A sharp poking stabbed my shoulder, like someone was sticking a fork into me. I gasped and sat up straight, rigid in my chair, as I wiped some drool from my cheek. My bleary eyes squinted as they regulated to the harsh fluorescent lights. My cheeks flushed and I hastened to tidy my frizzy hair. 

This wasn’t the first time I had dozed off at work. I was starting to regret skipping that second coffee. After collecting my thoughts, I sighed and returned to reality. I looked around the room at everyone working hard on their projects, typing and programming diligently. On my desk sat a few papers that were probably not even relevant to this company anymore.  All of a sudden, my phone started to ring, blaring a pop song by Justin Beiber through my leather purse. I got some smirks and hurried to pick it up (I did not need to give my colleagues another reason to mock me). My face lit up when I saw who was calling. 

“Olivia! I’m so glad you called. It’s been way too long.” I could practically see her crooked smile through the phone. My best friend from college was one of the people who had inspired me to pursue engineering, and I couldn’t help but sigh wistfully, thinking back to the good times we had shared.

“How have you been?” she asked inquisitively.

“Well, you know, not much has changed. Not much new work for me lately… and no assignments from Hank.”

Just then, the creaking wooden door swung open and -speak of the devil- my boss sauntered in. Beside him was an older man, with grey hair and a look of extreme disinterest that he had clearly given up on masking. I put my call with Olivia on hold as Hank neared my area.

“Ah, and here is our… filing department.” Hank spat this out as if just talking about us put a sour taste in his mouth. He proceeded to walk through our cubicles and was practically grovelling at the man’s feet, sucking up to him along the way. He was clearly an important figure, who held his head high in confidence while looking unimpressed. When Hank walked past my cubicle, he motioned his hand towards me and the old man gave me a nod. 

“Clara certainly is a credit to her gender. I don’t know how we would deal with these old papers without her. Honestly, she’s like our… housemaid.” He lingered on the last word in a sickening way that made me want to gag.

 I plastered on my fake smile that I was instructed to use when Hank had visitors, and replied, as if I was quoting from a textbook, “I feel so lucky that I get to work here!'' As the men continued through the other departments, I closed my eyes and leaned back in my ancient chair, feeling dejected. I picked up my phone again.

“Sorry”, I told Olivia, “that was my boss.” 

She must have sensed that something was wrong because she asked me, 

“Are you okay?”

“I just can’t believe how no one here cares!” I burst out, my feelings spewing and rushing like a waterfall. “I mean, I have more advanced degrees than most of the men in any department could boast, but still they make me file their stupid contracts! When I took this job, it was because I wanted to engineer and design the world's most advanced technology. I was not expecting to slouch all day in a dingy cubicle that reeks of sour milk with 20 other men who think that I can’t do more than iron my husbands’ collar!”

“Aw, honey. I’m so sorry I can’t be there for you. You gotta keep your chin up!”

“Thanks, miss you. I gotta go turn in some papers, but it was great to talk.”

Although I appreciated my friends’ kind words, I knew that she didn’t understand. She had taken a job closer to her parent’s home, and had recently begun her own startup! Meanwhile, I was stuck in this dump with no reason to keep my chin up at all.

* * * * * * * * *

Later that evening, before I retired to some well-earned rest, I walked by Hank’s office. As I plopped some papers on his rickety desk about an overdue electricity bill, he glanced up at me and nodded at the stack of papers. 

“Good girl,” he confirmed with a yawn. I lowered my head and focused my gaze on the carpet. As I pulled my wool coat tighter around me and stepped one foot out into the cold night air, I heard him mutter, “Damn it, Billings’ dropped out of the project! How am I going to find someone to replace him before tomorrow?”

I turned back to face him. “I can fill in for him if you want,'' I said, allowing a sliver of hope to enter my voice. “I know all the material.”

Hank let out an exasperated sigh. “I’ll just have one of the guys do it.” I knew it was a helpless cause, but I persisted anyway. 

“I’m just as qualified as any other guy...” I decided to let it go. “I went to engineering school too, you know,” I added under my breath. 

Hank stood up and slammed his hand down on the neat pile of pamphlets I had handed him, making me jump. 

“Dammit, Clara!” He burst out. “Don’t you have some dishes to get home to or something?”

It seemed that all the heads in the entire office swiveled around to face us. The entire room fell silent, except for a few men snickering. I felt my hands get clammy and the room starting to spin. Hanks’ ears quickly turned a deep shade of crimson. He ran his hands through his thinning grey hair and closed his eyes for a moment. 

“You know what Clara, just head on home,” he sputtered, a hint of exasperation resonating in his tone, as he violently flailed his hand toward the door. I walked swiftly toward the exit, grabbed the cold rusty door handle and stopped in my place. My gaze caught my reflection in the glass door. I could feel all the eyes in the room still glued to me. Was I really about to let myself be treated this way? Was it worth it to speak up? To say anything?

 I closed my eyes and inhaled the stale air. I opened my mouth and almost choked out what I desperately wanted - needed - to say. I turned to face my colleagues. They had already gone back to their computers, and the clickity clackity noises of the keyboards thundered in my ears, in sync with the frantic pounding of my heart. Fear overtook me and any newfound confidence I had wilted. I needed this job, even if I hated it more than I could say in words. So I knew, like I had known countless times before, that I couldn’t do this. I briskly stepped out of the office into the cold, silent night.

* * * * * * * * * * 

When I tentatively stepped into the office the next morning, red-eyed and morose, the first thing I noticed was that everyone's mouths were moving. No one was yelling, but the atmosphere was jittery, filled with agitated whispering. No one was in their seats, and the room seemed to radiate tension. When the men noticed I had arrived, it was as if the principal had walked in on a room of fifth graders. After a few awkward moments of silence, chairs squeaked, pencils rattled, and computers clacked as they all sat down to return to work in unison. This couldn’t be about what had happened last night, because it had happened before so many times, and they always failed to care or notice. So what was going on? 

I was just getting comfortable sinking into my stained desk chair when the older man that Hank had been showing around the other day appeared in my peripheral vision. He was clad in a black suit, his dark, serious eyes emitting a look of calmness. With a sweep of his hand and a low murmur, he ushered me into Hank’s office, although Hank wasn’t there. The man reclined casually in Hank's armchair, and it seemed that confidence oozed from his every pore.

“Clara. I am the new CEO of this company, as of last week. Please, call me Mr. Sanders.” He dragged out my name like it was gooey cheese stuck to the roof of his mouth, and simultaneously spoke in a tone that put me at ease.

“Last night, I was in the office when Hank was speaking to you. The sort of behavior he was displaying is unacceptable in this company. I am under the impression that you deserve a promotion, to a department in which you can do your fair capacity of work that interests you. Intel, perhaps? Or do you prefer design?”

My breath froze in my chest. All this information came at me in a torrent, flooding every crease and corner of my being till I had processed what was going on. 

“I.. I don’t know what to say…,” I stuttered. “Can I take a moment to think about this?” Mr. Sanders nodded. 

I stepped out of his office and returned to my cubicle. Inside I was beaming. The moment that I had only dreamed of had finally arrived. I felt victorious for the first time in a long time. I looked back at my deskmate to share the news and saw him whispering hysterically to another man in our area.

“Did you hear about the job offer the new guy gave to Clara?” one of them scoffed.

“I know, that’s one way to avoid a lawsuit. Otherwise I don’t see why she wouldn’t sue the place for ‘gender discrimination’,” the second man said, waggling his fingers in quotation marks in the air.

“Are you kidding?” The first replied incredulously. “You know Clara. She’s too shy to swat at a mosquito! She probably can’t even talk to Hank without getting nervous.”

I slowly turned back to my table, my eyes wide in shock. How could I have been so naive? At that moment, I saw in perfect clarity what I needed to do. I felt more certain about this decision than I had in a long time. I marched back up to the office where Mr. Sanders was residing and let myself in.

I straightened my posture and said with conviction, “I’m leaving.”

“Leaving? What does that mean?” Mr. Sanders eyes widened and he furrowed his brow.

“I’ve decided, and I quit.”

I said it. The words I never thought I’d say aloud. I smiled as a weight the size of an elephant was lifted from my shoulders. I promptly exited the office, cleaned out my desk, and left without looking back.

The chocolate milk is gross here, but I drink it anyways. I mean, Maggie and Liz have it, so why not? It can’t be that bad. I choke it down and somehow finish, then slam the little blue-and-white carton of rancid beverage onto the grimy table in victory. Something at the bottom of the soggy carton catches my eye. A brownish black thing, about the size of a pea. Please, let it be chocolate syrup. Shit. Is it a dead beetle? Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised. Actually, when you even take a glance around, everything at this wretched place is gross, from the perpetually sticky tile floor of the dining hall to the litter-choked hiking trails on Green Mountain. 

I shouldn’t have ever come here. All of my friends go here. They said it was fun. They said I should come too. If I didn’t, they might think I was a baby. Or worse, a bad friend! Why did I listen to them? I wasn’t even put in the same cabin as them, just because I’m three months younger. Now I’m stuck with two whole weeks of this.

“Are you coming or what?” Liz interrupts my brooding, speaking through a mouthful of chewing gum. Her arms cross in front of her red lifeguard hoodie. This morning, she refused to leave it at the cabin, despite the fact that it’s upwards of 80 degrees here. I see my cabin counselor and most of my cabin already in the distance, retreating to the cramped little clump of wood buildings we have to sleep in. 

I wonder where she got the gum? I thought it wasn’t allowed here. The sour-milk taste in my mouth intensifies. My eyes flit longingly to the pack gum. It’s watermelon, my favorite. Liz’s eyebrows raise.

“Oh, sorry! Yeah, I’m coming. Thanks for waiting for me.” My face starts burning up, and by the smirks on Maggie and Liz’s faces, it’s obvious.

“Don’t worry, we were about to leave too.” Maggie snickers and pulls me off the sticky plastic seat, her elbow now linked with Liz’s. She, too, has a big wad of gum in her mouth. I walk right behind them, even though that means getting a noseful of their sickly sweet artificial watermelon scent.

.   .   .

“I’m so bored.” Liz climbs up onto her messy bunk and groans dramatically.

“Me too. There’s nothing to do until lights out,” I sigh.

Maggie skips into the room in her black rubber shower slides and pastel pajamas and nimbly climbs onto Liz’s bunk. Both of them dangle their feet over the edge of the mattress, Maggie’s shoes slowly dripping onto the carpeted floor. 

“Do you guys wanna play truth or dare?” Liz offers.

“Nah, I don’t want the counselor to hear. How about we do something scary?” Maggie leans back on the bed and crosses her legs.

“Like… telling scary stories?” Uh oh. Why did I say that? I always flee the room whenever my friends do anything remotely scary. I can’t even sit through a halloween-themed cartoon! I pull my legs to my chest and wrap my arms around, white-knuckling my knees.

“Nah, that’s for babies,” she laughs. Ugh. Why did I suggest that? Of course it’s stupid! 

“I know. Let’s play Bloody Mary!” Maggie smiles wickedly, and it takes all of my power not to crawl straight into my foot locker. My eyes flit down towards my trunk, where my pink plush monkey is hidden, worn out from years of use. I almost take it out, but there’s no way I can let Maggie and Liz know I still use a stuffed animal. I look out of the tiny, cobweb-coated window and see, to my dismay, that the sun has set, draping the land in shadow and leaving nothing but cool, dark sky.

“Great, let’s do it!” Liz springs off her bunk after Maddie and tells our counselor that we’re going to the bathroom house.

I can’t seem to pull myself off my bed. I manage to stammer out, “Uh, guys, I’m not so sure about thi-” before Maggie interrupts me.

“Oh, it’ll be fine. Don’t be such a baby, Jess,” Maggie groans.

“Ok. Fine.” I try hard to keep my lip from trembling as the three of us step out of the cabin into the humid air. There’s nowhere to flee now. I stay as close to Maggie and Liz as I possibly can, and chalk it up to being cold. After a painstakingly long five minute walk, Liz opens the old door to the bathroom house with a creak. Daddy-long-legs scuttle around as we enter in an attempt to escape being squished. A shiver creeps down my spine, and makes my scalp feel tight.

Maggie shuts off the lights, so the only source is from the dim emergency light attached to the fire alarm, sending an eerie red glow throughout the old, rickety building. “So, who wants to go first?”

.   .   .

It’s finally time. Both of them say that I should go first. Now I stand alone in the dark bathroom house. They’re waiting outside. They say I have to be alone. I don’t want to let them down. I can’t. I guess I have to do this. I try to convince myself that I’m just trembling because of the cold. Why can’t I do this? I know the story’s fake. I’d better get it over with. 

“Bloody Mary,” I whisper, facing one of the dusty mirrors. A little window in the corner is propped open in an effort to reduce the awful stench of god-knows-what, but all it does is let in a cool draft which gives me goosebumps all over my arms and legs and neck. “Bloody Mary,” I say again. Honestly, I’ve just got myself all worked up again. It’s just a game. This is stupid. But what if it isn’t? No. Of course it’s dumb. I just need to get this over with so we can all go back to the cabin. Turning to face the door, I take a deep breath and say once more, “Bloody Mary.”

 I think I see a flash in the corner of my eye. I whip around to the mirror. There’s nothing there. Time to get out of here. I sprint to the door and fumble with the handle, my flip-flops shrieking on the damp floor, all too aware of what might be behind me. Shit, the door is jammed. With one yank, I pull the door open and hightail it out of there. Where’re Maggie and Liz? I don’t have time to find them. I finally get in the cabin and bolt the creaky wood door behind me, gasping for air.

.   .   .

“Geez, you sure took your time.” The artificial watermelon scent hits me like a brick wall, mixed with the chemical stench of nail polish. Maggie is sitting on her bunk, painting Liz’s nails. Hers are freshly done. I stand there, dumbfounded, staring at them.

“We were just about to tell someone,” Liz sighs. “What held you up? Don’t tell me Bloody Mary got you.”

I narrow my eyes. My heartbeat slows down again. I feel … eerily calm. My voice comes out, quiet, like a whisper, but stronger. “Where were you?”

Maggie rolls her eyes. “You’re welcome for waiting. Anyway, we’re all going to the dining hall. I want some ice cream. Just don’t tell anyone, okay?” She walks out the door again, Liz behind her. “Are you coming or not?”

I take a deep, shuddering breath. “Hold up. You want me to sneak out to the cafeteria at night just because you feel like ice cream? No way.” 

“Daniel?” Ms. Jens exclaims. I barely hear her as I look around the room. The room is very musty. Dust bunnies roll like tumbleweeds across the floor. Piles of dirt, pencils, and mystery items lay everywhere. The desks are filled with black, old gum. The walls are peeling as if a hot iron was laid on them. The ceiling is missing panels, with yellow solids exposed without the panels between and the structure itself. The door hinges are practically falling off, creating a loud creaking noise every time it is opened or closed. 

“Daniel!” Ms. Jens shouted. My mind comes back to my body. 

“What?” I speak quietly, hoping to not sound rude. I look around the dirty room. It’s too dirty for my comfort zone. I cringe. 

“Just so you know, Harry has head lice,” said Ms. Jens.

Harry sits next to me, but he’s out today. I walk over to blow my nose. Harry has head lice. Did he come here with it? Does that mean I have lice? Am I going to get a disease from the lice? Am I going to die? 

It becomes harder to breathe. My palms feel sweaty. My heart is racing. Now I feel dizzy. My vision swirls around. I walk over dizzily and grab my water bottle. I started drinking it as if I’ve been in the Sahara Desert for twenty days. I slowly regain my breath, dizziness starts going away, my palms start cooling down, and my heart starts slowing down to a normal pace. I sit, trying not to think about Harry’s lice. I calm. 

I hesitate, “What were you going to tell me?” 

“We are watching a movie on skin cancer,” Ms. Jens replied. 

I started to get nervous. I look around the room, left to right and back again. No one else looks uncomfortable. It’s fine, I think, reassuring myself. 

Ms. Jens passes out a sheet. The instructions read: ‘You will all be taking notes on this movie. This will be 40 points of your grade. You do not have to give examples. Answer all the questions below.’ 

Ms. Jens walks over to the projector and turns the movie on and explains “It’s okay if you check your skin while you watch the video.” 

The video is an hour long. 

I was so focused on taking notes I didn’t have time to think about skin cancer and its effects. I finish and I take a look at the final product. It has a lot of notes. 

I read over it. It is caused by a lot of skin exposure to the sun. Am I exposed to the sun? I thought. It mostly forms where your body is usually not exposed to sunlight. Are spots on my body exposed that aren’t exposed to sunlight exposed to sunlight? I look over the rest of my notes. 

