Memoir

                                                                               The Story of Growing Up

                                                                                       Kaylee Sanderson

Life is like a book. It is unknown what will happen until you turn the page. When I was younger, I wanted to be grown up so badly but once I grew up I wished to be young and I regret it.

 High School was the coolest thing to me. It was like a palace of freedom. Boy was I wrong.  Over the years, High School has shown me the true meaning of the saying “not everything is how it seems."I entered high school ready. I was ready to act grown and have all the freedom in the world with lots of friends and huge popularity. Little did I know, high school would be my worst nightmare.

 They learned my biggest secrets and the regrets I never opened up about, they learned who I really was and who I wasn't. Once they got the information they needed, they used it all against me. Somehow, I became built as this person who was made from everyone else's words but mine. The only words that should've mattered most.

 I felt powerless and alone. I was hopeless. Every day became repetitive. Every now and then, I would catch myself thinking of how quickly time slips away from us. From me. I went to sleep one night young and excited but woke up older and humble. 

Every day, age reminds us of so many different things but all it reminds me of the way I stayed quiet. The way I let this happen to myself. My movie was so hopeful. I was so hopeful… was.

 How could I do this to her? How could I let this happen to that little girl who wanted so much more for themselves? Every day, the questioning became worse. “Why me”’s turned into take me ' and the tears became screams. 

I decided I needed to do something. Not only for me but for the little girl that was still inside of me begging to come out. I couldn't keep feeling this way. I was losing myself and I surely couldn't let this happen to anybody else. I found myself walking into the office not because I was called to but because I chose to. The conversations were raw, stressful, and tearful.

 From that day forward, I made a promise to myself. I will fight back–not with the cruelty I’ve been shown throughout high school, but with my voice. I decided to get my things, remove myself from that environment. I deleted all electronic communications and began to focus on reforming who I was. I learned by myself. I learned who I really was. I let my little me free again. 

Does it still hurt? Yes. Will I let it continue to beat me down? Absolutely not.

Dear Colorado

Charlotte Baker

Dear Logan, August 12, 2025

I miss you so much already. Even though I saw you a week ago, it was also 1,848 miles ago. My first impression of Connecticut is that it is small-town Gilmore Girls-esque. You’d love it if it wasn’t the place that “took your best friend away from you”, as you say. I hate that I had to make a decision for me rather than for us when it came to a choice about moving away from Colorado, but our house is just as beautiful as the pictures, and I love it so much. 

I’m currently writing this letter while sitting on the floor of my beautiful wallpapered room, using the surface of a moving box that contains my deconstructed desk, and I feel so many mixed emotions. I’ve decided that I don’t need to know how to feel, and that that is okay because it is so confusing to process. I haven’t even begun to understand that I’ll be spending the rest of high school and my childhood here, but I know that I’m excited. 

I’ve already noticed a difference in how I feel physically at low elevation. I’m able to get out of bed in the mornings without needing to sit down straight after. I’m able to walk down to the ice cream shop down the road with my sisters without needing to take breaks. I feel like a healthy, normal teenage girl again.

As you know, my sisters are always my first priority, so I’ve been hyperfocused on everything that they have been doing the past week because I just need them to be okay. This move was a lot, and although it was a family choice, I can’t help but feel guilty that my health was one of the biggest motivators to move the family across the country. 

I wish I could still walk through my backyard into yours like we used to when we needed to gossip and rant about everything going on. I don’t know how I’m supposed to learn how to organize my feelings by myself. I don’t know how I’m going to get used to this, and we may never, but that’s okay. I love you lots, and text me when you get this letter in the mail!

P.S. I took a polaroid picture of the back of my new house (which I dropped into this envelope), and hope that you can somehow be backyard neighbors with me again, but this time through plastic polaroid film. Love you.

My hand cramps subsided as soon as I set the pen down on the cardboard writing surface. The emotional tension within the house manifested into my physical form throughout the adjustment process that was the first week of living in our new house. My shoulders ached from constant tension and I rolled them back, standing myself up from the half-squat, half-kneel I was twisted into from managing the awkward height of the makeshift desk I had been crouched over.

“Char, there’s another box down here for you!” My mom hollered up the front staircase. My bedroom door was ajar and next to the stairs, and I heard her just fine, but I couldn’t imagine having to carry myself down and then up the stairs with all of the emotional weight on my chest, let alone weighing myself down with a twenty-pound box in my arms. So, I just acted as if I couldn’t hear her, sitting silent, examining the patterns of my wallpaper. Couldn’t I sit and trace every curve and color with my eyes until my emotions ran out?

Dear May, January 20, 2025

Thank you so much for sharing your birthday with me. Those three days were probably some of the happiest in the past year; there’s no better combination than being with May in NYC! I’ve been to the city a few times before our trip, and I’ve always adored it, but I love being there with you by my side. Maybe someday, we can move to New York in our twenties and share an apartment to do a year-long repeat of that trip, including the Broadway shows, Central Park walks, and constant repeats of the feeling of seeing you for the first time in six months in Grand Central Station. I think the best part about the idea of the New York City trip together was that it was as much a gift to you as it was to me. I was really missing my childhood best friend.

Telling you about Connecticut, I’m sure you can tell that I’m learning to accept the East Coast as another home now. But one thing that I didn’t know was that it would feel the most at home with the right people. That thought had been brewing since the moment I left all of my favorite people in Colorado, but I have only been able to put it to words now that I’m on the train home from being with you. People really do define home, which is why I’m so excited for you to visit in March. I can’t wait to show you my town, and also in some ways, to prove to you that moving was the right choice for me and my family. I have grown in so many areas of my life through uprooting everything I knew six months ago. I’ve drifted between friends, explored New England, tried new activities, and found my way to the things that make me happiest. 

It was a hard realization that I will be new to everything for a while, because I used to be so set on doing everything forever with you. I think since then, I’ve gained a little more confidence in myself and my interests, and it’s nice to feel independent.

One person that I know I can rely on even as I’m still finding my place here is my newest best friend, Chelsea. She’s so much like you and still so different, and for that reason, I find it hard not to compare you two when I’m missing you a little extra. Luckily, she makes me feel like it’s okay to miss something I had while enjoying something I currently have.

xoxo,

Charlotte

Dear future me, September 17, 2025

It’s much easier to write a letter to myself about whatever is on my mind rather than writing a letter to a long-distance friend who needs to be caught up on my whole life. Even still, I have a lot of ‘what-if’s on my mind as senior year progresses, and it makes every achievement of mine feel like a work in progress. A lot of my stress right now comes from college and what I’m doing in the future, and it doesn’t help that it feels like everyone around me already has their whole post-secondary life planned out. Everyone that lives in town knows a lot more about colleges around New England than me, and I’ve felt behind the past few months. So, to assist my nerves, over the summer, I took the liberty of researching and exploring colleges as best I could before the school year commenced. Despite all of the doubts and worries that came with moving states a year before I’d graduate, I’ve come to the conclusion that the east coast gives me so many more options when it comes to colleges. The area really caters to my interest in the arts with the proximity that Connecticut has to big cities like New York City and Boston. I am not sure that without my time in both cities, I wouldn’t have even looked into the majors or careers that are my top choices.

Not only am I thankful that my health has improved at sea level for the sake of being able to fulfill daily tasks and go to school, but I am also thankful that I am more comfortable with and physically able to pursue more intensive education and career opportunities that speak to me most. Two years ago, I was concerned that I wouldn’t be able to do much on my own in the future due to my health issues. Now, every day I am sure to apply myself as far as I can out of respect for my past self who dreamed of being able to do what I can now. Though I tend to doubt or even regret the decision of moving the moment something goes wrong, all of these factors lining up as soon as I am figuring out my transition to adulthood make me feel as though it all happened for a reason.

I am grateful for the experience of moving because everything challenging and even emotionally taxing can be a learning opportunity and enforce your sense of self. I feel that the transition to college won’t be as jarring. I feel independent and comfortable finding my own self and place in a new setting. And lastly, I know that home can visit me while I establish my identity in a new place. (Though I wouldn’t mind keeping my fingers crossed that somehow, May or Logan will go to school on the east coast).

A pat on the back to my biggest supporter, myself.

Enjoying What You Love Despite The Pressure

Ella Santoro

Committing. It sounds like a simple word. But choosing where you’re going to spend the next four years of your life, academically and athletically, is anything but simple. No one makes that choice for you. You have to trust yourself,  trust your gut , and hope that all the years of effort, dedication, and sacrifice lead you to the right place. July 11th, 2025. One of the best days of my life. Not just because I had committed to a school I really liked, but because that was the day the weight was lifted off of my chest. I could breathe again. Ever since then my life with soccer has been so much easier. I have gained my confidence back. 

