Autobiographical Incident

Dangerous Friends - Anonymous

It was the beginning of my freshman year of highschool and It was going great. My grades were high and steady and I was enjoying school. Right across the street from Rancho Cotate is a shopping center referred to as “The Square” where a bunch of kids hangout during lunch and after school. I've always been a very social person so I loved going to the square, I met a lot of cool people there. Some of these people changed my life for the worse and or the better. My whole life changed when I met a guy named Zach.

Zach was a senior in highschool when I was a freshman. I don't remember the exact words that were shared but we became acquainted through mutual friends. I remember the first time I ditched. Lunch had just ended and Zach and some other kids invited me to go smoke at a creek nearby. At this point I already smoked weed but I still valued school over smoking. Due to my urge to be accepted I decided to go. After the first time I kept doing it more and not just after lunch. All the periods I was missing started amassing missing work, which I just wasn't doing. This caused a lot of anxiety when I thought about my schooling at all so instead of fixing my school situation I just ignored it.

Eventually it got to the point where there would be days in a row where I just wouldn't go and then when I finally did go I would leave halfway through the day. My problems really started to escalate when we started going to a place called “H House”. H House was the house of one of zachs friends. The girls whose house it was had an older cousin who lived there who went to rancho before me. Through her cousin the house gained a reputation as a party house and she embraced it.

When I started going to H House I started drinking and stealing heavily. This combined with my attendance caused a lot of arguments between my mom and I. At the time I thought I knew a lot more than I truly did, I took zero responsibility for anything and yet I thought I was so grown. This all led to me leaving the house to try to go survive on my own. First I stayed at my friend Ricky’s house for a couple of weeks. His parents were nice but they didn't have much so I left. I didn't feel right living off of them so I tried to go back home.

Now when I say I tried unfortunately I do not mean I got sober, at least not yet. I was still doing all the same stuff stealing, drinking, and smoking all day. My stay at my house did not last long and within a couple weeks I ended up living at H House. Living there created some opportunities for me to make the worst decisions of my life and made them every single time. Everything stayed the same for a month or two, until more people started coming to the house. One day I met a guy named Isaac, who was also a senior and one with a raging drug addiction. I didn't know this at first as he was trying to get sober and had been for a month before I met him.

As Isaac and I got closer I learned a lot more about him. He is violent and parties hard, and at the time I didn't care. We hung out everyday, one night in particular when we were all partying he brought out a baggy. Up until this point I had never tried anything except for alcohol and weed, which is still bad considering I was 14. What he had in the bag was ecstasy, that night led to a long climax of suffering for me.

The next year and a half were really rough for me. I don't want to get into detail but events happened that changed my life. I truly believe that I got dangerously close to the point of no return, but deep down the whole time I knew better I had just lost my ways. One specific event that happened was really my wake up call. From that point on I've been sober , one year and five months. Besides a terrible nicotine addiction that I have been struggling to let go of. I would never suggest learning the way I did to anyone, but getting myself back on track took me reaching to places within myself that I didn't know even existed. I'm also now eternally grateful for everything that I have, and what I will be able to have. I found confidence in myself, got new hobbies, and made new friends. Most importantly I was able to rekindle my relationship with my parents which was in shambles.

I strive to always be a better version of my true self everyday. I also have a new found passion to really try to make a difference in the world. Hopefully on a large scale, but whatever it is I just want to help people believe in themselves so they don't have to learn the way I did, or anyway virtually close. Another important thing is I learned to not put my guard down with myself. It feels amazing to be back.

I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the walls, the shuddered windows that never block enough light, once again in a lonely and bland room. There’s no reason to not get up, I know this, and the church bell is ringing 2pm. Have I really been here that long? Is this how I’ve chosen to spend my time? I sit and stew in the silence, the dullness, the emptiness that is this horrible room and all of it’s grayness and think god, where has my youthful energy gone? And as much as I wish to just let the sheets swallow me whole, I get up, skip a shower for the third time that week, and I head downstairs.

It’s one of those better weeks, I find, despite the fact that it’s only getting colder, and the leaves are falling, and the flowers have long since wilted. It’s one of those better weeks because I’m not as exhausted, the cloudy haze clings tight to my mind, yet it’s something to be ignored today. I make my way to the kitchen, the tv is on, and mum must be in the garden. I feel ill, do we have to eat? That lovely, nagging, persistent voice asks. no, we’ll walk first. I decide after a moment of staring into a virtually empty pantry. I move on and put on shoes that are well loved, throw the satchel my sister had gifted me for a birthday I’ve forgotten, and move to the sliding door that leads to mum’s garden. Sure enough, there she works, uprooting grass where she plans to put rocks in. “Mum!” I call to her, she turns her attention to me, “I’m going out!” I alert her, and she nods “Alright, love you!” She responds easily, and that’s all that needs to be said, because soon I am out the front door.