I start to check my skin. I begin to check my skin all over my body. I check my stomach from under my shirt. I check my back with my hands, trying to feel anything. I checked my arms frantically, checking each side, I wondered if the bumps on my arms are cancerous or from gluten. I check my head, wondering if it is possible to get it on my head. I check my left leg. Front to back, side to side. Then I do the same to the other leg. I check my neck, nothing there. Then I take off my socks and shoes. I see my foot and feel around. I felt a bump on my foot. Both of my feet have a bump on them. I start to feel dizzy. I black out.

I wake up in a nurse's office. The nurse is hovering over me, monitoring me. I look around. Jars and jars of everyday medical supplies. The sink is squeaky clean. There is a large cabinet with information on all students. It’s likely the cleanest place in the school. I am sitting on a blue bed that is in the nurse's office in most schools. 

“Ah, you’re awake,” The nurse explained in a serious voice, “I’m Nurse Scott.”

“What happened?” 

“You were watching a movie about skin cancer…” I didn’t hear anything after that.

I start thinking, blocking out Nurse Scott’s voice. Am I here because of skin cancer?  My eyes dart around the room. Do I have it? I hold my head. Am I going to die? My palms get sweaty uncontrollably. I start shaking violently, worse than ever before. Chills repeatedly go through my body. I have a massive headache. I feel like I’m going to pass out. I feel like I am going to vomit for days. My consciousness flashes in and out. I can hardly breathe. 

“Are you okay?” Nurse Scott asks.

He feels my palms, feels my shaking. He sees me holding my head. He feels for my unnatural breathing with his cold hands. He feels my stomach. He then proceeds to tell me, “You do not have skin cancer.” 

“How do you know?” I ask worried.

“The bumps on your skin are not cancerous. I only need to ask you a few questions to confirm my thoughts.”

That clicks something in my body and I calm down. My palms return to normal. My breath eases. My consciousness is fully aware. The dizziness dissipates. My headache fades away. The chills screech to a halt. My stomach stops feeling like my lunch will come out of my mouth.

Nurse Scott starts asking me questions, “Daniel, How often does this happen to you? ‘This’ being your… reaction ”

I think. “It happens when I get scared of something supposedly happening to me.”

Nurse Scott writes something down. “How much does this usually happen? Monthly?”

“Maybe twelve times a month.”

He writes down again. “What happens before you start having those symptoms?”

“I start questioning if the topic in my head is happening to me. I think I am going to die.”

“I see. Please stay here for one moment.”

Nurse Scott is gone for 20 minutes. He comes back into the room with his serious tone, “Like I said, you do not have skin cancer,” I cheer up, “But you do have something called panic disorder.“  

I start to worry, “What does that mean?”

“It means you spiral out of control in your mind and it affects your state of mind and your physical state. Your last panic attack showed most if not all of the symptoms for panic disorder. ” 

Relief washes over me. Thank the lord. It feels as if the largest weight is lifted off my shoulders. 

“This is what you will need to do to keep yourself in check,”  Nurse Scott explained. He hands me a packet.

I read over it. It shows all of the symptoms I had during my ‘panic attack’. Ways to prevent it include: sleep, and aerobic activity, among others. The paragraph below says to strictly follow the treatment plan. It reads to take medication daily, and try to start doing physical activity everyday. This says my family is starting me up on a basketball club at my school. A schedule is stapled to the back of the sheet. It shows the basketball club is every day of the week besides Tuesday. It also says on Tuesday I have 2 hours to go to the gym. At the bottom, it says, ‘Do you agree to these terms and conditions? Please sign here and write the date.’

I hesitate. Is this the life I want for myself? Either living in fear of my fear consuming me or trying to keep myself calm by trying physical activities? I smile and pick up the pencil. 

“Nathanael Greene, Henry Knox, Anthony Waine,” I mumble under my breath as my feet gingerly step on the moss-covered tiles of the sidewalk. Their slightly grainy surfaces with countless impudent particles of dirt stare back at me, suffering under the footprints others have left. I’m sure the tiles don’t expect that I’ve assigned the names and memories of people to them, that never happens to a sidewalk. But I never pass a cemetery, so I guess the sidewalk will do.

I remember earlier this summer when I was walking down Washington Street, and I decided this was the perfect street to remember the army of the American Revolution. It started as just William Alexander, and then I was done with the list and free to run to wherever I was going, but the list has grown. I still do it every day, to the annoyance of Jack. I bend down, brushing the dead grass off so I can see the clean tiles. It smells like fresh dog shit, and the tiles don’t even matter that much, but the only person that matters here is the dead one, and I chose this tile for them. Darn. I have dog shit on my hands. I really need to wash my hands.

“Grass cannot cover up your image,” I whisper, more to the forgotten dead than the tiles. I get up and stand at attention, although not saluting because I know I will disgrace them if I do it wrong. They probably knew how to salute perfectly in their day. I slowly make my way over the sidewalk still murmuring, my head bent. My neck hurts a bit, but then again, it always has. That’s just something I have to deal with, and I have been getting better at it. It’s fascinating how similar the tiles are despite their minor differences, like a chip here, initials of a toddler there, a chalk heart drawn all over a third. That one has handprints painted all over it. I mean, I guess they didn’t know that it was William Moultrie, but it still doesn’t fit him. The other soldiers found him a disappointment, a coward. There’s a tiny container with blue paint in the corner of the tile for people to add their handprints, so I snap open the lid and pour it over my hand. I press my hand to the tile, resisting the urge to lovingly brush it. I mean, he still deserves some care and memory. I snap the lid shut, and on we go. Blue paint and dog shit, how much more can a hand handle? A lot, I guess. Their hands had to handle guns.

“Come on! We need to go faster than a snail, at least once in what, eleven years?” Jack pleads. Why does he have to talk while we walk? He bends down, getting in my face. His pale skin drops over his lanky frame, sharply contrasting his royal blue hair, which is constantly in his face. Maybe he puts it there on purpose to hide his intense grey eyes. He's never liked his eyes. Somehow, though, they always catch peoples’ attention. A few days ago, he started painting his nails green.

“Well we can’t now, can we? You distracted me from my order, and who knows what would happen if even just one tile lost its person!” I remark, exasperated. Now we have to jog all the way back to the start of the street, and I start again, “William Alexander, Nikola Tesla… Darn. Tesla’s not on this street. I have to start over again.” Tesla’s on Edison Avenue. All of them almost forgotten, all of them valuable nonetheless. I have a few of their biographies memorized, but definitely not enough. Jack starts talking about the one-day carnival with the biggest roller coaster in Illinois, probably to remind me of where we planned to go, but I tune him out. Why is the carnival important anyway? Can’t he see that all these dead people need someone to remember them?

We finally pass the library on the way to the park, just what I’m waiting for, and I stop abruptly. He stops a step behind me, watching to see if I will keep walking past the library. The immense marble facade gazes lovingly down at me, inviting me in. After one hundred thirty-seven tiles, here we are. Wait, aren’t we supposed to be going somewhere? I start up the great marble steps without thinking, grazing my hand over one of the four sturdy pillars and get to the protective oak doors. This is where I found that first book, spine almost broken off, about Thomas Edison’s assistants. Suddenly I am snapped out of my reverie.

“Why are you up there again? You said this time would be different.” Jack shouts up to me, his shoulders slumped, tapping his foot repeatedly, “I thought we agreed to go to the park. How are we going to get tickets? This park has had, like, a billion attractions and we’ve been to none because you’re too slow to get past the library.” His voice gets a bit sharper, but I’m sure he’ll get over it, he usually does. I only went up the steps from habit. I mean, we always come here. I bet I always step exactly where I’ve stepped before.

“Ok, I’ll tell you what, how about we just find two people. Then we can go to the park,” I start on our usual back-and-forth. Most of the time, it gets him to come up the steps after me, each step similar to a stomp, and by that time I’m already past the circulation desk and he can’t yell at me.

“Those people are so old, they never had stuff like the roller coaster. Now it’s like you want to live like them. Don’t you want to enjoy new stuff? Or– new-ish stuff? Like that coaster?” It’s weird, his voice starts to rise. He usually comes into the library with me by now. He huffs in exasperation at his hair to get it out of his vision.

I can see the park from here. The roller coaster is tall, he’s right about that. But how can he make me go there? I struggle down one step, my foot shaking too much for me to get my other foot down. Didn’t John Laurens once say the best solution is the easiest? I stumble to the railing, resisting the tempting pull of the library. “I- I can’t abandon them!” I squeak out as I rush back up the steps and grab the comforting cold door handle, thumbing over all of its dents. I look back at Jack. His blue hair screams indifference to me. He spends time on something as vain as that? His green nails seem ready to pry me away.

“No,” he says, eerily calm now, “I am putting my foot down-”

“On the first step,” I sigh. My grip slightly loosens on the doorknob. I get ready to take Jack’s hand to pull him into the library, gesturing tentatively for him to get over here.

“I can’t do this. Why are you making me do this? Next thing you know, you’ll probably have me memorize your tile order. Books are just pieces of paper with ink. You know what else is paper? Tickets! You don’t seem to be rushing across the street to read the tickets!” his calm countenance erodes now, his hands waving all over the place, “You know what? Fine. Why do I even try to enjoy my life anyway? Somehow yours is always more important. But-”

  He paces up and down the stairs, but eventually he gets to a high enough stair for me to reach him and carry him inside. “If this is what it takes, this is what I’ll do to get you in the library.”

As we reach the back corner with the precious antique book collection, my breath becomes labored, and my arms start to fail me. When I hastily set him down he bolts away, not even respecting the library rules. I graze my hands over the volumes on the old wooden shelves sagging under the weight. I pull one out and start reading. He has to read it with me, he can’t just run away.

He’s back, a book in his hands, but it has plastic around it and a bright cover. “Here. This is a new book. You are going to read this, and put that dusty, moldy book back on the shelf where it belongs,” he states.

“How about you put that book down on the table and read this with me,” I counter.

“No! I can’t- You- There are other people here, you know, you could at least talk to them. Or me. Instead of that book. Or you could come. Ride. The. Rollercoaster!” His fists are white and clenched around his icky new looking book, and he stretches out those last words.

“How do I know the others have the same cause as me? Really, you can’t just expect me to talk to them.” It’s getting harder to whisper, but I manage.

“Those people are dead!” Oh, they are so going to kick him out for his loudness right now. The cords in his neck are tense, “They are not coming back to life. You are living, but it’s like you’re not. It’s like you don’t have a life or even a personality. When you die, and you will, your cause will not be eternal, trust me, you won’t have enjoyed anything or even had a life at all!”

“Yes, I will have,” I blurt. I will have remembered the dead nobly.  All by myself. All by myself? I take a look around, so many decaying stories. How long until I join them? Locked away, unheard of. I had to be given a key to this section because nobody ever used it. But if I’m not around, who will be there to read these books and remember them? Wait. There are books.

“Th- There are books. The books stick around. Books don’t die. I will die, but the books won’t. There are stories in books. The stories stick around. The stories will stick around.” 

Jack is quiet, letting me think in my choppy sentences.

 I close the book. Mechanically, I put it back. It is safe on the shelf, I remind myself, it won’t be damaged on the shelf. He offers his hand for me to take, his demeanor softening and the hint of a smile approaching. I take his hand. We walk out, the door clanking shut behind us like a decrepit safe closing. I look up at the sun. It gazes down on me protectively. My head feels strangely free, not having to look down all the time. We start towards the crosswalk. I mention, “Do you think they’ll still have tickets for us?”

Finally, you think, finally the weekend! Having just eaten one of your favorite meals of homemade pizza for dinner, it is almost time for bed. The scent of the warm food still lingers.

Your happy thoughts come to an end, however, when you walk to the bathroom to brush your teeth. Standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom, you scrub your teeth, willing them to become whiter (Having just remembered that you have a dentist’s appointment tomorrow). Cavity fillings come out your pocket, Mom had said yesterday, with a jab of her finger. You had just nodded solemnly at that; afterall, it was your fault that you hadn’t brushed with toothpaste for a month, earning yourself four cavities. Tomorrow you get them out. You shudder at the thought of the needle. You fear those more than anything.

After you reluctantly finish brushing and flossing (which is a new one) you get changed into your pajamas and climb into bed. Having long gotten used to it, you ignore your untamed, curly, dark brown hair. You are too lazy to comb it down anyway. You only get to lie beneath the covers for a few seconds before, to your disappointment, Dad and Mom’s joined voices yell your name.

“Come down, quickly!” They sound urgent.

At first you think that you have done something wrong and flip through all the possible things you could’ve done for them to get mad about. Then you realize that their voices hadn’t sounded mad at all, just urgent. Deciding to risk it, you scramble down the steps to the family room where the rest of your family is huddled around the TV.

“What?!” You exclaim, curious, “Did I miss something?”

The only response you receive is their pointing at the screen. For a hot second you see a blurry picture of some sort of huge lizard standing on the road. You’d missed it! You wish you hadn't waited for so long before coming down the steps. The newscaster continues speaking.

“...Costa Rica. Doctor Martin Guitierrez assures that it is only a type of carnivorous lizard. Doctor, can you tell us about what safety precautions to take?”

The news lady hands the microphone to the fat man beside her.

He says thank you as he accepts the microphone, then continues.

“Keep small children around you at all times. This ah...lizard will only attack small living things.”

The news lady picks it back up from there.

“Thank you, Doctor,” she said, looking at him. She looks back at the camera, “Officials warn to stay inside at all times, and not to panic.”

She takes a deep breath before continuing.

“We do not know much about this rare specimen. We have seen nothing of the likes until the first sighting a couple months ago, in Costa Rica. This rare specimen of lizard was seen getting off of a supply ship docking off the coast of Boston. The supply ship was delivering supplies for InGen, a biotech company I’m sure we’ve all heard of.”

A pause follows that information, and you use it to look at the reactions of your family. Turns out all of them have the same reaction as you, as they look at each other also. Eyes wide, we all turn back to the TV as we hear the lady once again.

“InGen claims to own a wildlife preserve on Isla Nublar, their private island in Costa Rica. They say that the supply ship was just returning from delivering construction supplies to them. This lizard specimen had most likely escaped off of this preserve and had got off here.”

“That’s super close to us,” you hear someone in your family whisper.

You nod, even though they probably aren’t even looking at you.

The newscaster continues, “InGen is currently under question.”

Then she signed off of the channel. The news switched to a story about a massive traffic jam in the city. Mom clicks the TV off. Everyone sits still, still processing.

   Your six year old brother starts to cry, and your mom walks him out of the room.

“I think we should go to bed now,” Dad says quietly.

The rest of us agree and go upstairs to our individual rooms. After browsing through your many dinosaur books (you’ve been a fanatic since you were little), you remember that you needed to take out the trash. But whatever, you think, somebody else will probably just do it. You burrow under the covers again and think about what the lizard really looks like, and if you’ll ever see it. Probably not.

🦖 🦕 🦖

The next thing you know, you're awake. Sitting up, you reach to turn off the alarm clock. “7:00” it read. Groaning, you remember that you had forgotten to turn the alarm off last night. It was Saturday, for heaven’s sake! Oh well, you better go down for breakfast.

When you arrive in the kitchen, your parents are already there. They say good morning.

As you pour out milk into a bowl, Mom says, “You forgot to do it yesterday night, but you have to take out the garbage cans. The truck comes at nine, that’s in two hours.”

You nod sleepily and frown. You guess no one did it for you yesterday.

“So...can you do it after you eat?”

“Okay,” you agree irritably. This was already the worst day ever.

After you eat cereal, you go back upstairs to change, then open the back door. Shutting it behind you, you grab hold of the trash cans and start to wheel them down the driveway. 

You only get a few steps before you smell it. The smell of rotten flesh. At first you think it’s your dinner scraps inside the trash cans, but you know that your family hasn’t eaten meat in a week.

Curious, you leave the trash cans where they were and ventured further down the driveway, unable to see anything due to hedges lining it. You stop as soon as you get past where the bushes stopped. You take in the scene surrounding you.

People. Your neighbors. Dead on the streets.

And standing over them were the lizards. Except they weren’t lizards; they were...dinosaurs?! You recognize them as Velociraptors, from your books on the subject.

But no, you’re shocked, That’s impossible.

By now the herd of creatures have noticed you, and a couple venture over to you. The closest one makes some sort of clicking sound, and the others go back to their feast.

The thought sickens you, but you’re too scared to run, to move.

You stand stock-still as the six-foot Velociraptor sniffs you. You smell the horrid, stinking stench of rotten meat on its breath. It snarls, revealing shreds of flesh stuck between its teeth. Of all things, you think about who it was, where that meat had come from. A shudder escapes you.