It all started with that one question freshman year. Do you want to play soccer in college? Naively, I said yes because soccer was my passion. Soccer gave me confidence. It was a routine in my life, something I would look forward to everyday. Soccer was my escape from drama at school, problems at home, and the stress that school would always bring me.

But I had no idea what that question actually meant. I didn't realize that saying yes meant entering a process that would test my confidence, my mental strength, and my love for the game.

I can't stress enough how hard you should work and how focused you need to be during the recruiting process. I wish I knew it at the start so I could've prepared myself. It’s like a full time job on top of being a student and teenager. There’s this constant pressure to perform, to impress, to be seen. Every practice starts to feel like a tryout. Every game feels like your future depends on it. This process is a mental game. You either show up or you don't. I will admit I was very inconsistent. I got in my head a lot. Some games I do great and some games I don't. How did the sport that I used to go to get away from my problems become my biggest problem?  

Soccer wasn't just a fun game anymore it was a job. A job that I had to be good at every single day. I would go into soccer games so anxious and nervous to the point where I thought I was going to throw up because every move I made could be watched by college coaches. Every mistake felt like the end of the world. I dreaded car rides home with my parents because I didn't want to face them after a hard game. I would zone out on my calls with my recruiter because of how drained I was talking about the same things over and over again. Always reminded that I had to give everything my all, even when I felt like I had nothing left to give.

During my junior year, I hit a breaking point. I texted my mom and told her I was done. I couldn't do it anymore. It was too much. So I quit. For thirty minutes. I had quit soccer. I had given up on the sport I have been working at my whole life. The sport that distracted me from my problems, the sport that gave me great lasting friendships, the sport that once had given me so much confidence that I wasn't afraid of anything. Where did that girl go? 

Wiping away my tears I dialed my sister's phone number to hear what she had to say about this. I go to her for everything, and if this call didn't happen I probably wouldn't be playing in college. My sister goes to school down south and wasn't able to play soccer because of COVID. Getting recruited then was even harder than what I went through. I called her to  ask if she ever regretted her decision. She replied saying, every single day. She wishes she had pulled through and played in college because she misses it so much and seeing the girls that she played with playing in college makes her miss it even more because she knew she could do it, but she didn't and that is one of her biggest regrets. She gave me the best advice I had ever received. She told me that this process can feel so difficult and overwhelming that giving up seems easier than pushing through. But if it's something you've poured years of your life into, committing to it, despite the struggle, feels far better than living with an, I wish I had.

After talking with my sister, I'm lying in my room processing everything she had told me. Then I started to imagine my life without soccer and what I would do and I genuinely couldn't do it. Soccer wasn’t just a sport. It was my routine. My structure. My outlet. It was the thing that kept me focused, grounded, and healthy, mentally and physically. So I told myself I'm not done, because yes right now this does seem so hard and not worth it but imagining the feeling I will get when I do find my school, that made me want to keep going, and let me tell you, it was great. 

Now that I have committed and know where I wanna go, I have gotten my confidence back, I can't wait to talk about my games with my parents, I am meeting new people that I will be playing soccer with, and who knows, one of them could end up being my best friend. 

Now, I understand something I didn’t before. Committing isn’t just about choosing a college. It’s about choosing yourself. It’s about believing in the years of hard work you’ve already done and trusting that all of it means something. I’m proud of the girl who almost quit because she didn’t. And now I know that no matter how hard life gets, I can push through anything. 

I also want everyone to know this, when you're going through the recruiting process and trying to get noticed, don’t let the pressure get to you. Just play your game. The more you stress, the harder it becomes to perform well. And even on days when you’re not playing your best, never stop trying. Coaches notice effort and they respect players who keep working, no matter what. 

Think about it. Would you rather watch someone having a rough game who’s given up walking to the ball, avoiding tackles or someone who’s also struggling, but still diving for every ball and sprinting like the game depends on it? I would choose the second one every time. And so would they. 

Memoir

Ahmed Ali

As a child you might believe that talent alone will carry you through school, sports, or even life. I believed the same when I was younger. In elementary school I scored at the top in every subject. I ran faster than most of my classmates. I picked up sports with little effort. Teachers and coaches praised me. That early success gave me confidence, but it also planted a false belief inside me. I assumed talent was permanent and effort was unnecessary. That idea stayed with me for years before I learned the truth.

I still remember that one quiz in fourth grade. The classroom smelled like hot glue that had just been used from recent art projects. Warm air breezed through the half open windows. You could hear the loud roars of kids playing outside during recess. On my desk sat a multiplication quiz. Many of my classmates looked nervous. Some bit their pencils. Others tapped their feet. And me? Well I was just getting impatient waiting for the teacher to let us start. As soon as we were allowed to, I raced through the problems and, within 2 minutes, I was already leaning back in my chair with pure confidence. The result was another perfect score. I barely glanced at the paper before putting it back into my folder. That feeling of ease only strengthened my belief that just talent was enough.

The same trend showed up in sports. In fifth grade I joined the school’s soccer team. Many kids struggled to control the ball, but I caught on instantly. During our first practice I scored several goals. My coach even praised me. My teammates looked at me as if I had natural skill. I began to think I was special. Then one day during practice, we ran laps. At first I sprinted ahead and teased a few teammates. Soon fatigue hit me harder than expected. My legs felt heavy. Teammates I once outran passed me with strong form. When practice ended, my coach gave me a pat on the back, but his attention went to the players who had worked harder and lasted longer. I tried to ignore that moment, but part of me realized talent was no longer enough.

Middle school brought even harsher lessons. Algebra replaced the simple math I knew. Letters mixed with numbers into complex equations. I remember sitting in silence during a seventh grade test, staring at problems I could not solve. My pencil tapped against the desk. My leg bounced rapidly. The result came back as a C. I turned the paper over quickly so no one would see. That single letter showed me that confidence without effort leads to failure.

Sports gave the same lesson but in a more physical way. By eighth grade, teammates who once struggled against me had improved a lot through hours of practice. They stayed after team drills. They trained during weekends. I did not. I relied on what came naturally. Each season I noticed my edge fading away. My teammates became faster, stronger, and sharper. I was left behind because I had ignored the effort.

If you rely only on natural skill, you limit your progress. You stop pushing yourself. When others practice, they pass you. To avoid this, focus on building regular habits. Break large tasks into smaller steps. Set specific goals and track them. For example, if you want to improve in math, spend twenty minutes each day practicing problems instead of waiting for tests to force you to study. If you want to improve in sports, commit to drills outside of team practice. Short, focused sessions add up over time.

I started to follow this advice. In math class, geometry became my hardest subject. Proofs confused me, and I often gave up too early. Instead of waiting for tests, I set a plan. Each night I solved five proof problems. I wrote down every mistake and checked what rule or theorem I had missed. Over time my scores moved up from low C’s to solid B’s, then to A’s on some quizzes. The same approach worked in sports. When I joined the track team, my endurance was weak. I was fast in short sprints but failed in longer runs. I decided to run one extra mile after practice three times a week. I timed myself and wrote the numbers down. At first I struggled to finish. After a month, my mile time dropped by more than a minute. I no longer faded while others slowed down. Applying steady effort in both math and sports gave me proof that small steps create progress.

Another practical step is to welcome failure as information. Early on, I viewed failure as proof that talent had vanished. That mindset hurt me. Once I started treating failure as feedback, I improved. If you miss a question on a test, analyze why. Did you misread the problem? Did you lack knowledge of a method? Understand the gap and address it directly. If you fall behind in a sport drill, take note of all your weak points. Are you losing endurance, speed, or control? Work specifically on that area. These small corrections can accumulate into significant progress.

Tracking progress also helps. Write down your test scores, your practice times, or your completed drills. Seeing numbers change over weeks proves effort is working. Data gives you proof that skill grows with practice. Without records you risk falling back into the belief that results depend only on talent.

Rest and balance matter as well. Working hard does not mean exhausting yourself daily. Schedule recovery. Sleep enough hours. Eat well. These basics keep your body and mind ready for growth. Many talented people fail not because they lack skill but because they ignore rest and burn out.

By high school I had accepted that work defines results. Talent gives a starting point, but effort shapes the outcome. I began to treat each failure as a signal for what I needed to practice. When I saw classmates study longer and achieve higher grades, I studied too. When teammates trained outside official practice, I joined them. Progress came slowly, but it came. The satisfaction of improvement from effort outweighed the comfort of natural ease.

Looking back, the biggest lesson is simple. Do not trust talent alone. It goes away easily without effort. Success requires consistent practice, reflection, and resilience, especially when facing setbacks. If you accept that and act on it, you will definitely grow beyond your natural limits.

