fall asleep,
Your dreams will come true.
All will remain clam, quiet, and gentle.
Like a stormless ocean.

And through the waters,
Somewhere, someplace,
A lonely mysterious song is sung again.
From the unknown and to the unknown.

I once felt like I was drowning.
But now that’s nothing but a memory.
My underwater paradise calms all.

• Photo by Artista / Used with Permission

My broken heart will mend.

I can sit here forever.
Enjoy the peace that was created from my thoughts.
A place that can exist only in my memory
My dreams.

The grass is the summer’s green.
The sky is a pale baby blue.
Trees line the paradise but are scattered.
Garbage doesn’t exist.
And trails branch off all over the garden.

A soft breeze blows through my hair.
Giving an innocent, clean feel.
The clouds pass and the weather becomes overcast.
And the sun will make another attempt to come out again.

A single fountain lies at the center of the garden.
Water in canals runs off in many directions.
But it always runs free.
Like it’s reaching towards a dream.

Flowers cross the fields.
Take a rose from the nearby bush.
The thorns don’t hurt.
Because my desire will be to hand it to someone.
The thorns disappear to grant that wish.

Animals of all kinds cross the fields.
Some stop to smell the flowers.
Some will approach me, knowing that I mean no harm.
Some fly towards the setting sun.
Some will come out when the sun goes down.

Night falls upon the garden.
Owls hoot.
The water slowly continues to cascade.
The clouds clear.
And the moon shines its light upon the garden.
Stars twinkle.
A shooting star, a single white line
Cuts through the darkness.
So make a wish.

Yet this paradise is still missing one thing.
That special someone to share it with.
And that’s what I wish for every night.
Knowing that one day,
My dream will come true at last.

• Photo by vgm8383 / Used with Permission

Are my feelings and emotions completely screwed up? What am I doing? I still can’t get him out of my head… and it still hurts to think about it. I look at him, hoping he would even have some common sense and say something to me. Anything at all but this pain fought by emotions and tears.

Edited by Andrew Lam

• Photo by D. Sharon Pruitt / Used with Permission

Think back with me for a moment. Remember first grade? Do you remember what you would do when the teacher asked a question? Do you remember your hand shooting from its place by your side into the air like a rocket bound for the moon? “Ooh ooh pick meee!”. Now picture with me how your hand went up in third grade… fifth… eighth… now eleventh. Where did that eagerness go? Where did the want, the need, for attention and contribution go? Something got in the way of those feelings. That something is life experiences. Think back again to how your classmates would react when you got called on. If you answered the question right: “Wow, Sarah, wow! You’re so smart!”. And if you answered the question wrong: “Wow, Sarah, wow! You’re so lucky!”. It didn’t matter! But now what happens? If we get the answer wrong, we’re laughed at and if we get it right, its no big deal. What’s the point in even raising our hand let alone shooting it up, ready to share our knowledge with the class? Our experiences have taught us that there is no reason to push ourselves, no reason to put out more than we receive, no reason to give extra than the absolute minimum. It is time to reverse our thinking. Out minds actually need to take a few steps back and rewind until the reach that time where we were willing to contribute and take risks. It only takes small steps, but they must be taken. You can’t wait around for others to answer the questions while the others are waiting on you. Every little thing counts. Every little deed, every time you do something for the greater good, the bigger picture, affects the mental and physical health of the whole world. Mother Teresa is a great example, a person taking small steps to change the world. She worked with the poor, fighting to help them to better lives. She believed that doing small things with love was the only way to accomplish big things. She is internationally famous as a humanitarian and proved that one person really can change the world. But in order to make a difference you don’t have to win a Nobel Peace Prize and be a household name across the world like Mother Teresa. You just have to do something not only for yourself; something that will benefit those less fortunate than yourself, because it is only for God and angels to be lookers on. A few weeks ago I was told the story of the Devil’s garage sale. The Devil was selling a lot of his tools and there was one lying in the middle of the lawn that was much more expensive than all the rest. A customer asked him “why is that tool so much more expensive?” and the Devil replied “for that is the tool of discouragement and it is more useful to me than any of the others. With discouragement I can pry open and get inside a person’s conscience, when I cannot get near him with any other tools. And once I’m inside his conscience, I can use him in any way that suits me best. It is worn so much because I can use it with nearly anybody, since very few people know that it belongs to me. A person is never weaker than when he or she is fed-up or down-in-the-dumps”. Don’t let anything discourage you. Don’t let anyone or anything get you down. It only takes one person to change the world. I know that many of you already volunteer; through church, or boy scouts, or at Kaiser, or at other schools, or through service clubs here at Northgate and that is fantastic, just as long as everyone does something. Little acts add together to make something bigger, better, and more beneficial than you would believe. No one is allowed to sit back on their butts doing nothing when they have so much to give – it is only for God and angels to be lookers on. I am in a club called Interact and we are raising money for the LN-4 project. The project make $50 prosthetic hands and gives them to people and children in other countries where their original hands may have been blown of by land mines, or they could have been born with out them, or they even could have been chopped off. The project was introduced by a man named Ernie Meadows who wanted to create a memorial for his daughter Ellen. This is the fourth project he has started in her honor and it is becoming a huge deal among the Rotary International community. The goal now is to raise enough money that there will be not a single person in this world with out two hands, be them original or prosthetic. Now don’t get me wrong, this is a fantastic project and our club will eagerly contribute, but my question is: why did it take the death of his daughter to start something like this? What is it going to take to get the rest of the population out of their seats and donating not only time and energy but also ideas? We should have to wait for punishment. Go out there and make a difference now! Volunteer at a soup kitchen or with little kids. Put your ideas to work. There are opportunities all over the place. Just be sure to get out there and do something!

• Photo used with Permission