The walk is more tortuous than it’s worth, being attacked on all sides by pollen and losing the motivation to continue walking as time goes on. It’s not until I reach the more overgrown part of the route that my mood begins to lift, nameless flowers of red and purple sprout from bushes twice my own height, trees that reach for the heavens, and houses situated quaintly in the wilderness claimed street, shaded from the sun and peaceful. It’s something to marvel at as I make my way towards town, and it’s nice for the small stretch that it lasts. Still, it’s gone too soon and I’m back to my melancholy, I end up buying a sandwich, and write a new entry into a stupid little notebook I keep on me. I return home and spend the rest of the day on the computer, turning in for the night at roughly 1am.

Now, a year later, I look back upon what was a near-daily routine, and wonder why I behaved in such a way. I still walk that stretch of the neighborhood, still find myself taking in every detail of life, and finding myself much calmer for it. When unreasonable anxiety comes to claim me, I walk. When the indescribable weight of life comes to set itself on my shoulders, I walk. I walk, and become a better, happier person each and every time. And I am still learning, still trying to become the best part of me, and I’ll get there, I know it. But for now, I will walk and I will think, because that seems to be one of the things I do best.

MUD DISASTER

I was late to class. I was in the 4th grade in a small elementary school. The earthy petrichor smell saturated the air. It was raining and chilly when I started jogging down the field; The mushy grass below my feet threatened to engulf and drown me.

I wrestled with the mud to keep my shoes on my feet. I dragged and lifted my knees, but it was like quicksand. I tried to avoid the wet areas of the field that only slowed me down. I could feel the rain starting to soak through my sweatshirt and the mud through my shoes and socks. I hate this rain! It’s ruining everything. I planned this outfit yesterday and now I can't believe I'm running to class in the rain through a muddy field! I pouted to myself. Then, as I reached the midpoint of the field I felt my energy renewed as I could now see the outline of the classroom building. At this moment I hated it. As I reached the end of the field I attempted to run to class but my leg was glued down to the grass. Oh great, I sarcastically thought. I looked back, tumbled forward, and fell on my side on a muddy grass puddle. I was soaked waist down plus my right elbow and hand that had cushioned the fall. I quickly picked myself up and continued to class.

The pavement was smooth and sturdy as I walked on it. I reached the classroom door, 10 minutes late. Okay breathe no one is going to notice, I whispered in efforts to console myself. I walked in noiselessly hoping to be invisible but the moment I passed the door frame everyone gasped. Silence. Then, laughter, booming laughter, fingers were pointed in my direction, then within the laughing commotion someone yelled.

“It looks like she rolled around in animal poop!” one of the girls in the front row yelled and laughed. She crossed her hands over her skinny midriff and hunched over in hysterical laughter.

All I could do was stare down at my feet which now looked like cement boots as the mud started hardening on my legs. Be strong, don't cry, don't cry, don't cry, I begged myself silently.

Finally, the teacher called out, “Class please silence! Jada, can you accompany Daisy to the office? They should have some spare clothes there.”

Jada was a shy black girl who was new to our school. I hadn't talked to her much but when I did she was sweet. I now noticed as I looked up that Jada hadn't been laughing when I stepped into class. She was just sitting silently in her chair. Jada and I wandered out of Ms. Johnson’s class and I started making my way to the main building walking in the rain with my head down.

It ceased raining where I was walking. I peered up and saw Jada’s soft smile as she shared her umbrella with me.

“Thank you, Jada,” I mumbled, holding back hot tears. Then I continued,

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Ok” she soothed.

“How come you didn't laugh when I showed up?”

“You were already late to class and I thought that if I were you I wouldn't like it if someone laughed at me."

The sun started to lift the fog and the clouds started to ease the rain. “That's very nice of you Jada. Thank you. Hey! I have an idea. I noticed that you always eat alone in the cafeteria. So, do I but do you want to join me for lunch today?”

Jada’s eyes shone luminous and the biggest smile I had ever seen smeared on her face,

“Oh, of course, I would love having lunch with a friend!”