Trouble in the Air 

Matthew Greenwood

As yet another memorable Thanksgiving trip to Florida, filled with time spent in the warm sun with my loving grandparents came to an end, it was, unfortunately, time to return home. Despite the sense of sadness my family and I were feeling, there was, in fact, another reality we had to get back to. My sister and I needed to attend school and my parents had to resume their jobs. The few days of us swimming in the blue water, devouring what felt like unlimited homemade baked goods, and staying up laughing until our stomachs hurt were over. Our journey via plane would start in Tampa, Florida and end in New Haven, Connecticut. We were using the newish airline that offered nonstop service from Florida-Connecticut, my personal favorite, Avelo Airlines. As I stared out into the dark, blank world, visible from the window seat, I prepared myself for the landing process, as it would occur in any regular trip. However, even though all preceding steps, going to the airport, security, boarding the plane, etc were as expected, what happened next was something I had never ever expected.

Within minutes, disaster completely struck. As we basically touched down on the tarmac in New Haven, the pilot pulled quickly and aggressively back up. A sense of confusion wavered across the plane as everyone wondered what unexpectedly went wrong. Within the next few minutes, still while all passengers sat in shock, the pilot came onto the intercom system and explained it had become too foggy to land in New Haven. My first thought: thank you, captain obvious.

As chit-chatter spread through the air, my parents told me not to worry. They and the other passengers were confident that we would just land at Bradley International Airport. This would only add an extra hour max to our journey. But, this was not the case at all. Five minutes later, the pilot came onto the intercom again and informed the passengers we would be rerouted to Delaware and would land, hopefully, at 1:00 A.M.

“1:00 A.M?” I accidentally remarked out-loud. However, my expression was overpowered by the angry and unison declaration of “Delware?” “Why, Delaware?” from almost all one-hundred passengers. 

“Well, this sucks,” I groaned to my family. Yet, I was barely even able to get that expression into conversation as the atmosphere was bombarded with what felt like a million questions. All I remember hearing is the lady in the row behind us screaming. She was quite literally screaming, “Why can’t we land at Bradley?” The answer, passively aggressively explained by the Airline, was that all gates at Bradley were full. 

What was expected to be 1:00 A.M, turned out to be 2:00 A.M., as I glared down at my watch. As I anxiously stood up in a race to exit the plane, I was quickly shut down by the airline staff. There was apparently a problem with the ramp. Well, in short, my family was unable to exit the plane for another 45 minutes.

It was now 2:45 A.M. And, not only was it 2:45 A.M., it was 2:45 A.M., and all airport services were closed, including the rental car building. I shouted to my family, “what are we supposed to do now?”

As my parents thought of a new game plan, I started to doze off in the worn-out, musty airport chairs. I was awoken by my mother when she proclaimed that we would call for an Uber and stay at the nearest somewhat decent hotel for the night. Despite this being a good first thought, everyone was trying to call for an uber. This prompted another one hour wait. I sarcastically remarked, “it would have been faster to walk”. 

As we checked into the hotel, I have to admit, it was actually pretty nice. Not that I had the opportunity to enjoy any of its amenities. As I climbed into bed, the clock on the nightstand read 4:20 A.M. Our 8:00 A.M wakeup was a fever dream, to say the least. I was even so miserably tired that I failed to recognize that our uber driver back to the airport was the same lady who drove us to the hotel just a few hours ago. We exited the mini black Cadillac as the driver wishfully said, “have a safe flight home”. 

As we entered the inside of the airport, we were quickly caught in a swarm of familiar, yet tired, faces from the night before. Everyone was over this scene: hoods up, dark under-eyed areas, day-old clothing.

 We boarded the plane relatively quickly and for the first time in several hours, I felt a sense of relief. We were finally going home. As I settled into my seat, pulled out my headphones, and turned on my music, another announcement blared from the intercom speakers: our flight was delayed for another hour.

 Without any hesitation, chatter poured out from every direction. Although I was at first infuriated, I came to realize it would only be one more hour. What’s one more hour, at this point?

But, after this hour passed, there was, still, no takeoff. The pilot’s voice from the loudspeaker vocalized, “I apologize, but we have been delayed two more hours”. These ten words prompted the plane to go absolutely livid. People were screaming. Individuals were throwing fits. I even asked my parents if we could get off. 

It was that moment where I started to break down. I was enraged. I was overwhelmed. I was tired. I was starving. I might have forgotten to mention this, but  the airline did not once distribute any snacks or water. It felt like we were being starved. And, since there was no anticipation of this actually happening, nobody came prepared with anything.

After sitting on the plane for another three hours, another announcement reveals the flight is delayed between two-four hours. I, and others, were set off the edge. Babies screaming, children sobbing, and adults swearing was all that I could process. This one lady that I remember as she sat behind us called the local news company. This eventually resulted in a viral news story across CT news channels.

At this point, all of my family’s devices were dead. Our laptops, iPads, or phones had no battery. Now, we were really stuck since there was no access to any kind of charging port. Despite the airline finally, after hours, offering an option to get off the plane, my family decided to wait it out a little longer. The thing was that once you got off of the plane, you could not get back on. Although many people thought that they would get home faster if they drove. Even through that would involve passing through rush-hour New York City traffic.

As we hit the approximately seventh hour of waiting, my father yelled, “screw this, we are leaving”. It was at that moment, coincidentally, they announced we would be taking off. At approximately 5:43 P.M, we safely landed in New Haven, Connecticut. Come to find out later, this was not the only Avelo Airlines flight where this exact same situation happened: outrageous flight delays, lack of communication, and no transparency for the actual reasoning of delays. 

Today, I am seventeen years old and a senior in high school. In this story, however, I was just barely fourteen years old and a freshman in high school. So much has happened since then. I still think that this was an example of a poor moment. And, without a doubt, it was definitely a real-life travel nightmare. Nobody can deny that. As I look back today, and even re-watch the news story that unpacks this event, I view this day drastically differently. I even laugh a little bit. In all seriousness, though, from what might seem like a silly travel experience, I learned a real valuable lesson. From this, I now understand that there is a major difference between temporary inconveniences and long term struggles. Even though I might have been upset in the moment, the moment never provoked a real-life negative outcome. I was safe, I was with my family, and I was ok. Those are the things that really matter. In today’s world, everything is so fast-paced. We are accustomed to rushing around from one thing to another. We lose sight of what’s actually important. So, as I reflect on my experiences, I invite those around me to do the same. Take any inconvenience that you thought had a negative impact on your life and think about it. Never forget what genuinely matters. Learn from the minor inconveniences. Appreciate what you have. And, never ever, take a day for granted.

Heat

Philip Wilkinson

Heat. That's all I felt, sneaking around during the night going to the office, listening to the hum of the computer as it turned on, that somewhat blinding light of the screen as it buzzed to life before my eyes. That same heat rushed to my face every time I heard her move, as she shifted in her sleep. For a few hours I had fun, playing my favorite games, and stopped listening to her shift. For the moment I did, a sudden pop happened, I felt a familiar sharp pain across my face, my grandmother shouting at me, her words muffled as my ears rang, that heat rushing back to my face; head spinning. I was ushered to my room.

“OUT!”, was the only scream I heard. She could have said something more, but that word stuck with me, like cement filled my gut. 

I was suddenly outside with a sheet under me and blanket on soft damp grass, alone and surrounded by moonlit homes and wet liquid asphalt. I don't remember the day, the month, or even the year, but it was cold. The sting was gone, my head stopped pounding, it was comfortable outside; crickets seemed softer and quieter, fire flies lit up the dew on the grass, and I was pliant on the fluffy foliage beneath me. 

There were many nights like this one, nights that were terrifying for a boy with no love, a boy with issues that stretched to everyone, a boy who feared his own guardian, his grandmother. These nights, as plodding as these situations were in the moment, are brisk in my memory. All the important details labeled in my mind, like notes from a chapter. 

I say this, because I can’t really remember the good nights, the good days, or even the good afternoons; either because they weren’t good, or because they were so simplistic it wouldn’t matter to me. Though for a time they were the most important things to me, especially since not long after this day she seemed to suddenly go to the hospital, and ended up being diagnosed with an accursed illness I wish never existed and yet have to thank for who I am. 

I don’t know the exact details, what stage it was, or how long she lived after being diagnosed. Every day seemed blurry, dark and like I was trapped indoors. I was tired also, not being able to sleep well at night since I had to be moved to an aunt's house for a period of time, a time where I believed my grandmother would get better. I don’t know why I believed or thought of this, after the way I had been treated, maybe I was afraid of losing my only other source of parental care and affection, but whatever the reason was, all that a child could do was expect their grandmother to be alright. 