A mistake. The raptor jerks his head closer, more alert than before. After a few moments, its eyes blend back into a look of confusion. It seems unsure if you were really there or not. Out of the corner of your eye, you see someone unrecognizable try to struggle to their feet. In a mere split second, three raptors were on top of him. It takes you a while to comprehend what you’d just seen. Even longer to get over the shock of the realization that the raptor who had been studying you was one of them. It had only taken a split second for it to sprint from here to there, you marvel. Then you realize that this is your moment. With slow movements at first, you then run as fast as you can back inside.

The raptors all take notice, but the slow movements you had taken to start have saved you precious time. You slam the door behind you frantically, and the raptors, not being able to slow their momentum, slam into it. They clawed at the door for a few scary moments before getting distracted by something else. Rushing to where the rest of your family is, on the second floor, you look out the window with them. It was the only window unblinded, as you see that they have blinded all the other windows. You realize that all of the Velociraptors are gone, all of the dinosaurs bounding in huge leaps south-west.

You are barely paying attention to anything that was going on. You slouch with your eyes glazed over. This is impossible. Wait. Am I dead? You shake the thought away; you are not someone swayed by pettish thoughts.

It was only a few seconds, however, before you are crushed into a giant teary hug.

“Oh my God, oh my God, you're safe, my baby!” Your mom exclaims, stroking your hair.

The rest of them follow suit with similar words, just without the my baby part. The youngest two of three siblings just shout your name like you are God. Your sister acts like a concerned parent. If things weren’t so serious right now, you would be rolling your eyes.

The ceremony continues for a minute. They explain what they thought had happened with teary eyes. Apparently they were watching you since the moment they had realized what was out there. After you had run back up the driveway toward the backdoor, they had watched the Velociraptors chase you, and concluded that you were slashed open like the rest of them.

You pull away from the hugs and explain quickly everything you had learned. Your dad nods and takes charge.

“The office,” he orders.

Once we’re there, he locks the door behind us. He then hands everyone their phones if they have one, and tells us to keep it on them at all times. He picks up his and explains that he is going to call everyone he knows to warn them to stay in their homes. As he sets to doing that, you turn to the rest of your family and tell them that the raptors were gone for now.

“We should try to help the people out there, guys, some of them are still alive,” you say grimly.

Silence follows. Then, to your surprise, everyone agrees.

Once you are outside again, you immediately freeze up, expecting a dinosaur to jump upon you at any moment. Nothing happens. You exhale, but you are still stiff as you walk closer to where the stench was coming from.

You walk upon person after person, trying to only look at their faces, not their spilled guts. You catch the eye of one man, beyond saving, breathing his last breaths.

“Please, help me,” he croaks, but his words are drowned by his blood. He knows he can’t be helped anymore. He squeezes his eyes closed and groans.

You cover your face with your hands, unable to look any further at what had happened. But you know that these people need help. Walking further down the street to where the rest of your family is, a tingling sensation forms at the back of your neck. Your family seems to have the same eerie feeling too, because they all looked up at once.

The raptors were close.

“Go, go, go,” Mom yells to us. Where we are on the corner of the street, there are three people salvageable. Two are neighbors whom we recognize, the third being unrecognizable. They seemed to have been slashed, then left alone. Probably stalked right before the raptors had snapped their heads up and left.

We help each other carefully pick them up and stumble into our house. Mom runs to the linen closet to fetch some bed sheets to lay on the floor. We lower the wounded onto them. Taking to dressing their wounds as best we could, we listen to the clicking and scampering noises of the returning raptors outside.

A blanket of dread falls over us, but determination too. Blood stains the floor, a deep shade of red. Before all this, even the sight of that much blood would’ve made you squirm. Now you merely grimace.

Walking past your family, you pick your way over to the window. Lifting the blinds a crack, you peer outside at the chaos. No more people were about, and now only some of the Velociraptors were still there. Most of them had probably left to find a new part of town to wreck. You try not to look at the carnage strewn over the road, and only at the houses nearby. Squinting to find any evidence of safe people within them, you spot one of the neighbors. His house is clouded by hedges, so not much is visible. Then you realize. He probably can’t see much out of the house. Who knows how much he knew about what was going on.

And as if the world read your mind, his door creaks open. You can only stare in horror. No! Go back in! You want to scream. But you are frozen. The rest of your family have noticed this by now, and are standing beside you in equal horror. The man is middle aged, with light brown hair hidden under his Mets cap. His long blue shirt sleeves are rolled up to his elbows.

He has only been outside for a few seconds before the raptors lunged. You cover your eyes. The man was only still closing the doors behind him. You are tapped on the shoulder.

“Look,” your mom says. She points toward the man.

You shake your head. You never want to see what you saw again. Ever. But she insists.

“Look,” she says again.

You finally do, timidly at first. You are astonished. The raptors are surrounding him, but only sniffing and poking, as they had done to me. The man is standing still as a painting, though his eyes are so wide we can even tell from here. I bet he didn’t watch the news.

What is happening next astonishes me beyond anything. The raptors are walking away, confused still, though you think. They seem not to have seen the man as they did not see you. But why did they pounce on the smallest movement of something else?

Then it hits you. You speak in a whisper at first.

“They can only see movement.”

The others look at you, questioning. You repeat it louder. Their eyes grow wide in realization. Someone is about to give orders, you can tell, but they are cut off by the raptors’ actions. A bunch of them are jumping into the air and onto the roofs of houses. You hear a thud as one runs up to your’s and its tight huge muscles contract to jump onto it.

“That’s thirty feet at least!” someone exclaims.

No one responds. Back at the middle aged man’s house, a raptor was at the door. He hadn’t had time to lock it, you realize. The raptor curls its claws around the door knob and turns. The door creaks open.

This time someone comes to their senses.

“Into your rooms! You can lock the doors! Now! Go! The younger ones go with Mom!”

You look at eachother fearfully, then run up the stairs into your room. Wedging yourself beneath your bed, you close your eyes. Your lips tremble. Now all you can think about is how to prevent yourself from being eaten alive. If you're asleep, you realize, it might think you're already dead and won’t bother with you. You decide to try it.

After all, even if it does still want you, you’ll feel less pain.

You lie there for a long time.

You wake up to the first lights visible on the floor, which is all you can see. The birds are chirping, making a racket outside. That’s unusual, you think, there are never that many birds.

That’s because they aren’t. You bump your head on the bed frame with the realization. You start to crawl out of your position beneath the bed, wanting to see if the chirping really was the Velociraptors.

When you're half-way out, you freeze.

Clack...clack...clack. The unfamiliar sounds came from inside the house. A raptor is climbing your steps. You shift as far as you can back under the bed, which is devastatingly only a couple inches. The sound of claws around the door knob is loud. When it turns it is ominous. The sound of crumpled metal and splintering wood fill your ears to the brim. The raptor is in the room.

You had forgotten to lock the back door.

The clicking sound of claws on hardwood grows louder.

You don’t dare move a muscle.

Closing your eyes, the sounds of its sniffing envelops you.

You don’t dare move a muscle.

It was a very hot summer day, almost a hundred degrees. So hot you could see the heat waves rising from the dry cracked ground. So hot that if you left a plastic cup filled to the brim with water in the sun for an hour, not only would all the water evaporate, but the plastic cup would start to melt, making it toxic to drink out of.

A girl walked up to me. I've seen her before but only now did I really pay attention. She had long, oily sun-bleached hair. She was wearing a white tank top and very short shorts that barely made the dress code. On her feet, she wore fancy sandals that my mom would never let me wear to camp. Her toenails were painted shocking pink, and you could tell she was wearing makeup.

She came towards me and as I got a closer look, I realized that she looked very drained under all that makeup. Since she was wearing tight clothes, it wasn't very hard to see how skinny she was. You could see her rib cage through her tank top. Her arms were so thin you could snap them in half like a twig. She looked shaky, even unhealthy like she hadn’t eaten anything for a very long time. 

By now she was about a yard away from me. She was walking towards me with the most obnoxious walk. She was swinging her hips in a way that told everybody she did not want to be messed with.

I did not want to be her friend.

“Do ya want a sip outa my bottle? Ya look hot.” She had a very birdlike voice.

Why was she talking like that? Did she think it made her sound intimidating?

“No,” I said in a stern voice, yet I slightly hoped it didn't sound mean.

“Chill out, it's just water,” 

“Do ya want me to walk you to the bathroom so you can wash your face?” she asked. She was starting to sound desperate. I suddenly felt a wave of pity come over me.

On the way to the bathroom she talked. A lot. “Hi, I'm Anya,” she said, and this time she didn't sound as weird. 

“Hi,” I said back.

We ended up hanging out, every day after camp she walked me to the bus, 

Anya walked me to lunch and sat down right next to me. Anya was getting a little bit too clingy for me.  She was always following me like she was a dog and I was the owner pulling her leash. However, in this scenario, the dog was walking me. 

I played Gaga Ball during my free time. As I stepped in the dusty pit I noticed something. Anya was sitting at a nearby bench, all alone. I decided not to bother her. I told myself it was okay to do since we hung out the whole day, but deep in my gut, I knew differently.

As I played, the dust stuck to my sweaty skin, A sudden wave of guilt came over me. I felt nauseous. I walked up to Anya and asked her to walk me to the girl's room.

She gladly did.

“Look, Finnley! We’re here!” Mason shouted, sprinting up ahead. Finnley sighed. After all this time, after all the settlements they’d been through, Mason still got excited when the family ran into one of the widespread communities that scattered the continent. 

        Ever since the war spread from their home country, Canada, to the entire continent, the family had been on the move. The army of South America had invaded their home city, Toronto, and destroyed it, making Finnley’s family lucky to escape the wreckage. Within the eight years since the South Americans declared war on the North, the region became barren, empty land and the entire population had become refugees, seemingly overnight.

        Finnley was five years old when her parents frantically woke her up in the middle of the night, dragged her out of bed and told her to pack a small drawstring bag with a few outfits. She remembered asking, “Mommy, where are we going?” 

         Her brother, Mason, hadn’t even been two years old when her family became refugees. He didn’t understand what the old world had been like- eating pineapples and chocolate sundaes, playing sports and riding bicycles along the sidewalks of suburban Toronto, spending cozy nights on the couch with Dad watching Maple Leafs games. But Finnley remembered every detail, and it only made refugee life that much harder. 

         “Mason, come here!” Their father called out.        

         Mason stopped reluctantly. Unusually for a nine-year-old boy, Mason always did what his parents told him. He knew the consequences, and he knew what happened to lost refugee children. 

         They never came back. 

         “Mason, don’t get your hopes up. We’ve been searching for a permanent home for years now; what makes you think this place will be the right one?” Finnley scolded her brother as they made their way across the desert-like land to the refugee camp. It hurt her deeply to discourage her brother so coldly, but she knew it would hurt him much worse to have the camp authorities turn them down once again. 

        “I know, I just…” Mason looked down, his feet dragging. “I hate those people who wanted to have a war.” 

        Finnley smiled. “Me too. But at least we get to see the world!”

       “If only the world were interesting once in a while,” Mason snorted as they reached the gate. 

       “Who are you?” A short, stocky man greeted the family at the entrance to the camp. Like all refugee camps that populated the once rich land, battered, white tents scattered the landscape for as far as she could see. People peered out from the small, flimsy homes, staring at the disheveled bunch. Kids stopped their soccer game to watch what would happen, as though the scene were the most interesting sight they’d seen in months. And the stocky man stared down at Finnley, making him seem like a giant although he was only a few inches taller than her. She stared up at him, challenging him to make a move. He averted his eyes and settled them on her father. 

         “We are looking for a home. We are refugees from Toronto, Canada-”

          The man cut him off before her father could finish. “That makes you Northerners, then?”

         “We don’t belong to either side,” her father said politely. Finnley knew that it didn’t matter which part of the continent they were in; it was never safe to admit what side of the war they were on. 

The man’s expression was colder than any Toronto winter. As his hostile, unforgiving eyes examined each of her family members, Finnley’s wild instincts urged her to punch this man in the face.

         “Well sorry, but we’re not taking anybody in. We’ve reached full capacity. The next settlement is five miles from here, direct south.”

          “Oh, please, sir, we have children! We’ve been traveling for eight years now! Please?” Finnley’s mother begged, but it was no use. 

“Unless somebody here is willing to share their space with your family, we have to ask you to leave.”

“Please?” The two desperate parents pleaded with despondent eyes. With a look of satisfaction on his face, the man turned away from them and made his way back into the camp. The children in the camp resumed their soccer game, and the others went about their business with shame covering their faces like blankets.

Finnley looked down at her grimy, torn shoes; her clothing that was five sizes too small and made her feel ridiculous; her hair that hadn’t had an indoor bath or shower in eight years and grew so long she used it as a blanket sometimes when it got cold at night. Her scruffy little brother and dirty, disheveled parents.

“C’mon, Mom, Dad, let’s go. Time to get going to the next shelter,” Finnley murmured,  grabbing her parents by their arms and pulling them away from the entrance. They stood like statues in a mixture of utter despair, disappointment and hopelessness. Mason followed, kicking up dirt as he walked. 

Finnley had been the family’s leader ever since their father, a former doctor, had diagnosed their mother with post traumatic stress disorder. Finnley was five years old when the South Americans began their reign over the region. Thankfully, the family had already left Toronto and had decided to migrate farther west, into territory that was still firmly in control of the North. Before they knew it, the region was seized and people everywhere were rounded up and brought to detention camps. There, Finnley and her parents had narrowly escaped the Southern prisons, which were synonymous with torture, starvation and sometimes death. Now, Finnley’s mother could not sleep and would often wake up crying in the middle of the night. Finnley was charged every night with finding the family something suitable to eat, finding a place for sleeping and taking care of Mason, which were each daunting tasks. 

Pulling her stunned parents away from the millionth camp they’d visited over the past eight years, Finnley couldn’t help but feel the weight of the world on her shoulders.

Being a refugee wasn’t easy.

That night was one of her mother’s bad nights. Finnley was woken up four times in the middle of the night, nestled snugly in the passenger seat of the family’s Land Rover, her mother’s screams echoing throughout the silent night. Already they had begun their journey to the nearest camp, though they hadn’t gotten very far before the sky turned too dark to continue without functioning headlights. Stars shone down on them, and the cool night breeze whistled outside the car. They were the only human beings for what seemed like miles.

Finnley climbed into the passenger seat, which was her living space. In the car, her mother slept in the middle row and her father in the back row, with all of their belongings. Mason slept in the driver’s seat. 

Once, when she was younger, she remembered sitting in the car on an evening like this one, snug in her father’s lap. Her father put his large hands over her tiny ones, put them on the driving wheel, and pressed the gas pedal. She remembered the pride, the exhilaration; she was driving a car!

She remembered all the nights she and Mason stayed up long past their parents and played over and over again with their most prized possession - the deck of cards Finnley had from her coat pocket the night they fled Toronto.

At home, Finnley’s bedroom was filled with bright decorations. Blushing succulents lined the windowsill and flashy gold star stickers covered her walls. But now, she only owned an extra pair of white socks that had been donated by someone from a camp they’d past long ago; a torn jacket that once belonged to her mother but was handed down to her as a makeshift birthday present; that deck of cards that was missing the two of spades, the king of hearts, the seven and four of diamonds and the queen of clubs; a tattered, ripped leather journal with a stubby pencil tucked inside the pages; the clothes she had worn for three years and still wore that day; and her stuffed rabbit, which was very cleverly named Bunny. Bunny was her most prized possession, and she had treated him as though he were her actual pet. She had fed him her food at the dinner table and poured a little bit of water into his “mouth” each night. Her father had even helped her create a small cage for Bunny made out of cardboard. The makeshift cage had sat in the corner of Finnley’s bedroom, edged up against her bed, even though Bunny had always slept nestled right against her arm in her bed. 

Bunny was now in horrendous shape. He was covered in a layer of muck and smelled like a dog after it had rolled in a dead animal, got up, rolled in mud, got up again and rolled in horse dung. Yet Finnley still loved the disgusting, shriveled stuffed animal unconditionally and couldn’t imagine her life without it.

Finnley grabbed Bunny and her journal and quietly slipped out of the car. She loved the cool night air and the way she could position herself directly enough to be able to write just by the moonlight. She used the ledge between the window and the part below it to silently push herself up to the roof of the car, where she lounged on her elbows and brandished her pencil, listening to the soft breeze whistling. 