The day appeared to improve with every step we took towards the office. The sun's rays infiltrated the dark clouds and the puddles glistened and sparkled.

That day I learned two priceless lessons. First, that we can find real friends where you least expect them, and second that true friends add to our happiness during good times and they strengthen us during hard times. Friends can be very different from us in many ways but when we choose friends wisely we benefit ourselves.

Three Cups of Coffee

And in that moment there was a difference in ethnicity, language and culture, but not once did it become a barrier.

Waking up on a sunny Saturday morning, my 12-year-old plan had not been to drink coffee with our new neighbors. My family and I had been living in Santa Rosa for about a year and the house right next to us had always been empty. A few days prior, a woman with her small child had moved in like a sudden gust of wind. My mom had talked with her briefly and knew she was from Eritrea, spoke little English and was inviting us for coffee. I didn't want to go drink anything with anyone much less with someone I did not know.

Walking into our small kitchen, my mom was ready for the visit and it was just me who she was waiting for. I asked my mom if we really, really needed to go. I didn't see a point in meeting new people. I was thinking about playing with my sisters and eating breakfast. But no, I was bound to the coffee business and my mother would not change her mind about me coming. As I reluctantly started to slip on my sandals the nerves started to hit. I stopped putting on my shoes and turned to ask my mom,

¨Ma, what will we even talk about? Will she even understand us?¨ I didn't understand why our neighbor would invite us if she could speak fluent english. Wouldn't she be a little embarrassed?

¨Mija, remember I was once in the position where I couldn't speak English either. We´re just meeting her and welcoming her to the neighborhood...¨

¨Okay, ok.¨ I rudely interrupted, knowing my mom could talk for hours. ¨But no one ever does that anymore. If we welcomed every neighbor we would be drinking coffee almost every morning!¨

¨Ya ponte las chanclas!¨

I put on my sandals like she said and was ready to head out the door.

As we walked down our driveway I could see other cars parked outside our neighbors house. I slowed down a bit but my mom pulled me onward. We reached her front door where I could hear music and rapid talking but could not understand a word. My mother and I looked at each other one last time, then knocked on the door. As our neighbor opened the door, the smell of roasted coffee beans and an intoxicating smell of rich incense consumed my senses. She was a middle aged woman with sharp features and a small afro. She wore a white cotton dress that went all the way to her feet and a small veil like cloth hung from the back of her head. I noticed the tip of her fingers had been dipped in henna along with the rest of her hands, decorated beautifully with henna designs. Smelling a hint of jasmine as she gave us both a hug and invited us inside. As we walked in, I saw there were already two other women sitting on mats in the middle of her living room. The women were also wearing intricate white dresses that hide their knees and feet. Suddenly I felt self conscious of what I was wearing and crossed my arms. Where the women sat, a small, white, box-like stove sat in front of them. Other than the mini stove and a TV playing unrecognizable stringed music in the corner of the room, her house was empty. What stood out were all the pictures that lined her fireplace, smiling faces looked down at my serious expression. I smiled back. As my mom and I sat down next to the other ladies on the floor, I learned that her name was Almas. She sat on the opposite side of us, behind the little stove.

¨So good you come! Your mom very kind.¨ I was intrigued by the accent lining her lips and the few words that seemingly dropped out of every sentence.

Then I noticed the twelve, miniature, white ceramic cups. Almas served my mom a tiny cup of coffee from a round, brown pottery vase. The round vase rose into a thin neck, the tip of the vase being very thin and had some kind of bunched up wire filter inside. She poured the pungent smelling coffee into four of the cups in a rhythmic up-and-down motion, passed it to all the women in the circle and kept one herself. I waited for her to serve another for me but she never did. Almas looked at me.

¨No coffee for you, ok? Children no drink this.¨

I couldn't have coffee? Not even one sip? What did she mean by children because I did not consider myself very young. Feeling a little hurt, I simply folded my hands in my lap. The two women sitting on the other side of my mother started laughing. They said something to Almas I could not understand. I could feel a tingle in my cheeks blushing red.

¨Please drink¨ Almas said kindly to my mom, who said thank you and brough the little cup to her lips. My mothers eyes widened.