Then she died. It was in February of my fourth grade year in elementary school. I had been living with a different aunt and uncle (still am actually), and we were driving to my Nonna’s house if I remember correctly; as we usually did on Sundays. All I remember correctly was my aunt turning to me and saying:

“Ma’s dead,” her voice cracked a bit as she said that, swallowing as if she was trying to stomach that truth.

All I could say to myself was, “Oh.”

I don’t know why that was all that left my mouth, why it seemed like everything was suddenly gone, I didn’t feel happy, I didn’t cry after hearing that, I didn’t even feel. The next day when I had to go to school, my teacher had asked me if I wanted to go up in front of the class, tell everyone that my only parent died. I did, but it was quick and I went to sit down after saying it. 

Skipping ahead, being maybe in middle school, adopted by my aunt and uncle, now calling mom and dad, feeling happier, being better, having new friends, and doing my best now with my aunt and uncles help. Even their house made everything seem better, the house itself was small, but the area was large and open, no one really around and nature abundant, like a grove I’d get to explore on my own time. I still remember those nights sometimes, being alone, afraid, just the anxiety of being in a new room. I still felt like a kid; a child who was still afraid a ghoul or goblin would get him if he didn’t hide underneath a blanket or defend himself with a nightlight. 

Though the outside was different. I’d step outside now, on this new land, nature more abundant; high oak trees in my face practically, and I breathe. A long breath of fresh air; different air, air that seemed to cause me to smile in some way, like the air I breathed that night. There was also the rustling of leaves in my ears, it was loud, not quiet or peaceful in the same way as where I used to live, but different in a way I seemed to enjoy also. The rustling came with a strong wind that could lift the spirits of even the saddest clown. 

I’d find random trivial and simple things out there, playing and staying out there for hours, cars driving past, parents arriving back home from work or short trips, finding and collecting sticks for a fort I’d say I would build but never did, even just doing imaginative things I felt like I never got to do, like being talked to.

My new parents talked to me, they would explain and tell me rules, and teach me lessons I never was taught, forming me into a man (Which I now see as just the basis of becoming one). At that moment it was hard for a ten year old to be a man. I barely understood what they were saying, about character or mentality that could bring me anywhere. Or in my fathers teachings, how to properly use a weed wacker, what to do and say, who and how to speak to someone, or something else that I would try my best to get good at, all in hopes that he would maybe be happy and be proud of my work. He wasn’t. I know that now, that he wouldn’t have ever been happy or at least tell me that he was. 

As a stubborn little kid, I got frustrated, upset, and just over all tried to keep them away as they kept on pushing me to grow up. A natural thing any child would do, and I don’t regret acting that way in the slightest.

Because they were pushing all this on me I looked for other ways to just not be in the real world, forget about my troubles. The new activities I was doing made sure that I didn’t go outside anymore, I didn’t get to cope or reflect like I should’ve for years. It started showing more and more through my actions, and through the new area they tried to make me cope through. School.

Where I really started to develop was my years in high school. Not in a good way though. Why? Basically I gave up on everything. I thought what my parents wanted wasn’t even possible, that I wasn’t smart or able to actually succeed, I just started hating myself more and more, not going outside, not wanting to live with myself anymore. I was depressed. I knew it but no one really cared or wanted to help, no one could help either. I had to go to therapy, only after the years I was depressed was I finally able to heal properly.

Now, senior year. The easy year. The better year. The year where already so many important and amazing moments seemed to happen. Now writing this I reflect and remember how younger me was able to see the meanings behind all the teachings, and now see how I was also too damn childish to understand so many of those same teachings. My father never wanted me to look for approval from anyone, to judge my work myself, to seek advice and not approval, to get it done and fix it myself after getting advice. My mother wanted me to keep to my word and get the things I said I would do, done. Knowing this now I realize how easy what they were asking was. How much I needed to grow in such a short time. 

After realizing this, after knowing this, my feet carry me to our sun room, my hands lifting to the handle that leads outside, and I step outside on the back deck. Its features are somewhat new, being only a few years old from the work we had done on the house my freshman year in high school, from being dried and old, to being that sleek new wood. It’s hot outside, wind is still blowing and moving these now old trees, their greatness dulled. The air warms my lungs as I take a deep breath once more. Nature is still comforting, but in a nostalgic way. From nights full of fear, days of childlike exploration and frustration, to the days when I wouldn’t even look out here, and now a time of peace, sense of growth, and an understanding of what life will be like. I hope that I can live up to what people want from me. 

Storm Surge 

Brooke Walker

We knew it was coming, just we never imagined it to be like it was. My parents asked us, “Would you rather go to Oak Island as planned or go to Cape Cod instead because of the storm?” My twin, Alyssa, who at the time had a major fear of thunderstorms had heard about the hurricane and begged to just go to Cape Cod and play it safe. On the other hand, every year I looked forward to going to our Aunt and Uncles beach house in Oak Island and I couldn’t wait to splash in the huge Atlantic waves that North Carolina had. “We need to go to Oak Island," I argued back. And it worked. Looking back on it now, I wish we had just gone to the Cape. 

Alyssa and I woke up that first morning of the trip at 5:16 to our phones blasting an emergency alert reading HURRICANE WARNING. This certainly didn’t start the day off well, only contributing to the anxiety we all had about the storm. Additionally, I was excited to go to the beach but the tides were too rough and we couldn’t go swimming. Instead everyone took it upon themselves to prepare for the storm. At this point the storm was still a category 4 but it was on track to die down to just a category 1 by the time it hit. At just 11 years old, I thought a category 1 was nothing, maybe just some heavy rain. Now, I know not to take a warning lightly.  

As the day went on my Dad and Uncle were getting their drink mixes ready to watch the storm out on the balcony. Additionally they were working to board up the windows to brace them from the wind. The rest of us, me, my mom, aunt and Alyssa spent the majority of the day with our faces glued to the tv screen, checking the weather. While I was mostly excited to watch the waves on the balcony, a little bit of me was scared of how bad the storm could truly be. If only older me could prepare myself for what was to come.

At around 3, me, Alyssa and our dad went out to the pier to check out the waves. It was something I had never experienced and I was amazed by how windy it was outside and at the size of the massive waves rolling in. When we walked out to the end of the 900 foot pier we could feel it almost rocking and swaying with the ocean. It didn’t feel secure like it had in years past so we didn’t stay out there as long as we had expected too. Not only that, the skies were getting much darker with the storm planning to hit at 7.  

Everything was so far going as expected. We were all sitting out on the balcony, listening to music and watching the waves crash on the beach just a block in front of us. The pouring rain added to the fun of the moment and the fears that we had caused by the storm were beginning to die down. In a matter of minutes, everything shifted.

 By around 7:30 we had all headed inside because of the aggressive wind and sheets of rain. My mom and aunt were inside comforting Alyssa and I from the wind that sounded like a human banging on the walls. I was overwhelmed with emotions; I didn’t know if I should be afraid or not. At the same time my uncle who was watching the weather channel shouts to the house “tornado warning,”. This sent shivers through my body and I can only imagine what Alyssa was thinking. Tornados were one of my biggest fears and I was thinking the worst would happen. The warning was in effect from 7:45 - 8:45 and was specifically for the street that our house was on which was what was really freaking me out. Now, this fear isn’t significant in my life but at the moment I didn’t know how to react. I was full of emotions I had never felt before. It was the first time I was truly scared for my life.

Due to all the chaos, my mom suggested that we call it a night and just try and sleep through it all. What sounded like a great idea didn’t last long. The wind was constantly whipping the house making scary noises. Also, with its elevated structure, the house is built to sway in hurricane like conditions for more stability but that was a very unsettling feeling. After attempting to sleep for about an hour, the next problem arose. 

The rain had died down slightly, and the wind was still beating but we hadn’t been able to see the waves approaching us in the dark of the night. Since we all couldn’t sleep we opened up the door leading down to the ground outside to check out the damage. We were shocked when we stepped out and couldn’t see the ground. Instead a storm surge met us on the stairs. It was around 10pm and the water had risen just a foot or two high. I pulled out my phone and started recording while saying, “This is crazy.” I was in utter shock. It was like we were in a movie. Again, I was stuck, not knowing how to feel. 

Just an hour later we checked again and the water was flowing wildly. It was like the beach had come to us. It was now up to the window of the car and my aunt's car had floated into the stairs that were holding us up. This time when I pulled out my phone, the video spoke for itself. We were all in disbelief. The sound of the wind was crushing and you can see the debris from other houses floating through the water. We had no idea what to expect now. I can’t remember falling asleep. I just know I was both excited to see the outdoors in the morning, yet also terrified of if there would be a next morning. 