Writing transformed her into a different person. Sometimes she was a rich girl who lived in a fancy suburban neighborhood and attended high school. Sometimes she was a nerdy kid who was raised in the middle of the woods by a family who had never had contact with the outside world. Sometimes she was a famous professional basketball player who was raised in a poor country and by some streak of luck was discovered for her remarkable talent. Whatever her identity, she embraced it fully, and for a short amount of time, she wasn’t a refugee surrounded by barren empty land, and she didn’t even know what a refugee camp was, never mind been to one or been denied by one. Writing took her away to a special place - a secret cache in her mind that nobody else breathing the same air she was could ever access. It made her feel hopeful, like there was a chance that a different fate awaited her in the future, one that didn’t consist of poverty, depression and desperation. Perched on top of the car, Finnley smiled dreamily up at the stars. The one thing that lasted, and will last, forever, as her father liked to say.

The paper was filled with detailed descriptions of her newest character’s adventures and explorations, and Finnley’s brain was exhausted.

Satisfied, she hopped nimbly off the top of the car and slipped quietly into her seat, careful not to wake her snoozing family. 

Before closing her eyes, she looked up at the stars, gleaming against the dark sky like studs, and bid them good night. 

She knew they would be back again tomorrow.

I glance at the clock, watching as each second slips away without remorse. Tick tock, the arms of the clock were a dobby grey blue with a red second hand slowly ticking away. As I join my best friend Trent at the door’s entrance, he whispers, “Bro, finally school is out! I can’t stand another minute of this teacher’s crap.” I whispered loudly, “No kidding!” The class had been dragging all year, but now on this last day, my patience was worn beyond repair.  I couldn’t wait for summer to begin.

When the bell rings, Trent and I are halfway down the hallway before our class even realizes the bell has rung. As I stroll down the 6th grade hallway, my memory is flooded with memories of the good times from 6th grade. The schoolwork was easy and the teachers were great. “Only one more year to go,” I think. As I bolt through the door, I am instantly greeted by a hot summer breeze and the bickering voices of students. As I pop both airpods into my ears, to block the noise, I notice my bus is late, again. Repeatedly, it fails to arrive on time, which was especially important today as my family planned a fishing trip for my Grandpa and me. 

Unbelievable! I wait another 5 minutes and the bus still does not arrive. I find my phone, and call my mom, desperately hoping she can pick me up on the way to Grandpa’s. She does not answer the call. Less than a minute later, I watch as it groans to the curb. I am amazed that this bus still runs. The paint peels, it is always out of gas, and the engine sounds like a cow giving birth. What’s worse, this bus is constantly emitting black smoke; no doubt, the oil has probably never been changed. The doors open and I am the first one to board. As I walk down the aisle of the bus, I brush my hands lightly against each sadly worn seat before sitting down on the last row. I gaze out the windows at the newly uncurling leaves emerging from the saplings. I glance at my phone and think to myself, “Great, I am going to be so late! It’s already 3:30 and won’t be home until 4:30. Ugh, I need to be home by 4!” Finally, the bus begins to move and I find hope that I may arrive home in time. 

As the bus rattles and bumps up and down over deep potholes in the road, I am being bounced like a toddler on a trampoline. I carefully watch as the clock on my phone quickly approaches 4pm. As the bus surprisingly approaches my stop right at 4pm on the dot, I sprint down the bumpy aisle, almost tripping on the uneven grey and black muddy stairs to exit the bus. Banging my arm on the bus door that doesn’t even open properly, I dash across the street, hopscotching over several damaged curbs. I arrive at my yellow and green house, which is covered in ivy and well hidden under an enormous umbrella of weeping willow branches.  

I push open the front door and find my very patient mom, so unlike me, waiting in the kitchen. “Good to see you. Just in time. Come on, we have to go!” she says trying to hug me.  In response, I sprint past her, leaping quickly up the stairs, two at a time, to the third floor. “I’m coming mom,” I yell, and like a squirrel hiding nuts for the winter, I shove all of my belongings into my bag before dashing back downstairs.

I sprint down the dimly lit stairs, out the door, around the willowy tree, and into the back seat of the car. My brother Thomas is in the shotgun seat, so immediately I glare at him. With his green backpack and iPhone he relocates and climbs into the back seat so I can reclaim the front seat. “Everyone ready to go?” my mom asks.

“Yes,” my brother and I reply in unison. We pull out of the driveway and drive east to see my Grandpa. He lives in Cape Cod, so if we are lucky it will take just under two hours to get there. Twenty minutes into the drive, my brother and I pass out exhausted and we do not wake until we pull into the driveway. I wake to see my Grandpa open the door to greet us. We receive great big bear squeeze hugs from him, and warm chocolate chip, melt-in-your-mouth, cookies freshly made by Grandma.

“It’s so lovely to see both of you, and my goodness have you grown since the last time we saw you!” my Grandpa and Grandma exclaim musically in unison. “They really have shot up like trees,” my mother replies. “And now, they’re also going to unload the car right?” she adds. “Of course, I will! Right after I get another one of these amazingly delicious chocolate chip cookies” I agreed.

I steal another cookie before slowly slinking outside to help my brother unload the car. It takes us a few minutes, but right when we finish the task, mom says it is mandatory that we visit our grandparents without the presence of our cellphones. My brother and I take a seat on the couch opposite from my grandparents. “So, what’s new?” my Grandpa inquires, raising one eyebrow with the question. “Same old, same old,” I reply, glancing back and forth between my grandmother and grandfather.

“Are you ready to go fishing tomorrow?” my Grandpa asks. “Of course! I can't wait!” I reply. In an attempt to curtail the “visiting” chapter of our time with the Grandparents, I find myself mumbling loudly that I should be getting to bed since it is getting late. “It is getting late” my Grandpa replies. “Ok. Well, go get some sleep and see you in the morning, bright and early to go fishing. You know, the early bird always gets the worm, and we need lots of worms to fish!”

I head to my room, shower and brush my teeth, before climbing into bed. I watch some Netflix on my iPhone before passing out into a deep slumber. Suddenly, I jump as I hear an alarm buzzing in the room next to mine. I check my phone and think loudly, “GOOD GRIEF it is 4:30 in the morning. Who’s crazy enough to wake at that hour?” My Grandpa walks into the room as I fall silently back into my sheets to pretend to be asleep.

 He shakes me firmly and says “Wake up Jack!” I roll onto my side and look him in the eye. “But it is so early!” I barked.  “It’s time to go fishing, remember?” he commented gently. “Oh yes. I remember. Ok I will be down in a minute” I shared.  “Roger that son,” Grandpa replied.

As he leaves the room, I slowly crawl out of bed, dress and prepare for the day. Quickly I grab my phone and airpods on my way downstairs to breakfast. On the landing at the stairs, I am greeted by a warm aroma of eggs and bacon frying. I walk into the kitchen and my grandma hands me a plate full of eggs and bacon. 

“Thank you!” I indicate excited to have a delicious hot breakfast.  “Why of course!” she croons as I take a seat on a stool next to Grandpa. “Eat up quickly, we need to get to the beach before sunrise” he says, scooping a bite of egg with his last morsel of bacon.  “Ok” I said as I shoveled the hot food from my plate down my throat. I quickly lace up my Nike 97’s before walking out the door with my Grandpa.

“C’mon this way,” he points. I hop into his pickup truck and we drive. Within a couple of minutes we are at the beach, just as the sun begins to peak over the horizon with all shades of pink, red, and crimson. I help unload the fishing gear from the back of the shiny new truck, now covered in beach sand. I watch as the sun slowly starts to rise over the horizon, turning the sky now into a deep orange and purple hue. The sand brushed against my feet like a nice massage as my Grandpa and I set-up the fishing gear. We began to fish. 

“So, how long does it take to catch a fish?” I inquire. Grandpa responded with a curt “Depends.” “Depends on what?” I asked.  Again, a curt, useless response of “The conditions.” 

I continue to push for answers, impatient with how he was answering my inquiries. “What conditions? Just give me an estimate.” In his grandfatherly fashion, he patted my shoulder and reminded me, “Time, it takes time.” 

“What?” I think to myself. “Is he crazy?”  It was an hour before he even caught a fish, and I haven’t seen a single nibble. Again, I annoyingly asked, “Grandpa, how long does it take to catch a fish!”  He barks back at me, “As long as it takes to accept that catching a fish takes time. Patience my boy!”

“Enough, I’m done with this fishing trip! It has been more than 5 hours and I still have not caught a fish.” I shove my fishing pole into the soft receiving sand and begin to walk home. I am furious. I have wasted the whole entire day fishing for nothing. It takes me an entire five minutes to walk home, and when I open the door I see my Grandpa waiting for me, standing in the frame of the doorway.  

“How did you get here?” I asked him, in disbelief. “I drove,” he replies. “Come sit with me on the porch.” I follow him onto the porch where we both take a seat on a bench overlooking the peaceful yet rocking ocean. “Where are Mom and Thomas?” I inquire slowly. He shares that they went with Grandma into town to shop for souvenirs.  Suddenly, something seems off kilter. My Grandpa seems ill, maybe pale for just a moment, but it passes so quickly I think I have imagined it. 

“I wanted to teach you patience today,” he said. “It is a very important thing to understand, because someday, I will not be here. We all have a finite amount of time on this Earth and time together is not infinite.  We should spend time together, patiently with others. It is not about getting to the next moment but rather it is about being in the moment.” With his last breath he tells me this, collapsing onto the floor.  I patiently wait for the moment to pass thinking this is all in my imagination. My new patience feels like an eternity before I dial 911, wishing I had found my patience sooner.

I sit by my window,

As the world descends into chaos.

I sit by my window,

as the days become a blur.

The world sits at home,

with all of their worries piling up.

The world sits at home, 

quietly waiting for it to end.

The streets are bare and silent,

As the cars go unused

The streets are bare and silent,

As the people are in dismay.

The world becomes a quiet place,

As humans no longer invade.

The world becomes a quiet place,

Nothing like yesterday.

What was a noun

What was a just noun to me

Weather 

Spring 

Birdsong 

Hope 

Medical workers

Kindness 

Home 

They all were just nouns not so long ago

They were all just people, places, objects and ideas

But now they feel like so much more

Like happiness 

Like love 

Like saviors 

Like blessings

Soon we will all come to realize that they were never just nouns

They always made us happy

They always were full of love 

They always were saviors 

They always were blessings

It’s the life inside us,

It’s the symphony within us.

It triggers our emotions,

And could make us laugh or cry.

And in the darkest times,

It sets a spark of hope,

Because no matter what,

We will always have the music.

So in the end it is safe to say,

Roses are red,

Violets are blue,

And music is true.

One fluffy cloud floats in the sea of blue.

It watches as the world goes barren, as humans leave the scene.

It watches me and you.

It feels as though we are ignorant,

Not acting quite as soon.

Now, it mourns for all that we cannot do,

As it wanders the world through and through.

It watches the streets fill with silence,

As the faint call of loneliness grows louder.

It watches as the humans stop,

As they lose contact,

As they ponder their purpose,

As they wonder what comes next.

The cloud finds the answer to their thrumming question:

What will happen next?

We don’t notice that the cloud is telling us,

That the cloud is showing us the answer,

as it wanders to nowhere, not knowing it’s destination.

Soon though, the answer is revealed.

The cloud tells us the answer.

It whispers softly,

Then grows louder, until it is yelling:

“No one knows.”

No one knows what is happening next, 

what will soon come,

but we still hope,

Hope that someone soon will find out what will happen,

because that is all that we can do.

The world is now 6 feet apart,

Standing in a line outside of the grocery store.

With masks and gloves,

Clorox wipes at the ready.

All to restock all of their stocks and extra stocks of pasta.

The world’s social life is now Zoom.

There is no school and no work,

no cars and no parties.

Slow internet and no hugs.

The world has become boredom.

And this is the change in the times.

You are greedy, hungry. For power and pride, obedience and acquiescence. For satisfaction. 

But all you get is tragedy, anger, torment, despair. Does that satisfy you? Perhaps it does. 

You destroy. You think you build a paradise, a new realm of equity, but you are blinded by your glory. 

They are living. They are not pawns in the game that you savagely play. They are what you would’ve been. 

Had your uncharitable, brutal, sadism been contained. You see, it destroys you. 

When it falls, when havoc is ravaged upon the bleeding twilight, as the world, your world, is ending. 

When your triumph is starved and your legacy is dead, when you are nothing more than dust. Are you at last, satisfied? 

For the souls you sacrificed are not. They screamed for mercy, but they were silenced. 

And ask yourself now, were you among them? 

Was it worth the satisfaction?

What strength does it take

To risk your own life 

To save another's

And protect people from pain

What strength does it take

To work thirteen hours a day

While other people lay on their couch

Eating chips and watching tv

What strength does it take

To provide people with food

While your mother sits ill at home

But you must earn the minimum wage

What strength does it take

To expose yourself to the world

Because people still want to travel

When there is a pandemic on earth

What strength does it take

To come home to your family

And have to shower

Before you can hug your kids

What strength does it take

To simply open your eyes

To what’s happening

And learn to be grateful

graciously gallant is the great gnome –

mercilessly malevolent is the mad mnemonic –

patronizingly paternal is the parrot, pneumatic –

but always the en, goes silently off

Wash your hands

And I will too

I’ll stay home and so will you

Don’t go outside 

Or Corona will come for you

Bored and tired and nothing to do

Miss going outside, trapped inside

It’s been so long, wondering how outside looks

Wanting to meet your friends and socialize but 6 feet apart all the time.

Don’t stay too close and stay at home.

Fireflies shine bright.

Under the dark August sky.

Dodging hands, they dance.

Children's hands reach out.

And grasping the glowing gem,

The light still shines through.

An Unforeseen Adventure

By Kai Van Beever

It was a beautiful afternoon, gold sun rays spread across the road, and I could feel a slight wind on my face. Tim, Evan, and I rode the bikes we had stolen from our friend through the empty streets of Newton. We felt badly because we had just kind of stolen his bikes and left...(read more) 

The sun peeped through the leafy, green trees, and the sounds of birds chirping carried in the warm breeze. I strolled past the blooming flowers clinging to cracked plaster walls, paint fading from the hot sun. It was only April, but the heat of summer had arrived early, and finding relief in the shade of the mighty banyan trees, I wiped the dripping sweat off of my forehead. As I approached my small apartment, hidden away among the lush greenery and flora, I noticed something out of the corner of my eye. 

The local high school, Ironi Dalet, had just been let out, and the cramped sidewalk outside the building was full of bustling kids. I always hid from the tall teenagers, and they were loud and scary to a small 5th grader. As I skittishly hustled through the throng and cacophony, I saw an elderly woman standing outside the gates, looking a little disoriented. Her clothes were dirty, her hair was greasy, and she carried a large battered wheelie with her. In all of the rush of teenagers trying to speed away on their electric scooters and their bicycles, I saw the woman trip and fall to the ground. I was concerned, but as a 10 year-old, there was not much I could do. Or at least nothing I thought I could do. 

All of a sudden, a young woman who was crossing the street noticed the fallen woman. She didn’t look much older than the high schoolers, her wild hair flowing behind her as she strutted briskly in her sandals, a frayed backpack slung over her shoulder. Promptly walking over to the old woman, she offered out her hand to help. In a poised manner, she comforted the old woman and helped her regain her composure. Just as she began to walk away, the old woman stopped her and touched her shoulder.

 “תודה,” she said, her haggard eyes crinkling at the corners. “Thank you.”

They smiled.

  Not one passerby blinked an eye, and everyone went their separate ways. 

I stood there in the street for a moment, shocked. Growing up in Newton, homeless people were not frequently seen, or at least not noticed from my naive point of view. Whenever I went to Boston, the people on the streets had not been significant to me. They had been part of the background for as long as I could remember. Nameless faces, to be pitied but not acknowledged. There was nothing that we could do for them, and they were sick, I was told. But when I moved to Tel-Aviv, I was forced to exit my safe little bubble.

When the young woman helped the homeless woman up, I realized that there was another option. These people were not ‘gross’ or ‘sick’. They were, as I failed to see, people. People who didn’t have the privileges that I did, and because of that I had judged them. I let my head hang low, and felt a little ashamed of myself. I finished walking the five minutes back to my apartment in deep contemplation. 

When I stepped inside my air-conditioned apartment, with its colorful rugs and plants strewn across the tiled balcony, I understood how lucky I was. I have more than I could ever need - and I could use that to do good in the world. Before I moved to Israel, I never considered that I, a little girl, could help change the world in small ways. A simple act of kindness - helping someone stand - can mean the world to someone. Going through life with these ideals in mind can help us make a meaningful impact on the world, one day at a time.

I am staring at myself, bare feet on the cold hardwood of my living room floor.  Just standing there and crying at the sight of my own body, and I can’t help but think, how? How have I let myself get to this level of self hatred? My body, and everyone else’s bodies are amazing, just think of all of the things your body does for you. So why do I hate my body so much, why have I thought of myself like this for so long?