¨Wow Almas, it's very strong!¨

The women started laughing again. Almas began to tell us stories of her hometown, that all the women in the town would gather in one house and drink coffee, just like this. She said when she was younger, she remembered her mother taking part in harvesting this special coffee bean that would then be ground by hand and used in certain rituals and weddings. As she spoke she served another round of little cups and passed them, my mother gladly taking another. Then, Almas brought out a circular basket and placed it in front of the little white stove. Pulling up a plastic wrapping, I saw the biggest tortilla ever. The only difference was the bread-like consistency and tiny air bubbles on the top from when it was cooked. This she ripped with her hands and passed me a big piece. Taking a bite, it felt like eating the world's thinnest spong. It had little flavor but was strangely addictive. Absorbed in this new food, I had completely missed what the adults were talking about. Almas began to serve a third round of coffee.

¨Almas, two coffees is ok. It's very strong.¨ I looked up to see my mom putting her empty cup on a small tray where the rest of the cups were.

¨No, no, three cups we all drink.¨ Almas said smiling, passing my mom the third cup.

¨Has to be three.¨ I didn't understand. Why was she giving my mom another cup when she had already said no? And why couldn't I have some coffee? All I got was some flat bread. If I was with my family we would have all gotten the same things. Some time went by with Almas switching from her native tongue and then talkin with my mom. I started to focus on small things to pass time, the thin line of smoke coming from the burning incense, the dark room and how the TV was the only illuminance. Focusing on the music coming from the old TV, all I really heard were the distinct sounds of some type of pronounced stringed instrument. The taste of the bread still lingering in my mouth. The burnt bark smell from the coffee and Alma's sweet perfume mixed. All of these new elements charged my senses, making me disoriented and light headed. Once outside her house, walking back to mine almost felt like a dream. I don't remember much of the rest of the day or if we had even said goodbye, only the nervous pit in my stomach and the surviving feeling of uncertainty of the world.

Innocence still cursed through my veins that day. I didn't understand that outside of the knowledge in my culture and safe spot of my home, there was a difference. I hadn't understood the importance of experiencing different customs and Almas inviting us for coffee. Later, I learned that in Eritrean culture, people invite you for coffee when they have deep respect for you. It had been an honor to be invited to the gathering as a first time. I also learned that the third cup of coffee is a must, for it signifies the blessing or ¨to be blessed.¨ As for why kids don't drink coffee, that is still a mystery to me even today. Now, I realize that I had been confused leaving her home because her culture clashed completely with mine. I think it was somewhat of a turning point for me to be open minded to polarity. And I learned to love that ¨black and white.¨ The differences in someone's culture and traditions dont make one or the other wrong or bad. It simply is. From then, I was able to see every moment as learning and every culture as a gift to experience and celebrate the difference.

Nature, A Wonderful Gift

When I was younger, it didn’t matter to me what I did. I knew I would be outside with my family with a smile on my face. As every year went by, I realized that people had responsibilities and didn’t have all the time in the world. I was just a kid, and had all day to play and laugh, to run around and create. I still have memories from those wonderful days, before I had responsibilities of my own. Here are a few wonderful moments that I remember in nature as a child.

My sister and I were very creative. We would always find a way to cool off during the hot summer days. I didn’t have a care in the world, my only concern was that the day would end soon. I remember the light shining into our room when the curtains were open. When I wasn’t outside, I would sit on the floor and watch those tiny dust flakes fly in the air and try to catch them. I remember scraping my knees when climbing trees and hearing the lawn mowers early in the morning. Then my sister and I would stare at the discolored wood on the ceiling and try to make something of it. I woke up to my curtains opened and the bright morning light shining in my face. When we were playing in the yard, I remember feeling jealous when my sister was playing with the neighbor girl. She was the same age as my sister and they went to school together. I always wanted to be included in their fun and activities, and I always wanted my sister’s attention.

My sister had a tree that she would climb every day just to read and she built a small shelter out of it. It was a very narrow tree, with a small dip to climb on. Somehow she was able to support herself on the branch when she reached the top, and she would read for hours and hours. I never liked reading when I was little, but I was so disappointed that she wouldn’t come to play with me. I even went to my parents to ask her to come down. I wasn’t very good at being alone or relying on myself to use my imagination. Whenever I was bored, I would tell my dad and his response would never change. “Go use your imagination.” Although at the time I still didn’t know what to do, I appreciate what he meant by that. Kids these days only know how to lock themselves into technology and often end up miserable with how they live life. They no longer get a real childhood.

As I get older, I reflect on the days I spent in nature and how they benefited me so much. I was outside every day for the whole day, and was such a happy person. I still enjoy being outside and see how it can affect my mood in a tremendous way. When kids are cooped up in the house surrounded by darkness and boredom, their busy minds and energy are wasted. I am so thankful that I enjoyed my childhood filled with the beauty of nature.