Waking up the next day I was sweating. The 95 degree heat was making an impact and I could immediately tell the air conditioning wasn’t working. I just wanted to go outside as quickly as possible and see what was left behind. Before I could do so, I heard my uncle and dad complaining. The water had been turned off. No air, no water, no power, the situation was getting worse. Then the damage. We got outside and the road was barely visible. It was covered in sand, mud, garbage, roof shingles, house siding, the list goes on. Not only that, the smell was indescribable. I looked around in confusion on what was next as the national guard truck plowed through the covered road.

The cars were out of the question. Both totalled and unusable. Now we were stranded on the island, at the house with no power, water or air. Additionally, our phones were dying and we had no plan. 

In the end it all worked out. With the help of our aunt's friends we made it off the island and to their condo. Through the struggle and panic of the moment, It helped me to develop the skill of soaking in my emotions and channeling it into something positive. Now, I am able to process what I am feeling and work to flip a bad situation into something positive. While an 11 year old me would have appreciated this skill, it is something that I have developed through a unique experience and I take that for granted in hectic situations in my life now.

A Summer to Remember

Leila Abdulhak

Tears flowed down my face fast like a waterfall as the plane lifted off from Syria. My heart ached as if I were leaving a part of myself behind. Having to say goodbyes to my relatives, my parents homeland, and the memories I spent there over the summer felt unbearable. 

Before that heartbreaking moment, the journey began 2 months earlier when my family and I boarded a plane in New York to fly to Syria. Our last visit to my parent’s home country was 6 years ago. We weren’t able to travel back to Syria until then because of the expense that it costs for a family of 5 to travel that distance. Also, when traveling to Syria we stay for at least two months. Our purpose to come back to my parents' country is to reconnect with family and learn to speak my native language more fluently.

 On the day of our trip, it was a very stressful time for my family. We were expected to be up early at 5AM and travel to the airport in New York City. I was absolutely exhausted that day from getting only 2 hours of sleep. When we arrived at the airport, we had a lot of suitcases to manage. We checked in for our flight and proceeded to the TSA checkout station. We had to wait in a long line to get to the TSA checkpoint. Once the TSA agent approved our identification, we moved to the security scanners. This is where all the stress began. 

First, we had to place all of our belongings on the conveyor belt. My mother and younger brother got through the checkpoint. I was left with my two sisters. My sisters moved through the scanner and I was left getting yelled at by my mother from the other side to take my brother's jacket and stroller to the conveyor belt. I was getting overwhelmed and frustrated. I placed the stroller and jacket in the conveyor belts and moved back to the scanner.

 As I stepped into the scanner, the agent informed me that I didn’t need to remove my jewelry. So, I was standing to the side trying to put my jewelry back on while surrounded by a bunch of inpatient travelers. Finally, I made it through the scanner. Relief written all over my face.

Meanwhile, my father was moving towards our gate and calling back to us to hurry up. We made it to the gate and immediately were checked in and boarded the plane. We settled into our seats and I finally got to take a deep breath. We were ready for the 12 hour flight. 

 We landed in Qa’tar and were able to hang out at the airport for a bit before our next flight. As we sat down on the benches, my mom asked me where my little brother's jacket was. I had completely forgotten about my brother's jacket. With all the confusion that was going on at the Airport about 13 hours ago, we left my brother's jacket back at the TSA station. I nervously turned over to my mom, “Mama you’re probably going to get angry with me, but I think I left his jacket all the way back at the airport..” She was speechless, but there was nothing we could do about it. We really couldn't go back to retrieve it. I began to apologize to my mom, “I’m sorry, mama! But, honestly If you guys weren’t shouting at me back there I wouldn’t have forgotten to grab his jacket!” My mom gave me her disappointed look and told me it was “fine.” I just went back to scrolling on my phone right after. I find it so difficult being the oldest daughter of the family because every responsibility or task had to be strapped tightly onto my shoulders, not anyone else’s. It’s very exhausting. I wish everybody would have given me a break.

 An hour later, we got ready to head to our next flight. This time boarding wasn’t as stressful. We entered the gates to the plane and settled into our seats. This flight was quick, just two hours. Before we knew it, we had landed in Damascus, Syria. 

We exited the plane and moved toward baggage claim. They had to stack our luggage onto two carts. As my siblings and I were waiting, I noticed how crowded the airport was. At one point, a man approached me and started talking to me. He was speaking in a language that I did not understand. I couldn’t even respond back, I felt so bad. 

Once we exited out the baggage area, I found all my family relatives waiting for us inside at the arrivals hall. Most of them were holding beautiful red roses to hand over to us to celebrate our arrival. Every single one of them all rushed over to us, helping us with our suitcases. I was immediately embraced in a warm wholesome hug by every one of my family relative members. My grandma came running to me and my sisters exclaiming,

 “Oh my god! You’re actually here,” and began sobbing. Some of the others cried as well after they saw how much my siblings and I have grown.

Being a Twin

Samantha Wood

Growing up as a twin has always been a surreal experience. From the day we were born, there hasn't been such a thing called “separation”. When Grace and I were little my mom would always get the question, “Are they twins?” “Which one is older?” From the day I was born I was never my own person with my own identity.

Being the same age meant we would do everything together from sharing a room to even sharing some of the same thoughts and ideas. We always shared our firsts like the first day of school and shared birthday parties. It always felt like a natural experience that everyone felt. But it wasn't like this for everyone since people didn't know what it was like to be able to experience everything with your built-in best friend.

Having that figure in my life felt like I always had someone on my “team.” Grace and I have always considered ourselves a team that can't be paired up with anyone else because they haven't lived the life we did. When we were 12, we stopped sharing a room, we would listen to the talk show that would play on the radio every night, and whisper to each other while we played roblox on our ipads when we knew it was way past our bedtime. 

I've always pictured me and Grace’s bond like a patched blanket. There are many different patches in it but there has always been a blanket there for you to cry on or just love when needed. When we were younger, we would always be told that we are the same person and would always be looked at as one. That always was something hard for me to hear because did that mean that my identity was now not mine and just hers? 

Grace and I saw the same things within the world like traveling to Mexico together but we didn't always have the same feelings and views on people. We have always had different friends and different relationships. The bond that a twin has feels like one of those unbreakable bonds that won't ever change.  While being a twin is a very different experience, we are not the same, we don't experience the same thoughts or do the same things.  Something that having a twin meant was never knowing where that one specific sweater went and having to search for it. That was always the hardest part of being a twin.

Grace has always been more athletic than me and put more effort into sports while I would be picking the flowers in the field to keep me occupied. I've never had a day in my life that I've had a spotlight on what I've done good because whatever Grace does it's always better or a competition. One thing about a twin is even though we fought it was it would never last long because me and her both understood each other like no one else. Being able to have her by my side makes my life feel like an adventure and will make the hard parts easier for me to experience. 

Something about us is that a memory of my own isn't just mine, it's something we share. Our bond isn't just the fun part and our own little things we share like a morning routine or a night routine with our everyday lives. We went from sharing a room and secrets that were kept into a silent house when she's at work and parents aren't home or when she's hanging out with other people and I'm home.  Of course being a twin wasn't always easy. We have had a fair share of jealousy and comparisons within each other but, teachers compared our grades, friends and family would compare our personalities. 

Now looking back at it the memories were never just mine they made me and Grace who we are today and sharing the birthday parties will never be a moment that I would never want to experience. 

Looking back, what I've realized is that being a twin has really shaped me in many different ways. Being a sister to her has taught me what patience really is because we share everything even when we didn't want to but it was the only option.  It has also taught me what loyalty looks like. There has never been a time where she hasn't looked for me to help with something bothering her no matter if we are in an argument or not. Grace and I could never see one another without each other since we have never had to experience that.

When thinking into the future I wonder what it might be like to be an older or younger sibling living under the same roof or even what it would be like if we didn't have each other. With college coming soon this will be the first time that I won't be able to walk down the hallway for a talk with her or a shoulder to cry on and most importantly someone to steal clothes from. I wouldn't trade being her sister for the world because who would I have to go on late night drives with blasting music and singing till we can’t speak. We will always cherish and share those memories with each other and something to tell our kids when we get older. Overall being a twin isn't about sharing a birthday, it's about what we shared together throughout this life and how we have grown into who we have become now. Every memory and laugh we share will never fade because it patched that blanket that we share together. Grace will never just be a sister to me she will be my best friend and my reflection I see in the mirror, she has shaped me into the person that I am today and that will never change. 

Sticks and Stones May Break Your Bones, But Tripping Also Will

Gretchen Perreault

One day, in fourth grade gym class before lunch, my class was playing soccer. Each team had to put on a different color jersey, and everyone was assigned a position. I was defense, which was fine with me, because I didn’t really like soccer. 