That day I had looked at every other girl I had passed and compared them to myself. I looked at their bodies and thought about how they were better than mine, and how I wish I looked like them. I went on social media for hours, and wished my body looked like every pretty, blonde, photoshopped girl's body. I sat in front of the mirror and I looked at my body, thinking of everything that was wrong with it.  My thighs were too fat, I didn't have abs, my hair wasn’t perfectly done like theirs, and I didnt have a perfect pastel manicure.  

I let myself have that day, that one day, to mope and cry and have my own personal pity party. The next day I got out of bed, made myself look in the mirror, and named five things I liked about my appearance, personality, and things that my body could do. Every day for the next couple of months I woke up, looked in the mirror and listed my five things. I did this until I started to feel better in my own skin. I still do that sometimes, when I am feeling bad about myself.

Eventually I began to think, and I started saying to myself, yes, I feel bad about myself, and that is okay. What am I going to do about it?  I started working out more, and generally trying to eat healthier, and it worked. I began to see positive changes in myself, like my body was more toned and I was more confident.  But, I was also disappointed in myself, for having a mindset that what I look like is the only thing that matters. So, I made more lists of things I liked about myself, and none of them had to do with appearance. Five things I am proud of, things my body can do, things about my personality.   

After doing this I felt even more confident, and happy in my own skin. I also started to learn some self-compassion, accepting that my body is my body and I am who I am, and that is okay. Being myself is okay, and that I don't have to be anybody else, or look like anybody else. Acknowledging this fact was hard and weaving it into my mindset about how I see myself was harder, but it was worth it. Since then I have been so much more positive and optimistic in my day to day life, and I have learned to look into the mirror with a smile. 

Over the past couple of months I have learned that I don't need to change my body to impress anybody else, because I am really the only one I need to impress. If anybody feels the need to tell me that part of me is wrong, or not what they want it to be, then I just ignore it because they are wrong. My body is perfect just like everybody else's, and just because part of my body is different than somebody else's that doesn't mean that it is wrong.

It was an overcast Sunday in mid-April. The gentle beat of rain pattered on the windows. The sky gradually darkened, and a wispy layer of fog formed. Chinese School was almost over.

Inside the cold waiting room, I began to get anxious. The broken clock made time felt like an eternity. My parents had never picked me up late before. I’ll wait five more minutes, I thought to myself, they should be here before that. Feeling reassured, I sat back down onto the long gray benches. Other people leaned against the dark brick walls.

Counting in my head to pass the time, I had no clue if I was right or not. When I finally reached three-hundred, I hopped up, expecting to see my parents walking down the road. To my disappointment, I saw a stream of people hurrying away under umbrellas, no sign of my mother anywhere. Assuming that my parents would come late because of some important things that they had to do, I resolved to take matters into my own hands. Looking back outside, the weather was somber. I hated it when it rained. Everything got wet, and for days after, the air would be humid. With a final look, I pushed through the double doors.

Clutching my backpack, I made my way out of the driveway and turned. Now confident that my parents wouldn’t pick me up, I trudged onward. The rain picked up, and I started to regret not bringing an umbrella. According to Google, it was going to start raining two hours later, after I finished Chinese school. It was no surprise though-the day had started badly, and I had a feeling it was only going to get worse.

The walk home on Walnut Street was over two miles, a substantial distance for me, who was only used to running around the playground and in the woods. Cars hummed past me, and rain drummed on their windshields. I walked with my head down and was alone on the sidewalk. The pedestrians must have been smart enough to stay inside on a gloomy day like this.

Reaching the front steps to my home, I rang on the doorbell multiple times. No one answered. My parents aren’t at home! I thought to myself, surprised, they probably went to pick me up! Then, I realized my second mistake: I had forgotten to bring my key with me! 

Frantically trying to come up with ideas, I reasoned that my neighbors were home and would be kind enough to let me in and use their phone. Hurrying over to my neighbor’s brick house with my backpack covering me, I rang the dull yellow doorbell and waited for a response.

The wooden door slowly opened, and a light shone through the clear glass door onto the wet pathway. 

“Hi Mr. Fein, can I come on in?” I asked, clutching my now drenched blue and black Adidas backpack.

“Of course. What happened?” he replied, looking at my drooping form.

“My parents aren’t home, and I forgot my keys!”

“Do you want to borrow our phone to call them? Your parents must be worried about you.”

“Yes, thank you,” I responded gratefully.

As I dialed in the ten digits, I didn’t know what to expect.

“Hello. Who’s calling?” a voice came through.

“Mama,” I answered, “I’m home, where are you?”

“Michael, do you know how scared dad and I were?” my mother said, starting to get angry. “We looked everywhere in the Chinese School and we couldn’t find you! We reported it to the principal and we almost called the police!”

“I’m sorry mam-”

“You’re sorry? Stay right where you are! We are going to talk about what you did when Dad and I get home.”

A short while later, my parents arrived at our neighbor’s home and picked me up.

“Thank you for letting Michael stay here Mr. Fein,” my mom said with a gracious smile.

“It’s alright Mrs. Tao,” he replied, “Michael looked cold and wet out there.”

My parents took my hand and we walked home. 

That day I learned a valuable lesson: be patient. If I hadn’t rushed to the conclusion that my parents wouldn’t pick me up, this situation wouldn’t have occurred in the first place. Furthermore, I will always remember how worried my parents were. When they realized I wasn’t waiting for them to pick me up, they tried everything they could to find out where I went, almost calling the police to report that I was missing.

I will always appreciate my parents’ love for me.

When I first landed in Munich, there was a feeling of something new. I now lived in a completely new continent with completely new people. The Flughafen München floor was clean, a reflective white probably seen only when the floors were installed in Logan Airport. As my mom’s luggage and my luggage arrived on the dark grey conveyor belt I wondered where we were going to stay. We took a taxi to the temporary living my dad’s work gave him. 

The apartment was a bit small but had a nice cozy feel. It had a classic European style with wood cabinets and a bunk bed. It had a very nice location from which one could walk to my dad's office. It was small, but I spent some time with my family there. After some time I realized that this was completely new compared to when I lived in an apartment complex in Newton.

 The culture, language, and people were all different. I did not know what to expect. Although I went to a school where English was spoken, I still had to adjust. In my first year, I always had to take the train to school. The next school year I started taking the school bus and had started making friends. We moved into a larger apartment that had the door on the side because it had to be quickly rebuilt after almost being destroyed by a bomb in WW2. I had to go up four creaky steps, the old wood shouting on every single step. The kitchen was remodeled and filled with modern Ikea furniture. The rest of the apartment had a classic European style with wood floors and white walls.

 I had finally adjusted to the new environment and culture, I had made friends but when my dad asked if we should move back I said yes. I wanted to move back but in retrospect, it may have been better to stay in Munich. We had all settled but I thought I could go back to something that already happened. Newton even only after a few years had changed a lot. We moved back to Boston, me feeling a minor sense of nostalgia being back ‘home’. But is one place truly a home? Is it even possible to have only one home, especially for someone who was born in Philadelphia and has a father from Austria and a mother who is originally from Colombia? Even years later I still wonder what would have happened if I would have stayed in Munich. Would I be happier? Would life be better? Over the years Munich also changed. Soon after I left the city, there was a surge of immigrants coming from Syria during 2014-15. Sometimes it is impossible to return to the past or the status quo. One must always be ready for change.

I had known that my Nana was sick. I had known for a while. But sick was just sick, and people always get better. 

It was dark outside. The wet roads from last night’s rain reflected the lights from the street lamps. My sister and I were playing some game, I can’t remember what. My two-year-old sister watched over our shoulders. We sat in a little circle in the living room, each hunched over our cards, looked up suspiciously every once and a while, wondering if any of the others were cheating. My mom and dad were in their room, probably scheming something. I was winning, and that was all I cared about. I had no idea that my little six-year-old life would go spinning out of control.

My mom came out of the bedroom. Her eyes were red and puffy and her face was red. Dad soon followed. His face looked like it was carved out of stone. It just might have been the most serious I’ve ever seen him. By now our game was forgotten and we were all looking at the two of them. Mom stood to the side, looking like she was going to cry and biting her fingernails while Dad sat on the couch, and leaned towards us, and clasped his hand together. It was his serious lecture stance. I knew that something was up.

My Nana used to live in New York, only one or two hours from the ocean. I remember her large house. I used to help her plant plants along the side of her house. She had these big plastic construction trucks that I would play with for hours on end. There was a fridge in the garage that had soda in it. She would pretend to look the other way when I snuck a can. She would take me on walks around the neighborhood, and we would try not to walk on the cracks.

Then there was a carousel that we would go to sometimes. I would ride the thing over and over and over. There were grassy fields that we would play. There was a long outlet into the ocean, with a lighthouse at the end that we would walk around. There were ducks there too. Nana would bring a couple of bags of moldy bread and we would throw torn pieces of the bread to the ducks to eat. Well, Nana would throw the bread. I ate more bread than I threw. She would always buy us ice cream when we went. I always got vanilla. 

My Nana and I were closer than I think a lot of kids were with their great-grandparents. She was funny and kind. She would always make sure I ate everything on my plate, saying “Monja, Monja” to make me eat. Constant jazz played in memory of her late husband. She was my best friend. 

Dad told me something I’ll never forget.

My only regrets are that my two little sisters will never remember her. They were too little to remember her hugs, or her comforting voice when you were sick. They would never remember her love of plants or the constant hum of jazz that drifted through her house. They would never know here the way I did. 

And I also regret I didn’t spend more time with her. My mom and dad only went once or twice a year, but I would sometimes just waste my time while we were there. I still sometimes cry that she is gone.

I do realize sometimes that she'll be happier gone. The love of her life had been gone for six years, and she hadn’t seen her parents for over thirty years. Her physical state was awful, and she was not happy.

It doesn’t mean that I won’t miss her, or that I won’t wish she was still here, or that I don’t wish I had spent more time with her, but she is happier where she is. 

And so, I guess all is well.

The COVID-19 pandemic has enabled me to think about the world differently and change some of my initial views. For example, I never realized how heavily we depend on people who work in grocery stores.

Before this pandemic, we would go to the grocery store three or four times a month. We got very used to going to the Wegmans in Chestnut Hill. While we were there, we would walk around picking up things that we needed. My family and I knew where most things were, so we were commonly able to get what we needed without asking anyone for direction. Sometimes we did have to hunt for one of the employees to find specific things like, for example, marshmallow sauce. About an hour or two later, after grabbing everything that we remembered that we had run out of and a bit extra, we would make our way to the checkout isles. If we had lots of items, as usual, we would go to a cashier. Otherwise, we would go to the self-checkout. After buying everything, we would go home and put it all away. We never paid much attention to those who worked there. I never realized how important they were. 

Now, I don’t even go to the grocery store! My little brother and I stay at home while my parents go to the grocery store. When they leave, they put on masks and gloves. They have to wait in a 40-minute long line, which adds to the already two-hour trip. When they come home, my dad brings the bags from the car to the garage, my mom wipes the groceries with Clorox wipes, my little brother brings the groceries from being cleaned downstairs to upstairs in the kitchen, where I then put it away in the cabinets, fridge or freezer. When we are putting the groceries away via our assembly line, I think about how much harder it would be if there was only one of us. Just like how the grocery store can’t operate without its workers. Then, I think about how much they do for us. 

The people who work in grocery stores are risking their lives every day for us. I never thought about it, but without them, we would have no access to food, and I have no idea how to farm, so it wouldn’t work out. Right now, the people working at the grocery stores are saving our lives by risking their lives and possibly their family’s lives. 

I am now aware and extremely grateful to them. I wish that there was some way that I could say thank you, not only to them but to the medical workers, the firefighters, the police officers, the pharmacists, the delivery workers, and many others.

They served us,

They protected us,

They were willing to give their lives,

To protect their country,

THANK YOU VETERANS.

And when the evil struck,

They were always there for us,

Fighting against the darkness,

Trying to shine the light,

THANK YOU VETERANS.

And that is why,

On this special day,

We honor them,

And say our thanks,

So now it is my turn,

THANK YOU VETERANS.

Let it be known,

That our country is strong,

And that we will always always,

Have and have had those who are willing to fight for freedom and justice,

THANK YOU VETERANS.

They have seen the most dangerous,

Most deadly,

Most scary sights,

But nonetheless,

They shone the light,

They saved many lives,

They did impossible things,

So THANK YOU VETERANS.

As the Coronavirus pandemic continues to devastate communities across the nation and the world, various industries and professions are being affected in different ways, as all share the common goal of trying to stay afloat. While some industries such as food production, restaurants, and hair salons have been getting attention in the media, some such as the theater and entertainment industries have been less in the spotlight. Many people in those professions think it is unfair considering they are one of the hardest-hit industries. Because their work requires them to be in close proximity to one another,  and their guests have to be physically in the space as well, theaters have been completely shut down during the pandemic.

By now, we are all familiar with the municipalities and media urging us to buy take-out meals and gift cards to local restaurants to keep them alive but no one is urging us to do anything for the theater industry because there is no “take-out” equivalent for a theatrical production. Mike Brown, a Blue Man in the show Blue Man Group that performs regularly at the Charles Playhouse in Boston, a 500-seat theater where it would be very difficult to social distance, thinks that now is a time where artists and performers need to step up and help find a way to escape while still being respectful. He said, “Theater is an escape. [But right now] we need to be strong, patient, and also vigilant. Strong in finding new ways to perform… and vigilant in being there for our audiences now.” Brown also added that “In a time of need, we as artists must step up and find a way to escape while being respectful to the vast situation that is affecting the entire world.” 

This brings up a good point: theater has to find a way to return but also still be respectful. If a show has its performers wearing masks, this could be seen as making fun of the current situation, especially to audience members whose lives have been heavily impacted. Kate Hausler, a stage manager and crew swing at Blue Man Boston, agrees that now is a difficult time for theater and the profession’s challenges are not very publicized in the media, and so not as well-known to the general public. However, she does note that there do exist “grassroots… fundraisers and GoFundMes that would not necessarily be reported on in larger news outlets.” 

Even if the theaters can survive being closed for a long period, there will be challenges and changes when they are allowed to reopen and start performing their shows again. Hausler says “ It is going to be interesting to see how different theaters put in different distancing measures. A lot of the on-line groups I am in have been talking about their different capacity sizes and how smaller theaters are going to have a lot more trouble staying open because to distance they will have to have a lot of empty seats which is not feasible for a smaller place. It seems that outdoor venues will have a much easier time opening because you can easily sit six-feet away in a park.” 

Mike Brown concurred, acknowledging that fans would need to sit farther apart, and the audience and participants would need to wear masks. “Something like Blue Man Group, we have so much audience participation, and eating things, sharing things through touch, it is going to be tricky and neat to see how the show changes and also the character. Theater is going to have to be way more sensitive.” 

So how has the current shut-down affected the people in the theater industry? It seems to affect everyone differently and every person has been coming up with different ways of keeping themselves occupied. Hausler has been trying to utilize her free time by learning how to roller skate, reading, and has recently been “mobilizing for social justice and trying to educate and listen.” Brown has been drumming and playing guitar in his basement. “I have not been doing much, trying not to go out and spend too much money… and I have been drumming and playing guitar.” 

Everyone, not just those in entertainment and theater, is waiting for the day we can return to normal, and if something else were to happen but we could still be around others, theater would certainly be a welcome escape.

What Is A Dream?

Dreams are bits and pieces of information collected throughout one’s day, existing as a vision we experience during REM sleep. REM (rapid eye movement) sleep is the stage of sleep when most dreaming occurs. Our brain is almost as active during REM sleep than it is during the day. During REM sleep, many changes occur within the body, including rapid movement of the eyes, increased heart rate, fast breathing, changes in body temperature, twitching of the face and limbs, and brain activity similar to that of its waking state. REM sleep is sometimes called paradoxical sleep, because “...the muscles are immobilized yet the brain is very active…” (Medical News Today, What is REM Sleep?).

Dreams can produce a variety of emotions, and can range from extremely vivid to foggy and confusing. They can happen repeatedly, which occasionally suggests a message trying to be communicated from one’s subconscious mind. Some people can also lucid dream, which is when a person knows that he is dreaming. Occasionally, one can change the course of his/her dream, and change it to become something else entirely. Approximately 55% of people have experienced lucid dreaming at least once in their lifetimes. 

Why Do We Dream?

The purpose of dreams have had scientists scratching their heads for decades, and even today many are incapable of giving a clear answer. Many scientists believe that dreams hold no real purpose, rather serve as a “screensaver” the brain turns on to keep it from completely shutting down during its sleeping state. However, not all scientists agree on this theory. 