Riding with nature

As I rode along the trail, I noticed the harsh contrast between nature and man. There were some paths that seemed less friendly to nature than others. The balance between the two elements was impaled by steel and brick, leaving one to fend off the other. My time in nature: I observe various trails during my bike rides, Discovering both man-made and natural architecture, and noticing a great imbalance between man and nature. It’s never too late to reflect and correct the disproportion in our society.

I ride on cold mornings and warm evenings at Spring Lake, Joe Rodota Trail

and Brush Creek Trail. The wind carried me and kept me on the path of my own creation. All my memories and thoughts flowed free to me and I felt the fog rolling off my head. It gave my reason for cycling; it gave me reasoning and purpose for my actions. I knew whenever I got on my bike, I would lose my being and join the greater force of nature around me.

“I always kept cycling and being in the great outdoors of nature’s home. However, over my adventures I have noticed the growing damage being done to everyone’s first home; the Earth itself”. I was able to open my eyes and witness the harsh differences around me. The contrasting peacefulness of nature, and pollution caused by man’s machines. The river now runs dry and the animals evacuate the dying wood. The rocks are not eroding any further from the water for there was none. The discovery of the dying nature and the shadows of its old self is disappearing and vanishing. Being replaced with the homes for man and machinery for fulfilling man’s greed. If one looked close enough they could see the old ways being replaced by a dark tower which shined through the night.

The cries of nature must be answered and man must repent for the harm done to mother nature. The clash of war is breaking out and there are no rules. Humans are suffering for their actions in forms of plagues and diseases; and are doing nothing to prevent further damage. Instead people are harming the forests and making the ecosystems worse. Everything needs a balance, and the balance is being impaled with a trident of brick and steel. A good balance can be seen over at Spring Lake where nature can spread its wings and emerge from it’s cave. The heavens and the earth are cleared and free to do whatever they want, growing or eroding. The importance of resetting this balance is essential or we may have to face green nature, water, and oceans being a legend that we carry within ourselves; rempenting our choices and learning from our mistakes and faults we made.

“Our options to stop the destruction of the environment is to go ahead and see the damage done and try to convince others that things need to change. We need an equilibrium point for us to meet with nature and reverse our devastating actions. Go outside and have a moment with nature. Connect by walking, riding a bike or just sitting in a grassy field. Have an experience with nature, have a curious incident with it”.

Eric Hansen

10/18/2021

Tammy Dier

English 11/12

Until Next Time

When I was in middle school at a school called Wright charter school I had no friends at the time. I always liked being alone. Being alone was better for me. I was never good at social skills. One day I was in class and noticed there was a new kid in my class. He was a regular sized kid with black hair and a little overweight. He was very embarrassed and shy.

He was alone at lunch on the first day and I was alone at lunch. But I was going to let someone else say hi to him and welcome him. Because once again I suck at social skills, however no one did so i went over and said “Hi what is your name” and he said “My name is Edwardo” in spanish and i said “Do you speak english” in spanish, he said no. At that time I could only speak a little spanish.

From that point on we started to become friends. That was the point that I realized it is nice to have one friend. I was still a semi translator and helped him with school. That went on for about a month then I realized at recess he started dispiring. I just figured that he was with some other friends or doing something else I didn't mind either way. Then he came to me a couple days later and said “hello Eric”. I was surprised because he said it i english. I was like, can you speak English now? He said “un poquito” I was like thats ok it's a start.

Every day he learned a new word and its meaning and he would come to me every day and tell me a new word. One day he came to me and said hot dog in a very happy and excited tone. He then went on to tell me what it ment. He said hot dogs are a food. He was so happy that he learned a sentence. I was happy for him too. From then on he learned new words and sentences, sentences that he could use in conversation opposed to the hot dog sentence. After a while my translating days came to an end. He knew enough English to get his point across.

He was talking to teachers and asking questions in english and he was meeting new friends and slowly forgot about me in a friend aspect. I didn't mind. I was happy that he was meeting new friends. I went back to being on my own again and keeping to myself. Edwardo was self-sufficient and didn't need my help any more. On graduation day he came up to me and said “I really want to thank you for all you did for me back in the day.” I was like wow that was fluent and smooth. I said “No problem, I'm glad I could help. I also noticed you are very fluent in English”. He said “ Yep I’m getting better every day” he held out his hand and said “farewell friend” And I said “ Until next time edwardo”.