At one point of the game, almost the entire class was on the other side of the gym, swarming the ball like wasps. I watched them slowly make their way around the perimeter of the gym, and as they approached my team’s side, I tried to go over to meet them. I went to take a step to meet them, and I tripped on nothing. I threw my right arm down to catch myself, and bounced off of it to sit on the floor. Tears welled in my eyes as I felt a familiar strong, dull pain in my forearm. Two years prior, I had broken my left arm, and now I felt the exact same pain in my right arm. 

I asked to go to the nurse, and my teacher let me go right away. I held my forearm upright with my left hand, worried that if I moved it it would hurt worse or dislocate the bone. As I left the gym, my vision blurred with tears during the short walk to the nurse’s office. I broke it, I broke it, I broke it, repeated over and over in my head. 

The room was small, with about four beds, a small book shelf with books to read while you waited to feel better, and a large desk with two computer setups sat next to the far wall where the two nurses would work. On the left towards the back of the room, there was a curtained off side room that led to all the equipment. 

When I got there, only one of the nurses was there. Thankfully, she wasn’t busy and I was able to go straight over to her. 

“I fell and I broke my arm,” I told the nurse through tears. I had avoided looking at my arm, but now I looked down and noticed it didn’t look completely straight. 

“Oh and it’s bent.” I wailed.

“No it isn’t,” said reassuringly. 

“Let me get you an ice pack and let’s give it some time.” At the time, I knew I saw that it was bent, and I was confused why she didn’t think it was. In hindsight, she was probably trying to calm me down; I had been practically inconsolable. 

She had me lay on a bed to keep my arm stable, then disappeared into the side room and returned with the ice pack. Within a few minutes, the tears stopped, and while the ice numbed it a little, the pain didn’t go away.

Twenty minutes went by, and the pain still didn’t subside. She ended up calling my parents, and they came to the school. When they walked in, they were both dressed up nice, and I felt awful when they told me why. My aunt had passed away about a week prior, and her funeral had been that morning. I didn’t know her that well, so I still went to school. I felt so guilty that I took them away from that. 

When I was younger, I was very outgoing for the most part. Looking back, I’m surprised I felt so guilty. I wasn’t as if I was faking anything, and I was certain that the injury I had was hospital-worthy. Now I’m more quiet than I used to be, and in middle school I would be more likely to hide something I was struggling with if it would impact other people negatively if they knew. If something similar happened today, I wouldn’t be surprised if I felt guilty, but I also would understand that I needed them to come get me. 

Before we left, the nurse gave me a sling, and a fresh icepack to use until I got to the hospital. I asked if I should leave the jersey here, and my parents and the nurse said that I should keep it on so it wouldn’t hurt my arm taking it off. I was partially upset about that, because it kind of smelled, but my arm hurt bad enough I didn’t care much. My parents and I went out to the car and to the hospital.

The previous time I broke my arm, we went to New Britain General, but this time we went to Connecticut Children’s Hospital. When we got there, my dad, who was driving, dropped my mom and I off, then left to go park the car. This place was much different than where we went before. Outside, the building was much more bright and colorful, and the inside felt very spacious and calming, with high ceilings and tall windows. The waiting room was practically empty of people, which was much more comforting than the cramped, stark white waiting room at New Britain General; crammed with people, each anxiously waiting for their name to be called. It was like an open field compared to a delayed subway during rush hour.

We went up to the receptionist and explained the situation. I’m not sure if she said so to be reassuring or she truly believed that it wasn’t, but when she looked at my arm, she also said she didn’t think it was broken. It’s almost comical to think about how no one else thought it was broken, and even in that moment I was waiting for everyone to find out it was broken just to prove I was right. My dad joined us before we finished talking to the receptionist, and we followed her through the maze of hallways that led to the x-ray room. 

The room was dark; contrasting with the bright halls lit with fluorescent lights. The x-ray technician gave me an apron that was black on one side and covered with bright, neon tie-dye on the other. It was surprisingly heavy when I put it on. 

The technician had me lay my arm on a table at different angles for each picture. My arm felt like it was lead attached to me instead of a usable limb. I was worried about it hurting if I moved it, and some of the positions they needed it in for the x-rays were painful. Thankfully, taking the x-rays didn’t take too long, but waiting for them to develop and get looked at did. After taking the x-rays, someone led me to a room where I met my doctor. They had me lay on the bed, and took my vitals.

Then, I was given pain medication, and they let me choose the flavor. I decided on tropical punch, and a few minutes later they came back with a tiny medicine cup filled with bright orange liquid. It actually tasted like fruit punch, and surprisingly had no bitter aftertaste. It tasted good, and it reminded me that I still hadn’t eaten lunch. My stomach growled, and I envied the fact that while I went to the nurse, my classmates had gotten to eat their delicious lunches prepared by their parents, or the mediocre cafeteria food. At that point, that food would have tasted gourmet. 

A nurse handed me a book full of different DVDs, and let me pick any movie I wanted to watch. I don’t remember what I picked, but partway through I wanted to change the volume. I went to reach for the remote, and mindlessly moved my right arm to grab it. The pain medication worked so well that it didn’t hurt at all, until I moved my arm. 

This whole experience had been so much nicer than the first time I broke my arm. Instead of having to sit in a cold, white room, on a thin hospital bed, with absolutely no pain medication, I was much more comfortable and not bored at all. Even if I had to go to the hospital today, I would much rather go to Connecticut Children’s, because the people were so much nicer and it felt a lot more comforting.

After about an hour, the doctor came back with the x-ray results, and, just as I had thought, my arm was broken. The nurse from before as well as a new nurse that came in after the diagnosis brought me a new sling that I could keep, and wrapped my arm in a temporary cast that I would wear for a week while waiting for the swelling to go down. 

Finally, at about 4:00pm, since my arm was in a cast, I was able to take off the soccer jersey, and get some food. I’ve always heard that hospital food tastes awful, but the food we got was amazing. I was so hungry I don’t think it would have mattered if it wasn’t good.

I learned later from my parents that most of the people involved, such as my gym teacher and my doctor, didn’t think that I had broken my arm until the x-rays. I am very thankful that despite what they thought, they still understood that it hurt, and decided to test if it was actually broken. I’m also thankful that I kept saying it was broken and asked to go to the hospital, because if I didn’t, I might not have gotten help.

The Growth from Siblings

Bella Fuschino

I always grew up as the middle child with two brothers, one older and one younger being stuck in the middle.  Although sometimes I wish I had a sister, I couldn't imagine my life now if I did, I can only keep the idea of brothers in my head and I'm not mad about it.  

Growing up there would be days where we all got along, or days where only two of us got along.  We were all still young and trying to build a bond but in a different way.  Back then we would fight like normal siblings, get mad at them easily, boss them around or be bossed around. I remember every time we got into fights no matter if it was two or all three of us, our mom would make us hold a tight hug for minutes.  Sometimes we wouldn't know how long we would have to hold it; we had to wait until she told us to stop. Even though we fought beforehand, there was something about the hug that made us stop.  I vividly remember almost every time we would laugh at it whether it was to annoy my mom, or laugh because it was dumb, or because we wanted it to be over.  Situations where we had to stay in our hug would happen a good amount of times but we always left the hug laughing.  Looking back at those moments, I cherished all of them even if some of them were the normal nature of siblings fighting because it helped us bond.  It was a way for us to look past arguments and almost see that we don't always need to be going against each other. 

Throughout further years as we grew, we would have the normal sibling fights but our relationship continued to grow.  Sometimes I would find us having arguments over the smallest things, but because we were siblings and had the normal audacity to not agree with each other, we fought instead.  Now when we were all agreeing and laughing with each other, it made our time spent together really enjoyable.  I always made sure to prioritize the times when we all got along because it was always a good feeling.  

I feel as though I have strong relationships with my siblings, Marco, my younger brother is 3 years younger than me, while Tyler, my older brother is 5 years older than me.  I think that the gap between us all does have an impact on our relationship. 

When I was younger I felt a little more of a connection with Marco because we were both young and still learning about life and going through similar stages in life.  For example, I can remember a couple times when it was nice outside and we would ask each other to go outside and do different activities like riding our bikes or basketball, while Tyler would want to stay inside. However as I grew older, I tended to notice that my relationship with Tyler has grown stronger.  We have been connecting a lot more, especially now in our life because we are able to relate and connect to each other.  We are able to talk to each other about anything and always be there with advice when needed.  Everytime we are in the car together we always catch up and inform each other about different things happening in our life, such as stressful times, relationships, what's happening later in the week and more.  For instance the other day he was driving me home and we talked about our days and certain things that made us feel certain ways when it came to family or relationships.  We can talk about some things that I wouldn't normally do with Marco or even my parents. The stage of our life is similar in a way and helps us connect with one another.   

With Marco, I still have a relationship with him that has grown, but we still tend to have those small arguments.  However, when he's not being an annoying younger brother, we get along well and understand each other's humor, which helps us bond.