Ernest Hartmann, professor of psychiatry at Tufts University School of Medicine and director of the Sleep Disorders center at Newton Wellesley Hospital in Boston, Mass., calls his current view of dreaming the Contemporary Theory of Dreaming. During the day, the brain is constantly making connections through our experiences. Hartmann explains, “Activation patterns are shifting and connections are being made and unmade constantly in our brains, forming the physical basis for our minds.” (Scientific American, Why Do We Dream?). Through this process, our minds occasionally shift into looser thought processes, such as daydreaming and finally dreaming. In short, dreaming is the stage in which “we make connections most loosely” (Hartmann). Hartmann goes on to explain this dream process of creating connections during one’s sleep as being impacted by one’s emotions throughout the day. If one experiences one clear emotion, their dreams tend to be simpler than one who feels multiple emotions or none at all. Thus, a person who recently experienced a traumatic event would dream quite simple and clear dreams, such as one in which they are being chased by a bear or drowning in the ocean. In contrast, someone who undergoes multiple emotions may dream something more abstract and confusing, because the mind is not focused on one clear emotion. That’s why many people cannot make sense of their dreams upon awakening. Many people fall asleep thinking about various things and experiences, which often results in more than one emotion.

Hartmann believes this process does have a possible function. Following a traumatic event, a person’s dreams slowly shift from nightmares to ordinary dreams. Hartmann explains, “Someone who has just escaped from a fire may dream about the actual fire a few times, then may dream about being swept away by a tidal wave. Then over the next weeks the dreams gradually connect the fire and tidal wave image with other traumatic or difficult experiences the person may have had in the past. The dreams then gradually return to their more ordinary state.”(Scientific American, Why Do We Dream?). During this process, the mind begins “weaving in” new information into one’s dreams, which presents one with relief from constant thoughts of fear or worry. This function was most likely extremely valuable to human ancestors, who experienced much more difficulties and struggles than the majority of the current generation does. This process of the mind introducing new emotions following difficult experiences through dreams may have allowed our ancestors to recover effectively to continue to survive. 

Scientists continue to learn about dreams, and have not yet come up with an official purpose of dreaming. Ernest Hartmann’s theory is just one of many trying to decipher why mankind experiences dreams, though it is agreed upon among many scientists. Researchers continue to decipher the mystery of dreaming and REM sleep, and they have yet to discover a clear answer. 

What Do Dreams Tell Us About Mental Health?

Scientists are still trying to discover how dreams affect our daily lives, but there have been a few significant studies done proving that dreams do have an impact on one’s overall mental health and emotional well-being. Dreams are very hard to study, which is mainly why scientists still don’t know that much about them. 

People have been trying to figure out the meaning of dreams for centuries, and in ancient times, Mesopotamian kings recorded their dreams on wax tablets, and much later, ancient Egyptians recorded all their dreams in a dream book. Both generations were trying to interpret the meaning of their dreams, and up until this day, we still don’t have an answer.

However, scientists do have some interesting theories on the connections between dreams and psychological well being. For one, in the minds of many depressed people, dreams are relatively passive and less exoctic than the average dream. Depressed patients are also proven to have significantly less “dream recall” (memory of previous dreams) than the average person would normally have, as well as less vivid descriptions of the previous night's dreams. 

Nightmares are also proven to have a significant influence over one’s emotional well-being. Nightmares also can be repeated following a traumatic experience, all though it is normal for one to arise occasionally. Put simply, nightmares are bad dreams, and can be activated by stress, fear, trauma, emotional conditions, illness, or drug use. They are often heavy and upsetting, and occur in later stages of REM sleep. Some researchers call nightmares  “threat rehearsals” and believe that they might be the mind’s method of rehearsing for real life dangerous situations. Scientists believe that nightmares help the body practice it's “flight or fight” reaction which occurs when it is presented with a threat. 

Certain types of dreams, along with nightmares, have been associated with particular mental disorders. Dr. Michelle Carr writes in Psychology Today that “In fact, frequent and distressing nightmares, along with several other qualities of disturbed dreaming, such as changes in emotional intensity, increased bizarreness, or unusual character interactions, have been associated with specific psychological disorders, including depression, schizophrenia, and personality disorder.”(Mind Path Care Centers, What do Dreams Reveal About Our Mental Health?) 

Carr also explains how repetitive nightmares and disturbed dreaming are proven to be linked to depression and other psychological disorders. Furthermore, frequent and vivid dreams are scientifically proven to be linked to anxiety. While one long and vivid dream is normal to appear occasionally, repetitively these dreams can reveal one’s inner emotions. The Live, Love, Laugh Foundation explains, “If you have vividly detailed and long dreams, you could be suffering from anxiety. Anxious people have higher brain activity during the day and also tend to absorb more information providing more fodder for their dreams.” (Mind Path Care Centers, What do Dreams Reveal About Our Mental Health?) It’s important to note here that vivid dreams are expected to arise ever so often, and one complicated or vivid dream does not immediately point to one’s anxiety. Rather, frequent or repetitive vivid dreams can possibly point to anxiety and other emotional tension. 

Despite the negative emotions nightmares and disturbed or vivid dreams occasionally bring  upon us, dreams can also improve one’s mental health and provide fresh perspectives on one’s problems. Matthew Walker, professor of psychology and neuroscience at the University of California, Berkeley, and the director of the university’s Center for Human Sleep Science, explains, “REM-sleep dreaming appears to take the painful sting out of difficult, even traumatic, emotional episodes experienced during the day, offering emotional resolution when you awake the next morning.” (Greater Good Magazine, Why Your Brain Needs to Dream.) Put simply, dreaming is like “overnight therapy”. It allows one to reprocess disturbing memories in a different calmer environment through dreams, allowing quick recovery from a stressful or painful event. 

Dr. Matthew Walker goes on to describe the internal processes experienced as people dream, and their benefits in allowing people to re-process upsetting memories. During the day, people’s minds are constantly making connections in every movement and decision they make, as well as every thought they process. There are about ten thousand trillion of these neural connections being made within one's mind. During REM sleep, our minds review all of them, and drop the unnecessary ones. This process results in dreaming, and ensures that our minds don’t become overwhelmed with useless thought. If this process of “reverse learning” didn’t occur, our brains would become overrun with unnecessary connections, and “parasitic thoughts could disrupt the necessary thinking you need to do while you’re awake.” (Amy Adkins, TEDed). Because of this vital process, humans can review their problems in a fresh new light, and have a better understanding of the possible steps to take to solve these problems.

In one study, young adults were divided into two groups and witnessed a collection of emotion inducing images while inside a MRI scanner. Each group watched the images, and then again 12 hours later. Except, one group watched the second round of images upon awakening from a night’s sleep the next morning, while the other group watched both sessions in the same day. Interestingly, the group that watched the images upon awakening the next morning felt a significant decrease of emotion upon witnessing the images for a second time.  Additionally, their MRI scans displayed “...a significant reduction in reactivity in the amygdala, the emotional center of the brain that creates painful feelings.” (Matthew Walker, Greater Good Magazine, Why Your Brain Needs to Dream.) However, those who received no sleep in between sessions did not show any sign of decrease in emotion upon watching the images again. While dreaming, participants reprocessed the emotion stirring images in a calmer environment, resulting in them showing less emotion upon seeing the images for a second time. 

In addition to reprocessing upsetting memories and improving mental health, dreaming has also been proven to help problem solving. Walker explains, “During the dreaming state, your brain will cogitate vast swaths of acquired knowledge and then extract overarching rules and commonalties, creating a mindset that can help us divine solutions to previously impenetrable problems.” This was explored in a study Walker did with his team, in which researchers woke participants up during both REM and non-REM sleep (a stage of light sleeping before REM sleep in which little or no dreaming occurs.). Upon awakening, participants were tasked with simple logic puzzles in which they unscrambled words. The participants previewed these puzzles beforehand to familiarize themselves with the test. Walker discovered that those who were awoken during non-REM sleep had a much harder time completing the puzzles, only solving a mere one or two on average. In contrast, those who were awakened during REM sleep could solve 15-35% more puzzles than they could while they were awake. The participants stated that the solutions to the problems simply “popped” into their heads. This study illustrates the connection between dreaming and problem solving, and how dreaming tends to refresh one’s mind to perform more effectively in the following day. 

Conclusion:

Although there is still much to discover about the mystery of dreams, they can reveal to us a surprising amount of information about our inner emotions and mental health. Repetitive nightmares can point to depression or a mental illness, but dreams can also help us overcome problems and enhance our creativity. Dreams continue to fascinate scientists about their purpose and what they can tell us about ourselves. Perhaps sometime in the future we will understand more about the many mysteries dreams hold, but until then, we can only keep pondering.

The current COVID-19 pandemic is ravaging economies and lives around the globe; an indiscriminate virus, it destroys the wealthy and poor, the good and the bad, and the old and young. Though some are more susceptible than others, this is where the true essence of disease lies. A virus does not care whether it disrupts life or not, whether it ends lives or ruins them. It only seeks hosts, like an age-old parasite on mankind. It is up to the people affected to mitigate the effects of such a dangerous type of organism, and to stop a virus from going further than it already has. As the deciding factor in a disease’s impact throughout the Ancient Era, Middle Ages, and Modern Era, these two things are the most important: mitigation and prevention. Although there are many ways to do this, strong government action and advanced medical knowledge are the key factors in limiting a virus's effect on the human population. Throughout the history of civilization, this is shown to be true.

Pandemics in the Ancient Era

In the Ancient Era (3000BC-500AD), pandemics ravaged civilizations as there was little knowledge of how to prevent or contain them. Early in the Roman Empire’s history, they experienced the Antonine Plague, from (165-180AD). Because accounts of the disease are not complete, historians can only assume that the disease was smallpox. The disease originated in China but spread along the Silk Road, eventually reaching Mesopotamia where the Romans were exposed to it during a siege. The results of this plague were devastating, and people put their trust in the gods to come to their aid. Furthermore, people believed that the Christians were at fault for the plague’s origins. Due to a lack of scientific knowledge of the causes of disease, the Roman Empire turned to a religious understanding of the pandemic. However, while the resulting conflict between faiths was apparent, so were the effects of the virus. Deaths from the plague “reduced the number of taxpayers, recruits for the army, candidates for public office, businessmen, and farmers” (section 4 of article “Antonine Plague”). The astounding loss of manpower was one of the starting points for the empire’s decline. Because the disease was completely new to the Romans, no one had immunity, much like the recent Covid-19 pandemic. The blaming of Christians for the plague did not help either, as it merely heightened tensions without helping the general public. This is also similar to the new coronavirus, where blaming others for the disease does not help mitigate suffering or prevent the spread of the contagion. The Antonine Plague demonstrates how a lack of government action and scientific understanding can lead to the uncontained spread of a new disease, and the disastrous and far-reaching consequences of this absence of mitigation and prevention.

Another plague from the Ancient Era is the Plague of Cyprian, which lasted from 250AD to 270AD in the Roman empire. People still lacked scientific knowledge about the causes of diseases, and continued to rely on religious understandings. As with the Antonine Plague, the absence of government action or scientific frameworks for mitigation and prevention led to widespread loss of life. According to the article “ Plague of Cyprian, 250-270CE,” “The lack of leadership and the depletion of soldiers contributed to the deteriorating condition of the [Roman] empire…”(section 4 of article). At the height of the plague, it killed 5,000 people a day. The disease also caused great turmoil in the empire, as it claimed the lives of two rulers. With the population being severely diminished and a scramble for power, this new plague again played a role in the fall of Rome. 

The people of ancient Rome did not have proper public health rules in place to avoid getting sick, nor medicines to cure those who fell ill. Had they possessed these tools, the Roman Empire might have been able to recover from this period and not fallen shortly thereafter. Instead, the Antonine Plague and the Plague of Cyprian contributed greatly to the Roman empire’s decline and eventual split, leaving the Empire gone in Western Europe and entirely different in the East. For many, this marks the start of the Middle Ages (465-1453 A.D), where religious devotion, poverty, and feudal societies proved to be a deadly mix for Europeans. 

People are fortunate that in the 20th century, they have the knowledge of how to prevent the spread of viruses like COVID-19, and how to mitigate their effects before they can cause complete societal collapse as they did thousands of years ago. 

Pandemics in the Middle Ages

The new Eastern Roman state, the Byzantine empire, was the first to experience a true, violent plague, which was the Justinian Plague (527-565 A.D). Causing an astonishing twenty-five million to fifty-million deaths, this new bubonic plague appeared on the Asian borders of the empire and slowly spread to the capital city of Byzantium.  Fighting enemies on every side in the Vandals, Berbers, Slavs, and Germanic people, the plague was easily spread through warfare and close contact. Sea merchants and trade also contributed to the spread of the disease, as “The capital’s location along the Black and Aegean seas made it the perfect crossroads for trade routes from China, the Middle East, and North Africa. Where trade and commerce went, so went rats, fleas, and the plague” (2, Ancient.eu article). Despite this, the disease did in fact spread very slowly at first, giving the Byzantine Empire ample time to at least enact simple quarantine measures. 

Much like with COVID-19, advanced preparation for a pandemic and early action would have been crucial. However, Emperor Justinian (after whom the pandemic is named) failed to keep his nation prepared and instead waged war, showing how a nation’s first responsibilities are keeping its citizens safe rather than gaining power. By the time Justinian did enact serious prevention measures and established a committee to address the disease, it was too late. Eventually, Emperor Justinian even caught the disease himself. Similar to the Coronavirus, control and mitigation of the plague depended on timely domestic prevention measures and cooperation between nations to ensure citizen safety. Without these, staggering numbers of Byzantine citizens lost their lives. Byzantium did survive for another thousand years, though weakened, until its eventual capture by the Ottomans ended the Middle Ages. Before that, though, there was another notable violent and deadly pandemic: the Black Death.

The Black Death (1346-1353 A.D) was one of the most influential and deadly pandemics in human history, and a misunderstanding of viral spread and proper containment measures allowed it to kill tens of millions of people. Half of Europe’s population was destroyed, killed by a highly contagious and deadly disease that caused boils, gangrene, vomiting, and coughing fits. As with the Justinian Plague, the disease was the bubonic plague, and it first decimated a Turkic tribe’s army when they attempted to lay siege to a trading port. Using plague-riddled bodies as biological weapons, the troops gave a last stand by throwing corpses onto Genoese ships, which then sailed across the Mediterranean and carried the virus further. Once the Black Death spread, it caused death on a scale that had never before been seen in inland Europe, and by 1350 it had reached the cold and rough terrain of Scandinavia. 

With so little medical knowledge of how diseases were caused and spread, Europeans tried to flee from the plague and ended up carrying it to environments where it normally would not have gained a foothold. This is much like the current COVID-19 crisis, where modern plane travel allows for even easier spread of the virus. For this reason, mitigation and prevention includes restrictions on travel. 

The Black Death also caused a large cultural shift in Europe -- one more oriented towards death and the contemplation of morality that can be seen in literature and art from the period. Furthermore, it caused lasting changes for Europe, as “The shortage of labour compelled [landowners] to substitute wages or money rents in place of labour services in an effort to keep their tenants. There was also a general rise in wages for artisans and peasants. These changes brought a new fluidity to the hitherto rigid stratification of society.” (Black Death, Britannica). This shift away from a feudal economy allowed more development and cultivation of democracy in Europe. As humans are experiencing COVID-19 right now, there is no way of telling what the cultural impact of this virus will be, but it can be assumed that perhaps art might become more oriented to the self and loneliness (after billions of people experience quarantine and social isolation). As for the more lasting cultural changes, protests are currently occurring across the country that may lead to more changes in racial equality and less stratification. Overall, though, one thing scientists know is that the Black Death was a worst-case scenario, and an example of a lack of medical knowledge and government action leading to millions of deaths. This pandemic’s impact lasted throughout the Middle Ages, and some cities in Italy never fully healed until the 20th century, seven hundred years later.

Pandemics of the Modern Era

The Spanish Flu Pandemic of 1918 was caused by a violent strain of influenza, and world governments again underestimated how bad it would be. In fact, governments’ decisions were some of the largest factors in the spread of the 1918 influenza pandemic. With an estimated 500 million infected (a third of the global population) and one tenth of those succumbing to the illness, the Spanish Flu again caused widespread devastation. The disease primarily harmed a normally safe demographic of young adults, and caused vomiting, extreme weakness, coughing, and high fever. 

By 1917, the tragedy and violence of World War I was ending, leaving the world changed and monarchies broken. Citizens had seen and experienced the violence firsthand, fighting a mechanized war in the European trenches on the front lines of the battlefield. This close contact in trenches also contributed to the spread of the new virus, but by far the largest factor was government negligence and propaganda.

 Countries covered up case statististics about disease, in order to improve their images after sustaining heavy losses in the war. They hid information about the new influenza (with the exception of Spain, the namesake of the virus because of this). This is eerily similar to the coronavirus pandemic and the suppression of information by the People’s Republic of China, where the virus began in Wuhan. Government censorship about a possible public health crisis is one of the worst possible things that can happen, as it can leave other nations unprepared for disease and surprised when it arrives. Additionally, providing false statistics about cases can also create the impression that a virus is getting better, leading to a failure to implement necessary prevention measures. 

During 1917, governments did enact quarantines, but eased restrictions during the summer of 1918. Unfortunately, this led to a second wave of the influenza, which was more deadly and had a much larger economic and social impact than the first wave, with over two thirds of deaths occurring in the second wave. This gives modern nations an important message about our current pandemic. If governments ease restrictions too quickly in the name of the economy, it can lead to later destruction and unnecessary loss of life. The 1918 pandemic is perhaps the one most similar to COVID-19. History can teach important lessons, as the past can be a reference for the future; for this reason, if world leaders were to use the Spanish flu as a source of information and caution, the coronavirus pandemic’s impact could be heavily reduced with preparation for a second wave.

In the late 20th century, a new pandemic swept through the modern age, unlike any other before it. This time, it was a silent killer, decimating the human immune system and leaving victims extremely weak to secondary infection. Although HIV was found around countries in Africa starting as early as the 1920’s, it went unnoticed until a group of homosexual men were identified with the disease. Because of social stigma against this population, government leaders did not take the disease seriously, allowing it to spread within Africa and eventually across the world. Prejudice about those who were infected made preventing the disease less of a concern to the world nations. This lack of prevention led to documented cases in almost half the countries in the world, and more than 30 million deaths. HIV has struck hardest in African countries with limited medical and public health resources. Places like Eswatini (formerly Swaziland) saw cases rise up to more than 20% of the general population being infected. Had world leaders acknowledged and addressed HIV earlier, research on treatments and prevention measures could have been developed and implemented faster, leading to less loss of life. 

With the current COVID-19 pandemic, it is important that people address bias in scientific understanding of disease, and in medical treatment and care, so that such bias does not affect the course of the disease. This will ensure there is no undue blame, and that everyone has access to equitable healthcare, thereby reducing cases and allowing a universal vaccine to come sooner.

What it All Means

The history of pandemics, stretching from the Ancient Era to today, demonstrates that advanced medical knowledge and good leadership are the most important factors in mitigating and preventing disease. This is evident in all periods of civilization: from Justinian’s slow actions, to governmental deception during the 1918 flu outbreak, to the prejudiced response to the HIV epidemic. Disease also often requires that communities come together, and work cooperatively to implement those governmental and medical policies. War distracted the Romans and Byzantines, wealth and class split the medieval Europeans, and world governments hid information from citizens in the modern age. 

Today, countries across the globe must understand the importance of  transparency and cooperation during a pandemic, for disease itself does not discriminate. It is the responsibility of leaders, scientists, and individuals to make sure that people learn these lessons of history so that they do not become another cautionary tale, another statistic. Humans are all rendered equal by diseases, and in the end, it is preventing more names on gravestones that is what matters most.

Bibliography

URL for source, Date made Author

www.ancient.eu/article/992/plague-of-cyprian-250-270-ce/, 12/13/16,      John Horgan

https://www.ancient.eu/Antonine_Plague/ 12/13/16,       John Horgan

https://www.ancient.eu/article/782/justinians-plague-541-542-ce/ 12/26/14, John Horgan

https://www.history.com/topics/middle-ages/black-death       9/17/10, N/A

https://www.britannica.com/event/Black-Death 4/15/20,           N/A

https://www.ancient.eu/Black_Death/ 3/28/20,   Mark Cartwright

https://www.britannica.com/event/influenza-pandemic-of-1918-1919, 3/20/20,  N/A

https://go.gale.com/ps/anonymous?id=GALE%7CA73463713&sid=googleScholar&v=2.1&it=r&linkaccess=abs&issn=00987921&p=AONE&sw=w  March 2001 Andrew NOYMER

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https://www.hiv.gov/federal-response/ending-the-hiv-epidemic/overview/ending-epidemic-timeline Last updated: 3/2/20 N/A

There is one mystery in life that no one knows the answer to. The phenomenon of deja vu. Deja vu is the feeling of experiencing a certain event before, even though the situation may appear to be new. It is an eerie feeling that about ⅔ of the population experience at least once in their lifetime. Deja vu means “already seen” in French, and was first introduced by French philosopher Emile Boirac. Many have claimed that deja vu is caused by reincarnation, and that a person is reliving a moment from a past life. Some have also said that deja vu could be a moment similar to a dream a person had, that they forgot they experienced. Or, it could be a sign of time travel. As Endel Tulving says, “Remembering is mental time travel.” Although no one knows the truth, these theories have little proof behind them, so scientists have been working to find the real answer based on facts and research. Many theories about what causes deja vu have been proposed, but there are three main ones. 

Scientists have done all kinds of experimental research on deja vu from conducting surveys, to using virtual reality and hypnosis. Even though there is no definitive answer, scientists were able to learn a lot about deja vu. For instance, people with epilepsy often experience deja vu before seizures, so scientists thought that deja vu only happened to people with epilepsy, but they found out that healthy people also experience deja vu. There are two categories of deja vu for that reason. There is associative deja vu which happens to people without epilepsy, and biological deja vu happens to those who have epilepsy. (Why Do We Experience Deja Vu? Video by Seeker)

Episodes of deja vu are quite short, lasting about 10-30 seconds on average. Deja vu usually happens to people between the ages of 15-25, but is common among young children too. As a person gets older, it is common for them to experience deja vu less and less, which suggests that deja vu is a sign of a healthy mind, not a “glitch”. Based on research, gender does not affect deja vu, the experience is equal for both male and females. Deja vu is more common among intelligent minds, and the minds of those who travel. In a Medical News Today article, a study in 1967 was mentioned. In this study, 11% of people who never travelled experienced deja vu, 41% who travel 1-4 times a year experienced it, and 44% for those who travel more than five times a year. Deja vu is much more common in those who travel, for they have memories of many different places. Deja vu is also common with people who are tired or stressed. According to the Medical News Today article. “Deja vu: Re-experiencing the Inexperienced”, troops often experience deja vu when heading into battle. Also, some people with anxiety or depression can have chronic deja vu.

Deja vu can come in many different forms, each one slightly different from the rest. Aside from associative and biological, there are other categories. A video by BrainFacts.org talked about three main types. The first is presque vu: “The feeling of being on the very brink of a powerful insight, or revelation, without actually achieving the revelation.” Then there is déja rêvé, “The feeling of having already dreamed something you are now experiencing”, and third, deja entendu: “The experience of feeling sure about having already heard something, even though the exact details are uncertain or were perhaps imagined.” There is also an opposite of deja vu. This antonym is jamais vu, another French term meaning the “never seen”. This phenomenon is described as when a person sees something or someone they know for sure, or have seen before, but the situation feels eerily unfamiliar. (How Does Deja Vu Work? Video by Brainstuff)

One of the three main theories behind deja vu is the Dual Processing Theory. This theory was thought of by Robert Efron in the 1960s. (Video by I Am Your Target Demographic) This theory suggests that all of the different senses are processed separately for the same moment, and the information zips through different passageways to form into one moment. The sounds, sights, smells, tastes, and feel of a memory are all processed in sync. This theory proposes that deja vu occurs when there is a delay in one of the passages, and the late information is processed as a different event. Since this information is so similar to the information that was just received by the brain, it seems like the person is experiencing a memory again. (Deja Vu Ted Ed Video)

Another well acclaimed theory is the Hologram Theory. This theory was put forth by Herman Snow. (Why do We Experience Deja Vu? Video by Seeker) Unlike the Dual Processing Theory, this one proposes a mistake in the past, not a current brain glitch. Memories could be stored in hologram form, which means that only a little piece of the memory needs to be seen in order to bring back the whole picture. If a person notices a familiar object, it may trigger a past memory. For example, one may recognize a tablecloth in a restaurant that is the same as one in their grandma’s house. Deja vu would occur when the person’s brain recognizes the tablecloth, but can not place the memory, so it seems familiar, which makes the whole scene feel familiar. (Ted Ed Video)

The third well known theory is the Divided Attention theory. It is quite simple. This theory is based on a person taking in a moment while being distracted by one thing in particular. Once they snap back into reality, the moment they are in has been recorded by their peripheral vision the whole time, without them being consciously aware, so it feels as if they have been there before. (Ted Ed video)

There are many other theories aside from those three main ones. In a Ted Talk video, Dr. Anne Cleary proposed a “Glitch in the Matrix Theory” where a person simply saw a place before and forgot it. Maybe a person who went to the Louvre who has never been to France before saw it in a scene of a movie, and can not recall watching it. This is similar to the Spatial Resemblance Theory, which Dr. Anne Cleary did a lot of testing on. This theory is about a place spatially resembling another place. For example, bushes in a park could be in the same location as rocks on a mountain, which is familiar enough to trigger recognition, but not enough to recognize what the familiarity is. An article by Julia C. Teale and Akira R. O'Connor for Frontiers for Young Minds touches on this subject. When experiencing deja vu, people most likely can not recall what is familiar about the moment, or connect it back to a past memory. This spatial resemblance theory proves that a person will more likely experience deja vu if two places resemble each other. Another thing Dr. Cleary tested was the feeling of predictability. Often when people experience deja vu, it is accompanied by a feeling of knowing what is going to happen next. When she tested this using virtual reality, people felt like they knew what was going to happen next, yet they could not say. This sensation is similar to “tip of the tongue” when a person wants to say something, but they forgot it, but still feel as if it will come back to them in a moment. This is similar to presque vu.

There is a theory proposed by Sigmon Froid about paramnesia. He said deja vu is caused by the resurfacing of repressed memories of a stressful event that get stored away in long term memory that can not be accessed as “regular memory”. (Why Do We Experience Deja Vu? Video by Seeker) Another theory is that the right and left sides of the brains process information at different times. This is similar to the Dual Processing Theory. One less well known theory is the Leaky Processing Theory. This is about memory categorization, and that short term memories could accidentally be sent to long term memory, making one think that the situation has happened before. (Brainstuff video)

There has been lots of research about brain activity during deja vu. While monitoring the brain, the part of the brain that controls memories was “quiet”, so deja vu may not be made from false memories. The areas that reacted during an occurrence of deja vu were decision making and conflict resolution. Those areas check and analyze memory, so deja vu may “be a sign that your brain’s memory checking system is working well” - ‘Mystery of Deja Vu Explained’ by New Scientist. According to BrainFacts.org, deja vu could be a “mental hiccup” in the limbic system. The limbic system is a part of the brain that consists of the hippocampus, amygdala cingulate gyrus, thalamus, hypothalamus, and epithalamus. The limbic system is underneath the cerebral cortex which controls motivation, emotion, learning and memory. The limbic system interacts with another system called the basal ganglia system that forms and retrieves memories. This part helps people complete tasks without conscious awareness. Deja vu could be caused by a memory being sent into the basal ganglia system instead of long term memory.

One final theory is the Dual Consciousness Theory. This theory was considered by Hughlings Jackson in the 1880s. According to this theory, there are two streams of consciousness- one for monitoring the outside world, and one for internal thoughts. When the primary (external) one gets tired, the inner one takes over and mistakes new experiences as old reactions to those memories. 

No one really knows what deja vu is. It may always remain a mystery. Information from different theories is contradictory, but thanks to scientific advancements, scientists are able to predict what causes it. In the future, they may even use these discoveries to help find a cure for epilepsy.

Sources:

Articles:

Déjà vu: Re-experiencing the unexperienced

Can Science Explain Deja Vu?

What is Déjà vu? · Frontiers for Young Minds

Mystery of déjà vu explained – it’s how we check our memories

Videos:

What Causes Deja Vu?

What Causes Deja Vu?

Why Do We Experience Déjà Vu?

How Does Déjà Vu Work?

Scientists solve mystery of deja vu - and say it's a good thing

What is Deja Vu?

All The Ways Science Tries To Explain Déjà Vu

What is Déjà Vu?!

Ted Talk: Déjà vu | Dr. Anne Cleary | TEDxCSU

Ted Ed: Michael Molina: What is déjà vu? What is déjà vu? | TED Talk

                            Love Does Matter

Love is a powerful feeling that we all share. A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L’Engle takes place in a world where darkness and pain are taking over. Mr. Murry has been taken by the darkness with the help of a failed experiment of his. It's up to Meg, Charles Wallace, with the help of Calvin, to fend off the darkness and save their father. With the help of three powerful beings, love, and others from the universe, they will try to overcome the darkness and save their family. Some believe A Wrinkle In Time by Madeleine L’Engle should be banned due to its disturbing imagery and its theme of anti-Christianity, but it should not be banned due to its power of love.

Firstly, A Wrinkle in Time has dark imagery, which some readers may find disturbing. At this moment in the story, Meg, Calvin, and Charles Wallace were moving from planet to planet. Mrs. Whatsit made the mistake of going to a 2-D planet  “Without warning, coming as a complete and unexpected shock, she felt a pressure she [Meg] had never imagined, as though she was being completely flattened by an enormous steam roller” (90). Imagine a beloved character such as Meg being contorted in uncanny ways. This can take someone’s imagination and fill it with horrible, disgusting pictures of the same happening to others. Then this imagery could be applied to their loved ones. Correspondingly at another moment in the story, Meg, Calvin, and Mr. Murry tessered, or teleported away from IT, and Meg’s body couldn’t take it because “She knew that she had a body, but it was as lifeless as marble”(180). The thought of a lifeless body is disturbing on its own, but seeing a well-loved character lifeless is horrifying. Also, this would have all Meg’s change go to waste, which will make some believe that no matter how much people can change, there will always be an end for them. Furthermore, this is not the only reason it should be banned.

Secondly, A Wrinkle in Time has themes relating to anti-Christianity, creating religious controversies for young Christians. In like manner, Mrs. Whatsit is explaining to the trio what helps herself, Mrs. Who, and Mrs. Which fight the Black thing. The trio is coming up with people on Earth that help Mrs. Whatsit fight the black thing as “...Charles Wallace said. ‘Why of course, Jesus!”(100). God is not even referred to or acts in this story. He does nothing to stop IT and the Black Thing. This makes God and Jesus seem weak and not all-powerful. This goes against Christian beliefs and creates opinions about God from a fiction book which is against Christianity. Accordingly, Mrs. Whatsit pushes the trio to think of others “Of course!’ Mrs. Whatsit said. ‘Go on, Charles, love. There were others. All your great artists. They’ve been lights for us to see by”(100). Mrs. Whatsit then says that mortal humans have the same power as God and Jesus. She says they are Gods, and God is not all-powerful or the only God. This makes young Christians question God’s power, going against their religion. Not only is A Wrinkle in Time aimed at anti-Christianity, but it's also aimed at anti-monotheism, disrupting multiple religions, as others think the book is disrupting only one. However, there is one theme that creates a reason that this book should not be banned. 

Lastly, A Wrinkle in Time explains the idea of love being a power one can use to overcome anything, which is a great moral lesson to teach kids. To demonstrate, Mrs. Whatsit was inferring that Meg alone had to go alone and rescue Charles Wallace as “Mr. Murry, who had been sitting, his elbows on his knees, his chin on his fists, rose. ‘I won’t allow it!”(216). The love of the characters for each other is so strong that they won't allow themselves to head into danger to save each other. In general, Love wants to protect others from evil, taking desperate measures to do it. Similarly, to defeat IT and take Charles Wallace from ITs grasp, Meg screams “I love you, Charles! I love you!” (230). The power of love is so strong that it destroys the control of IT over family. Love protects families from the dangers of the world, but not giving them complete ignorance about what is happening in the world. Love protects people from the absolute destructive powers of society, but it agrees that ignorance is not bliss. This is important because it shows love and compassion can always help them in certain situations. 

Altogether, A Wrinkle in Time should be banned from middle schools due to the uncanny imagery and its theme of anti-Christianity, but should not be banned due to the power of love inside the characters. The dark imagery can traumatize some readers and anti-Christianity is a noticeable theme in the book, creating opinions about Jesus that go against Christianity. On the contrary, the power of love is strong enough to overcome anything, which is a great lesson to teach children. Every day, dark actions are done and rules are made against religions. Then love steps in and balances it out and reminds all that there is still hope left in the world if everyone is with the ones that they love.   