Since I was little, to now, growing up with my siblings has impacted who I am.  They have taught me so much, I wouldn't be where I am without them.  They have taught me how to be a better person.

 For example, being with them has taught me different ways of communication, and when to use the necessary ones.  I have even noticed that I communicate differently to my brothers than I do my parents or even other family members. Since they are my siblings I feel like we already have a form of communication that is going to be different but ways that we still can understand each other.  They also taught me patience when I would have to compromise or take turns with them when I was younger. All the times when we would play fight or wrestle with each other, brought me closer to them and created a sense of competitiveness in myself that just continued to grow.  

Following with being competitive, it also created a sense of motivation. If we were racing in some kind of task or activity, of course I would want to be the first one to finish, so I always felt motivated. Everytime when I was out in public or even with other family members or friends, people would always tell me I'm tough and my response everytime was,“I have two brothers” because truly it is. The trait of being tough is something that I like to represent because it defines the way I grew up. When saying that, it makes me feel bonded with them because it shows as a way that they have shaped who I am. 

Continuing on, trust is something that I never had to think twice about with them.  We always made sure to be honest with each other and not let each other down.  With that we built a strong sense of loyalty towards one another which is very important to me personally.  It shows that we have support for each other, no matter what and can always rely on one another.  We are always there for each other to stand up for them when needed and then be able to have a conversation afterwards.  

Our emotions with each other has grown since the start, which then had an impact on me and my growth as well.  Being able to read each other to know whether we need space or could use an ear to speak to guide us to helping each other out to build a stronger bond.  Even though we are siblings we are all different in many ways,  so it was a lesson to learn and understand their different perspectives.  

Another skill that we have learned with each other is responsibility.  Following with always being there for each other, we are always helping each other out.  If Tyler for example asked me to be somewhere at a certain time to help him out with something very important, I would make sure that I was there exactly when he needed me.  

Throughout our lives I've gained so many characteristics and skills from having my two brothers.  I can't wait to continue my life with them as we continue to grow and make new memories.

The Comeback

Emma Toce

Deep breath in, deep breath out, I thought to myself as I took my first steps onto the diving board. The smell of chlorine fragrant in the air and the rough diving board on my feet, I stood on the edge, nerves rushing through my body as I envisioned myself performing the dive. It takes a split second between the jump and reaching the water.  I counted backward in my mind, my heart racing, 3,2,1 go and that's when it all changed.

My junior season was a great season as I broke the BHS 6 and 11 dive record, placed 1st in my conference meet, placed 6th in States, and right at the end of the season I verbally committed to CCSU for diving. This got me so motivated and I started to push for harder dives. I was doing a back 1.5 with 1.5 twist on the three meter which is a challenging dive to learn. It’s a performance of awareness, strength, grace, and perfection. I worked endlessly on correction after correction until I finally achieved the dive. I loved the feeling of my body soaring and twisting in the air until one day my body felt heavy and tired. My feet left the board and I started to twist. Though my body knew what to do, I was not in control. 

I smacked the water and later learned I was concussed.  This concussion was a big setback to my mental and physical performance. I was so afraid about how I would come back from this setback. I was overwhelmed and started to really compare myself to other girls who were able to keep practicing. Feeling like I was falling behind filled my mind and I was just ready to get back on the board. The thought of the difficult recovery process ahead of me was daunting. However, I was determined to overcome the obstacles I would face. I had to relearn my dives and overcome the mental block that paralyzed my movements. The feeling of being trapped in my own body was a feeling that I was not prepared for.  Even the simplest dives felt impossible, but this challenge was not going to let this hold me back from my passion. Knowing how much effort I put into the sport, I’m not a person who quits just because the road got a little hard. 

Reaching out to a sports psychologist was one of the best decisions. That was the turning point in my comeback moment.  He provided me with tools to regain my mental control, positive thinking and confidence. This has taken me and my confidence to the next level. It was a long journey and it took a while for me to regain confidence, but I was able to overcome what I thought would be impossible. Working on a “progress over perfection” mentality allowed me to keep my mind calm and to think positively in the challenging times. I worked all summer to overcome this mental block to get ready for my final high school season.

Then, summer was over and we began our high school practices. I was so excited since I knew the work has been done in the off season to prepare me for this very moment. I wanted to be as strong as possible since it was my final season. Then I realized quickly that not everything is going to go exactly to plan. The first week of practice I noticed something was not right with my foot. It was swollen, bruised, and very sore. Knowing this could be another minor setback frustrated me. Sitting out for a little over a week was a challenge, but then it came time for our first meet. I really wanted to compete in the meet since it was my last first high school meet, I wanted to qualify for states, and I wanted to contribute to the team. It was a big decision, and I knew if I wanted to compete then pushing through pain would have been the only option. I ended up competing in the meet, placing 1st, and qualifying for states. My mom and I went to the doctors the day after since it was a struggle to move my toes and I was in pain. They mentioned that I did have tendinitis and the only way for it to get better was through resting. My heart dropped. I knew resting was not an option so I was going to take it easier in practice to make sure my foot would be okay for the meets.

 When it came time for the second meet of the season, I was ready. I was going to be competing in diving, and also swimming in my first relay of the season. Saying I was excited to be diving and swimming was an understatement. My foot was taped from the athletic trainer and I was all set. I warmed up my dives and although I was in pain, I was ready to compete. After the diving portion, frustration filled me since I did not do my best performance. I knew I still had the relay left so I could not let the diving portion take over my mind. I put on my cap and goggles and hopped right in the pool. I warmed up but made sure to not overdo it because of my foot. A couple of events went by and then it was time. It was time to compete in the relay. The nerves started to fill me. Realizing I never practiced a relay start off of the block left me worried. I didn’t know how to do the relay start and was scared that I would get my relay disqualified. I got on the block, swung my arms and did the dive off the block. I realized at that moment that I messed up. I realized how my dive was more going down than out. I was so upset since I knew it would hurt the overall time of the relay. 

Then the unexpected happened. I ended up hitting my face on the bottom of the pool. Pain hit immediately but I knew I was not stopping. I started swimming while my goggles were in my mouth. I was in so much pain but I had to say to myself “Keep swimming, don’t stop, finish the swim, push through the pain”. I get out of the pool shaking and sobbing. I went to my coaches and they got me to a little room in the pool area.  My mom came running in as the other team's athletic trainer was doing a check up. One of the swim coaches was holding the ice pack on face, the other swim coach was in the room also while the diving coach went back on the bus after the meet with the team. We ended up finding out that the depth of the pool was only 4.5 feet deep in the lane that I was in. My mom and I later headed to the ER to see if anything was broken. We were really worried that my nose was going to be broken and that my season was going to be over. We sat in the room for hours waiting to take a CAT scan. Once I got the scan, I sat in the room nervously thinking about what would happen if my nose was broken. My mind was racing endlessly with thoughts. The thought of what if this is it? What if my last high school season is over? The time felt like it was at a stand still. I laid down and then all of a sudden, knock knock knock. My stomach went in my throat. My heart began to race. It was the doctor. Then my mom and I got the best news I could have gotten. The doctor said my nose was not fractured. My mom and I were so happy with the news. 

After many hours in the ER, we were finally able to go home. We got home at 10:30 and my mom and I were starving. We ate, got ready for bed. The next couple of days after I rested since I was not feeling the best. I went back to school on Monday and Tuesday. I noticed throughout the day that I was having similar concussion symptoms. I had a really bad pounding headache, I was light sensitive, I was sound sensitive, I was a little dizzy, I had trouble concentrating and I had trouble remembering things. I knew something was definitely not right when I got an email saying I didn’t finish two math problems on the math quiz. My mom took me to the doctor and we found out that I had another concussion. I was honestly so thankful that I had a concussion because that hit could have affected me a lot worse. I could have been paralyzed or broken my nose from that hit. 

Then, I had to take time off from school and I had to sit out of a couple meets.  These struggles truly impacted my life because I am now able to go through struggles with the mindset “everything happens for a reason” and “it is all going to work out in the end”. I am mentally stronger now which will help me in future challenges. I know when I do return to the sport, I will be able to return faster and I will be a lot stronger on the board. 

Despite the many setbacks and challenges I have endured this year, these setbacks made me so much stronger both physically and mentally. My body has been pushed through so much, but I was able to get back up and keep going. I had to face and conquer many hurdles and now I feel unstoppable. The fire is burning in me and I am ready to title this chapter “The Comeback” chapter.

Hurricane Brained

Thomas Kiernan

I remember how during multiple if not dozens of times during my life I was having a fist fight with my own brain. It was even to the point where my grades even went down because of it. I was told that I was being dramatic, that I was creating this crippling anxiety myself, but it was far from the truth. 