Unsustainable palm oil: a food ingredient that everyone should avoid. It’s detrimental to the environment and terrible for animal welfare. However, it has many alternatives that don’t affect the natural world nearly as much, and everyone should immediately start using them.

Unsustainable palm oil production is terrible for the natural environment. To mass-produce palm oil, enormous pieces of land (typically jungle) need to be cleared and then filled with endless rows of oil palm trees. From the trees grow oil palm fruits, which contain palm oil. The process of clearing land not only destroys nature but also releases tons of carbon dioxide into the air. This causes air pollution and the global temperature to rise.

The second reason why unsustainable palm oil production should be avoided is that it has terrible effects on animals. By filling a space with only one type of tree, the palm oil industry destroys the biodiversity in the area and forces thousands of animals to migrate. Even if the animals find a new place to live, they will be forced to compete for food in an overpopulated location. Two animal species that are affected by such are the Sun bear and the Orangutan. According to Orangutan Foundation International (a group that rehabilitates ex-captive orangutans), one to five thousand orangutans are killed every year in palm oil concessions. One Kind Planet (a group that aims to educate people about animals through their website) has seen the Sun bear population decline thirty percent in the last thirty years.

Thankfully, palm oil has many alternatives that are sustainable for the natural world. Many Oreo flavors contain palm oil. The brand often hides the name “palm oil” under the label “vegetable oil”, but in most cases, vegetable oil is just palm oil with a different title. M&S All Butter Cookies are similarly delicious to Oreos but do not contain palm oil. On a similar note, while Cadbury bars are made unsustainably, Divine chocolate bars contain zero palm oil. There are many more great brands that avoid using palm oil, and it’s worth buying from them.

Palm oil that is produced unsustainably is devastating to animals and their habitats, and people should endorse brands that don’t exploit unsustainable palm oil production.

Works Cited

https://onekindplanet.org/animal/sun-bear/

https://orangutan.org/palmoil/?gclid=EAIaIQobChMIyemizeCk6AIVBa_ICh00CgA1EAAYASAAEgLTZ_D_BwE

https://www.collective-evolution.com/2015/01/16/the-commercial-doritos-doesnt-want-you-to-see/

https://www.wwf.org.uk/updates/8-things-know-about-palm-oil

https://www.dailymail.co.uk/sciencetech/article-6383997/Palm-oil-TWELVE-companies-driving-orangutans-brink-extinction.html

https://www.travelfordifference.com/list-palm-oil-free-products/

https://www.goodtoknow.co.uk/food/food-news/palm-oil-products-to-avoid-460304

The Chinese game of luck and strategy

麻将, known as Mahjong in english, is a game of four that many people love to play. Mahjong is played with tiles and it involves calculation and patience. It is so popular that many other cultures have created variations of the game. Although people gamble with this game, playing Mahjong is a good exercise for the brain. But first, let's start off with a brief history. 

History Of Mahjong

Mahjong was developed during the Qing dynasty and spread to other cultures since the early 20th century. Mahjong is known as a “national treasure” in the Chinese culture. It is commonly played during the Chinese New Year as it is a nice way of being together and  fun entertainment. The sound of the Mahjong tiles being shuffled makes New Year's day complete. 

Why Should You Play?

Why not? It is a fun game and you can play it anywhere, anytime as long as you have the tiles, 4 people, and a table. You don't need all of that either. You can download Mahjong games on your phone too. Mahjong makes you think more and use your brain. Keeping your brain active is very important. Below are the rules for Mahjong. If you want a more complete guide then you can search it up on google. The rules below are the basic rules for Hong Kong Style Mahjong.

Rules For Mahjong

The game of Mahjong is quite complex. It requires a set of the Mahjong tiles and a table. Hong Kong/Cantonese variation is a very popular variation. 

If you want to learn Mahjong, you must first be able to recognize the tiles.

Mahjong Tiles

There are a total of 136 regular tiles and 8 bonus tiles. In the 136 regular tiles, there are 4 suits. The circles(筒子), the sticks/bamboo(索子/条子), the ten thousands(万子), and the honors(番子).

For the circles, bamboos, and ten thousands; there are nine different tiles in each suit. one through nine. There are then 4 of each individual tile with a total of 36 tiles per category.

There are some interesting things about those Mahjong tiles. First, instead of one bamboo, as you might expect, this is a birdie. In Chinese, it's still called one bamboo    (一条/一索) but in english, many prefer to call it bird or birdie. Also, You might be wondering why it’s ten thousand. Why not just thousands? In english, big numbers are based on thousands. For example, instead of calling 10 one thousands a new name, we call it ten thousand. The same is for Chinese, except we base it off of ten thousands (万). For example, Chinese call hundred thousand (十万) or ten 万.

I bet you’ve seen the ten thousand tiles and got a little confused. The numbers are in Chinese! Here is a key for the ten thousands.

一 = one

二 = two

三 = three

四 = four

五 = five

六 = six

七 = seven

八 = eight

九 = nine

Red, White, Green (Top Row)

For the honors, it’s a little different. There are seven different tiles called North(北), South (南),  East(东), West(西), Red (红中), Green (发财), and White (白板). The cardinal directions translate directly but the colors do not. 红中 translates to red middle (which doesn’t make much sense). 发财 translates to getting rich and the tile is green, so we call it green. 白板 means white board. It does look like one.

East, South, West, North (Bottom Row)

There are also bonus tiles but as the name suggests, it's a bonus. Start playing without the bonuses if you just started learning.

How to start the game

1. Sit down at a Mahjong table or a square table. Mahjong requires 4 people. 

2. Each player is assigned a direction based on who “East” is. The person to the left of East is North. The person to the right is South. The person across is West. To decide east, take one of each of the 4 directions and distribute them randomly. Also, the person that gets east gets to choose where to sit. Then arrange the rest of the people according to where east is sitting.

3. Shuffle the tiles.

4. Stack one tile on top of another to create stacks of two. Many like to create two rows then lift the second row onto the first.

5. Create 17 stacks and push them to the middle in this format.

6. East rolls the 3 dice. Add it up and count counter-clockwise starting with East. Start with the stack that the number lands on. Then, using the same number, have that player count that number of stacks from right to left. Separate it and East starts taking from the remaining stacks. 

Scenario: East rolls 15. Count 15 counter-clockwise starting on East. It lands on West. West counts 15 stacks from left to right. S/he separates the 15 and 2 stacks. East starts taking from the 2 stacks.

What happens when you land on 17 and 18?

It’s very simple. Count the players and when you land on the player who is 18 or 17, Count the 17 tiles they have first, then move one to the player to the left (Since you count right to left).

Taking The Tiles

Starting with East, each player takes 2 stacks at a time going counter-clockwise. After East has taken 2 stacks 3 times, take the top tile from the next 1st and 3rd stack, skipping over the top of the 2nd stack. The rest of the players take one tile, the next one that is available. Make sure the other players don’t see your tiles. East should have fourteen tiles and the rest of the players should have thirteen. East starts the game by placing one tile out. East should have thirteen tiles after that. 

Continuing the game

Each player takes turns drawing the next available tile and then throwing one out. After throwing one out, their turn ends. The first person that starts is the round starter.

Winning/Losing

The winner is the person that has 3 sets and eyes. Eyes are basically any 2 identical tiles. You can either win by taking a tile someone threw out and that person would lose. Or, you can win by drawing your winning tile on your turn and everyone else is the loser. When you win, you yell Hu (胡) or just win. If East did not win that game or if no one wins, then the east passes to the right. If East wins, then East stays East. If 2 people want the same winning tile, the person closest in order wins the tile. This is called interception. For example, if North throws the winning tile for both East and South, East would win because East would be before South in the order. 

Rounds

There are 4 rounds in a regular Mahjong Session. Each round ends when the East goes back to the round starter. Each of the 4 rounds are also named a direction. The first one is East, then South, then West, and finally North.

Sets

There are 3 different types of sets; chow, pong, and kong. Each set consists of 3 or 4 tiles. Chow (吃,上)is when you have the 3 consecutive tiles of the same suit. For example, one circle, two circles, and three circles make a chow. You may keep that set inside if you drawed then, but you can also chow by taking a tile that the player to your left threw out. You must yell chow and place the other two tiles along with it aside. Once tiles are laid down, they cannot be swapped or used. They are just put aside. Then you throw one tile out. The honors cannot be chowed because they aren't based on numbers. Any of those tiles you lay down also counts for your 13 tiles. Pong(碰) is when you have 3 identical tiles. Honors can be ponged unlike chow. You can take a pong tile from any players because they are harder to put together. You must yell pong and put your ponged tiles aside. After, you throw one out just like chow. Kong(槓) is the same as pong, just with 4 identical tiles instead. It is considered as a pong when calculating levels. However, if you kong and lay your tiles down, you draw another tile from the back of stacks. If you draw all 4 identical tiles, you may kong and place it down, but you may also keep it in and use it as a pong set and another tile for chow. REMEMBER: Each individual tile only has 4 identical ones. Make sure you think before you kong.

Levels

Sometimes, people play with a minimum level. For example, a common game of Mahjong is that you cannot win unless your level is 3. There is also a maximum level if you play with money, but don't if you're just starting. Get a little practice first. Your tiles level can be very high if your sets are the right ones. Here are some examples. 

Level 0

Chicken Hand: You have a mix of suits with a mix of chow, pong, and kong and you have not pong or konged any honors that make you level up.

Level 1 

All Chow Hand: You have all chows. If mixed suits then it's level one. If it involves a flush, then add the one level to the level of the flush.

Level 3

(or more if with honors)

All Pong/Kong Hand: You have a mix of suits but it is all pong or kongs. If you have any honors that level you up, you add that level to the 3 from the All Pong Hand.

Level 3

(or more if with honors)

Half Flush: Your tiles and sets are only one suit and honors. Can include chows and pongs in sets.

Level 6

(Level 3 and 3)

(or more if with honors)

Big Pong Pong: Your tiles are basically both in the all pong categories and the half flush category.

Level 7

Full Flush: Your tiles are all one suit without any honors.

Maximum Level

13 Orphans: One of the most difficult ways to win, you must have one of each of the following; One circle, Nine circles, One bamboo, Nine bamboo, Ten thousand, Ninety thousand, East, South, West, North, Red, Green, White. Then you just need one more tile (can be any one of them) as eyes. It is extremely hard because it is really hard to switch after you start and those tiles cannot be chowed or ponged. That means you must draw these tiles yourself.

13 orphans cannot be intercepted no matter what the order is!

If Red, Green, and White are ponged, each set brings the level up by one. 

The Direction tiles can also bring the level up by one if it fits the following requirements:

• You are in that spot (ex:ponging south when you are in south spot)

• It is that round

If it fits both, then it brings your level up by 2

(You can still pong directions even if it doesn't bring you level up.)

If you draw your own winning tile, you get to level up by 1.

If you are confused by the levels, then play level 0.

My Opinion and Advice

Mahjong isn't simply a luck game. It requires calculation and patience. I've played Mahjong since I was 5 and it is a fun activity for families. My whole family loves to play Mahjong. Here is my advice about Mahjong. Play it during this Corona time with your family. Make the most out of this time and try some new stuff. Even if you don't have 4 people, then try an online game of Mahjong. Why not try this as there isn't much to do now. In conclusion, I just want to say Thank You for reading this. If you want to learn more about Mahjong, go online or Google and search it up. Take care and stay safe!

What is Mourning?

Mourning is a ritual performed when one honors or feels sadness for the deceased.

How do animals honor the dead?

Generally, they tend to hold a vigil or guard the dead without a break to tend to their needs. Elephants have been known to linger over a deceased elephant, even without knowing who the body belonged to, as shown in the picture above. Some might think that the only emotional creatures are mammals because they generally have larger brains, but just like elephants, magpies hold “funerals” for their dead. Also, some animals carry their babies around, probably to hold on to them longer like we do, to deny that they are gone.

Why do we even feel sad?

In the simplest of terms, the emotion is present to help us survive. When going away from someone you know well, sadness encourages you to go back to them. For instance, when someone leaves their parents, both of them are sad. People depend on their parents to provide for their needs, and parents rely on their children to provide happiness and support for when they become old.

How do we know they feel sadness?

We know because the other animals have behaved like humans when they come across the dead, for instance; a killer whale carried her dead newborn with her for days. Some female monkeys longed for their dead children so badly, it killed them. The bonds between many creatures are so strong that when broken by death, animals respond as strongly as humans.

What is the difference between our emotions, and any other animal’s?

There has been ongoing disagreement on the subject. Some believe that our feelings are more proper or sophisticated, because we consciously express them, whereas animals feel and show them instinctively. Others support the idea that since we are animals too, we aren’t comparing two types of feelings, but just the vibrancy of the emotions. What everyone can agree on, though, is that every animal, big and small, has the capacity to feel fear.

Can animals even cry?

We are the only animals that cry from sadness. 

The physical features we share with other animals are not the only similarities we have in common, we all have strong social bonds and emotions towards others. Although, domesticated farm animals such as sheep and bunnies probably lack the social capacities to feel more than the very basic emotions. 

So in short, most animals can mourn.

Sources:

The National Wildlife Federation-

https://www.nwf.org/en/Magazines/National-Wildlife/2018/Feb-Mar/Animals/When-Animals-Grieve

NPR-

https://www.npr.org/sections/13.7/2013/04/11/176620943/when-animals-mourn-seeing-that-grief-is-not-uniquely-human

Colorado State University Veterinary Teaching Hospital- 

http://csu-cvmbs.colostate.edu/vth/diagnostic-and-support/argus/Pages/how-animals-grieve.aspx

Teenagers all over the world have had to quickly adapt to a change in lifestyle due to the sudden outbreak of Covid-19. Complete isolation from peers, a new kind of learning, and a day-to-day routine different from anything we have ever experienced. During the global pandemic, teenagers and adults have turned to the online community to help stay in contact with their friends and work life. In the past week since most schools have shut down, Verizon reports that there has been a 20% increase in web trafficking. With the amount of screen usage going up, so are parents’ attempts at limiting screen time. Overusing screens is a very big problem, but during this social distancing period, social media usage has some very big benefits. 

Teenagers are now having to stay in isolation, and are being kept from seeing most of their friends. Teenage years can be extremely stressful, and being social and having friends really helps to relieve some of the stress that teens, such as myself, are feeling. Everyone is also dealing with major schedule changes. 81% of teenagers use social media and those teens have been found to be much more social during this pandemic. Statistics have shown that 75% of the increase in web usage was from people communicating. One of the bigger age groups that have been using social media more is the 13-19 age group, or, teenagers. The people that most teens see everyday are now quarantined and not allowed to see anyone. Chris Hudson, writer of the blog; Understanding Teenagers, commented on the issue of social media’s importance in teenage communication, saying, “Apps such as snapchat are key communication apps for teenagers today”. Snapchat and Instagram also have elements of sharing photos, which can help teenagers share their day-to-day life with their friends. Social media can help teens to keep some amount of social normalcy during this global pandemic. 

Social Media apps such as Instagram and Snapchat also have added elements of art and education. Artistically, Snapchat allows users to send pictures or videos that can be edited or drawn on to be shared with others. Instagram gives users the ability to use photography and photo editing skills to share important moments with their followers. Both apps have platforms within them that allow users to read or learn about past and current events. An article written about Snapchat by cyberwise, run by Fielding Graduate University, talks about psychological benefits of Snapchat and the educational and artistic values of the app both came up. They say, “Teens prefer to learn through social media because it is fun and easy.”   

Social Media also helps teens to develop better social skills. ReachOut.com did an article on the benefits of Social Media, and their study showed that teenagers who had apps such as Instagram or Snapchat, had more advanced social skills. They write, “Being socially connected is very important for the psychological development of your child and in this day and age, and the online environment is where they get a lot of that.”  Social Media is a way for your children to connect with others without the social pressure that talking in person adds. These social skills can also help with face-to-face interactions.

Of course, Social Media has its downsides. It can contain Cyber-bullying, have added social pressure, and it can decrease face-to-face social skills. All of these are very serious problems facing the teenagers of our world today. But given the current situation we are facing, I believe that letting teenagers be social online will have a greater effect on them than keeping them from using Social Media because of its downsides. 

Teenagers are one of the most confused age groups. We have to start thinking about our future, how we do in school, sports, extra curriculars, and more. The Covid-19 virus ruining our daily schedule could not have come at a worse time in our lives. No one should have to deal with a global pandemic, but we have to play with the cards we are dealt. Allowing teens to communicate with their friends is something that will make quarantining a bit easier, and social media is a very helpful way to let that happen.