Don't get me wrong, I have learned strategies to overcome the boxing match in my brain, but it's an uphill battle. I learned strategies to make it easier, like taking deep breaths, as well as small activities to keep myself grounded, like looking around the room, taking a walk, and even going to see the counselor for someone to talk to. The only problem is, for some strategies, my parents told me to stop using them, even though they weren’t causing a distraction, and they were genuinely helping me.

The worst part has to be backsliding. Every time I make new progress, it's inevitable for me to take accidental steps back. Sometimes more than the steps I've already taken. But, I know that it has to happen. It doesn’t matter if I take steps back or not, what matters is how I learn from those mistakes, to change so that I won't backslide as much.

 However, I've noticed something. As I've gotten older I've started to change. I've been having less backslides than before, and when I have, I've taken less steps back. Not to mention the fact that I've started to feel… less bad? It's like the fight in my head has died down more as I've gotten older. Sure, there's always been times in which there are spikes, but it's been happening increasingly less as I've gotten older.

 Another thing I noticed is that there are a variety of different ways people can express their emotions, including anxiety. Someone who’s sad expresses it in anger and vice versa, just like how someone with anxiety can express it in silence, which is partially how I did. When I learned for the first time, I was confused. How could someone express an emotion in an opposite way? That's when I learned It's actually normal for humans to do that. I figured this out when I found myself angry at myself, feeling a sense of hopelessness. I felt tears run down my face, even though I wasn’t sad. Looking back at this, it made me realize how humans express emotions, not individually, but as a whole.

Another problem I had with my head was anxiety attacks. Or at least, some of them being genuine panic attacks. Something I've noticed is that there’s a major difference between a panic attack and an anxiety attack. When I have a panic attack, my breathing’s heavy, I can’t think straight, and I feel like an utter mess. The only similarity, ironically, is feeling like a mess.

When I’m having an anxiety attack, I’m spaced out. I'm lost in my own thoughts, going down a rabbit hole in my own brain, not going to any neverland or anything of the sort. It just feels like I'm spiraling, down and down into the abyss, at least, until I snap out of it. A panic attack can go on for about an hour, maybe a few minutes if I'm lucky. But an anxiety attack can span across a few days, at least for me. Sometimes, it's spaced across hour by hour, others, it's a continuous dreadful spiral down the rabbit hole. Strangely enough, it reminds me of an episode of Spongebob, in which Spongebob, Patrick, and Squidward are on The Flying Dutchman’s ship, and Squidward gets put into a pocket dimension, falling down a nightmarish hole of monsters. I know, it sounds like some deranged fan-creation, but it’s a very real scene in a very real episode.

Something that I've also noticed in school while figuring out how to quell the constant storm in my brain, is how others also have had the same storms as well. Some people have different variations of anxiety, such as having trouble talking to people, or just having a feeling of awkwardness when talking in general. Some people even use the same strategies I do, or similar ones. It actually feels somewhat uplifting, in a weird and sad way. On one hand, it feels nice to know that I'm not all alone with having these feelings, but on the other hand, it feels sad that others have to live with them too. 

There are also sometimes when different things fuel my anxiety even more, to worsen the whirlwind of thoughts, both in and out of school. In school, most of the time, long assignments, group projects, or missing assignments will make me more anxious, or out of school, my parents giving me an earful for even having so much as an ungraded assignment, or one that I haven’t even gotten yet. Thankfully, I am able to explain it most of the time, but I still get anxious from it. 

I also feel like music has helped me a lot with my anxiety, not just as a calming mechanism, but also as a way of knowing I'm not alone. Bands like Twenty One Pilots, and Linkin Park talk about mental health a lot in their songs, and have helped me a lot in knowing what’s going on in my head. I feel like music has also helped me in calming down. Whether soft lofi-ish music like Wave To Earth or Radiohead, to angry death metal like Slipknot and Limp Bizkit have helped me put my thoughts together, and in some cases, given me a distraction from my thoughts as well.

After everything, the most important thing that I learned in the first place is that I can’t fully get rid of my anxiety. However, what I can do is learn to live with it, which I have. It wasn’t an easy process, as evidenced by my ramblings above, but all I can say is that to anyone reading this, or listening to this being read, anxiety is a storm in one’s head that cannot be stopped. However, what can happen to it, is that it can be calmed, it can be managed, but it takes a lot of work. But eventually, you will be able to live with it, to learn how to be in the stands in the boxing match in your brain, instead of fighting in the ring. By any means, it won’t be easy, quite the opposite, in fact. But it can be done. 

Take this writing, not as direct advice, but either as a way to build your own portfolio of strategies and things that work for you, or just as a way to know you aren't alone. Either way, you aren't alone. You can push through.

  Naples, Maine

Julia Hines

One specific time that was very memorable for me this year was when my family rented a house in Naples, Maine on Sebago lake. Maine is one of my favorite places to go. I've been going there since I was a kid because my grandma has a place in Wells but that's by the beach so this year we wanted to go to the lake. Every time I go to Maine it's so peaceful, my favorite thing is the big trees. You see the beautiful big pine trees and you smell the fresh air. Specifically where we wanted to go this year by the lake it is so private because the trees are everywhere.

 The morning we left we packed the car and got everything ready. We ran into one issue: my dog had pink eyes and couldn't go to daycare because of their policies. So we had to bring him on vacation and my mom was extremely happy about that because basically wherever my mom goes she brings my dog. On the drive up, my dog and one of my brothers sat in the backseat. When we arrived we drove up the long gravel driveway to this beautiful barn. They turned into a house as we drove up. 

My first thought was wow this place is so beautiful. The whole barn was painted black wood.There is a cute little outside areaWith string lights. It had a huge glass garage door that looked out onto the pine tree and the outdoor fireplace. Inside of this barn was the cutest thing ever. It also had string light hanging from the ceiling. Everything was wood but it was modern and so cozy. 

We unpacked all of our stuff and walked down into the woods to the lake, it's about a 4 minute walk. It is a private pathway for just us, there were paddle boards, kayaks and tubes. We spent time looking around down there and then a couple hours later my brother and his girlfriend showed up. We ate dinner and went into the hot tub and just hung out all night. 

Every year when we go to Maine we rent a boat on Long Lake. So the next day after arriving, it was a friday and we went down to the boat rental place and put all of our stuff on the boat. This day was one of the best days on this vacation, even all summer. We went tubing all day and ate sandwiches for lunch that my mom made. 

After we ate lunch we anchored the boat and we all went swimming and my brother was fishing off the boat. This was a funny moment because one of my brothers, Jacob, had goggles on and went underwater and looked for the fish. He saw this big fish and told my other brother, Ryan. He then threw a cast and got the fish, it was a huge fish and I remember looking around at everyone in my family and we were all smiling. Soon after this we boated to this small ice cream place by the end of the lake and we all got off and got ice cream. I got moose tracks- the best ice cream flavor of all time. By this time it was around 2 and we had to return the boat at 4. So we headed back and tubed on the way back, I went with my brother and the water was flying on my face, we would go over the waves and fly into the air and land in the water and it's always so fun. We ordered pizza for dinner so when we got off we could pick the pizza up because this pizza place was right next door. It ended up not being ready so my dad brought us back to the house and went to go get the pizza a bit later. The pizza was so delicious, the cheese pull was amazing, the flavors were so good it melted in my mouth, and we usually only like pizza from CT, but this pizza was good. The next day we wanted to show my brother's girlfriend Alexa where we go every year in Maine, Wells Maine to my grandma's campground. So we drove about two hours to Wells and went and walked around all the towns near we went out to lunch and showed her the beach because she's from down south so she's used to warm water but the water in Maine is freezing. When we got to the harbor we made her put her feet in the water and she slowly walked into the water her jaw dropped. Her facial expression changed and she was in shock about how cold the water was and how we actually swam in that water. The rest of the day was really fun. We just hung out and showed her around.When we went back to where we were staying we ate dinner and went in the hot tub. The evening we spent together we went paddle boarding, kayaking, watching the sunset, went for walks and played games. It was all really fun. One of the best things to do at night was have a campfire. We would stay out there for so longAnd just talk about the most random things and make the best memories. We would make s'mores, there would be so much laughter and everyone was always smiling.When it got super late we could hear the coyotes right down by the dock As soon as we heard the coyotes me and my brother's girlfriend Alexa, got scared because they sounded like they were so close to us and it spooked us out. 

The rest of the trip was pretty much the same super fun, lots of chilling around and hanging out. When it was time to go home we were all super sad but so happy about the amazing vacation we were able to go on. Now looking back on it I realize that it was one of the best vacations I've had and I'm super grateful that I have an amazing loving family and that we are fortunate enough to go on vacation to these cool places.