Who am I?

“Who am I?” is the question I ask myself nearly every day as I get on the bus to high school in a city 45 minutes away by bus.

“Why am I here? What am I doing?”

I look at the questions that our teacher gives us–questions on basic things about ourselves. This is freshman year. You know no one, and you are no one.

I look at the first question: What is your name?

So far, so good.

What is your favorite color?

This is hard.

What is your favorite sport?


How do others describe you?

How would I know?

How do you describe yourself?

Uh… That’s what I want to know.

You see, I’m not like most of the other teenage kids. I don’t have a lot of friends. I didn’t come from some major prep school. I didn’t come from a super gangster school where fights were everywhere (as my friend described it). I didn’t even go to a well-known private school. I came from a private school–next to a public school–where my classmates and I were laughed at and made fun of us as we walked over there to take a friendly group picture. We stood in silence, taking their blows as we slowly died of shame and embarrassment inside. Continue reading



I finally got to do something besides study, study, work, and study! We went to the beach for about two days, and my sister and I immediately went into the ocean.

Sadly, we couldn’t go any more deeper than a few feet since, for some odd reason, the sand became elevated as you went farther. Anyways, my sister and I had some goggles on, and we looked down and found all these strange holes that reminded me of ant hills.

My sister told me these were from clams.

Clammy was a clam that my sister had about a year ago, but it died after a while. We headed for shore and looked at the other holes. We started digging at one with a shell, but after a couple minutes, the hole disappeared. There was no more clam. It went away somewhere.

We gave up and started swimming. I grab onto the sand to push myself forward since the waves kept pushing me. I stopped though, since I was bored and tired of swimming towards absolutely nothing. So I dug and dug and dug before I swam again.

My sister caught me and said I dug up two clams. I immediately swam away. Why? I have no idea. Continue reading

Summer Reading

Hey! What’s up? I haven’t had much to do this summer as the last one, where I got to do a lot of things and even got to take two of my younger cousins with me on a… long six-hour drive doing history summer homework.

Well, guess what, I have a ton of homework from English. I love literature and English–I really do–but summer reading makes me hate it. For some odd reason, I, a person who doesn’t like reading books, maybe even hating it, have had a natural talent in literature since who know’s how long. I also somewhat match college levels in grammatical structures since I was in seventh grade or even younger.

I do not understand, then, why I am terrible in science when I love science. Continue reading


It’s finally summer! I’ve been out of school since two o’clock on Thursday, and it was the weirdest and perhaps the scariest day of the school year.

With the seniors gone and lunch coming in two minutes or so, of course someone would pull of a silly stunt that evacuated the entire school for about thirty minutes!

Seriously though, I didn’t eat lunch.

But I did eat chips when I went on the bus! I’m so glad that summer vacation is here, but with all the summer reading and summer homework I have to do, it feels less of a vacation. And with multiple summer programs that are unevenly spaced, I will have less days of vacation and less days to work on the summer homework.

Why do teachers give summer homework? Well, it’s to reinforce knowledge and to make sure that you’re on the right path for the next school year.

Seriously? This summer homework is what’s making a third of my grade–the smallest class in the school–disappear. This summer homework is what makes us stay put instead of out somewhere else. If I knew the summer after seventh grade would be my last summer, I would have spent it a lot more wisely.

I know–a lot of other schools have summer homework. But I don’t see why it’s so important. Instead of spending time with my family and friends, I’ve been stuck in an abyss I call my room where I do homework all school year and all of summer vacation. Instead of having fun and “de-stressing,” as some of my classmates say, the stress just piles on and on and on.

As proof of my stress, I’ve been losing hair since last summer. It stopped for maybe a month, where I was super ahead of my classmates in homework, but I started losing hair again. It’s not healthy. A strand of my hair even turned white freshman year for completing a project in 2 AM since it counted as our final.

Nonetheless, I hope to have fun this summer “vacation”. I do, occasionally, get sidetracked anyway when I’m supposed to be reading and annotating. I even “accidentally” fell in the pool this morning and “accidentally” dragged my sister down with me when she has summer homework too.

Well, have a great summer! Hopefully it’s not going to be as boring as mine. I mean, come on, what’s more boring than doing homework during vacation? At least last summer I had time to volunteer at a hospital (amazing).

Magnet Schools

What if you lived in one place where everything was the same, and you were an outcast? Would you rather live in a single place with several different people but never blend in completely with one another?

“The United States is a melting pot.” I look at the sentence on the paper. What does this have to do with health professions–at all? I ask myself in my freshman health class.

After reading the entire paper, my teacher adds, “By the way, I don’t think the United States is a melting pot.”

“What’s that?” someone asks.

“You know,” our teacher explains, “it’s like a place that blends in a lot of cultures.”

“Oh,” someone else says. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

“No,” my teacher says, “not really. I think it hasn’t blended much. I think it’s more like a tossed salad. D–do you even understand?”

“I think so,” someone replies.

A tossed salad? Yes, the United States is a mix of some cultures, but do I believe it all blended to the point it’s called a “melting pot”? No. A tossed salad where not everything is mixed but somewhat together and considered one thing–yes.

Plus, a lot of things are different when you go to different places in the United States. The food is also a lot different. The accents are different. The environment itself is different. I mean, in some parts of the US, it’s snowing in winter, but in others, it’s blazing hot. In one area, it’s humid, in others, it’s dry–like, dry. There’s places with floods, but at the same times, there are areas with droughts.

But we’re not talking about environment–we’re talking about culture.

A lot of people come to the US, expecting some glamorous life, and do they get it? Meh, not really, or at least, not most of the time. I mean, my parents (who came in the late 1990s) are happy that they got a better life than where they were, but they’re sad that they’re separated. Also, we’re seen as a minority. I was all alone, and no one seemed to care. My classmates just kept to themselves. What’s funny is that the minority in one state isn’t the same as another. For example, the minority up north may be Hispanics, but down south? They make up a huge part–or at least where I’m from. There are, however, a lot of different cultures in the United States.

But I didn’t know that several years ago. Continue reading

What If?

“Mom, what if I want to become a psychologist?” I ask, expecting something  like, “Sure, of course,” but instead I get…

A scoff. A remark: “What? Rocky, there is no money in that!”

Even though that’s not what I wanted to be, it hurt me, broke me apart. That wish belongs to my cousin, who tells her mom that she’ll become a nurse.

My cousin just finished her second year in college, taking classes to become a psychologist. No one has found out but me, when she told me.

I was so happy when she said that. I was happy that she was aiming for something in life. I was happy that she found something to do in life–something I haven’t done yet.

But I wasn’t as happy when she said her mom doesn’t know. No, I was surprised.

So, thinking up a scene of where my cousin confesses to her mom about wanting to become a psychologist, I asked my mom (my cousin’s mom’s sister) what she would do if I was to become one.

This was only a make-up scenario. The real person–the real dreamer–would be crushed.

“Dad,” I ask, “what would you do if I became a psychologist?” Would both parents answer similarly?

“Fine,” my dad said, but he said it without emotion, without passion and without disappointment. “As long as you do good,” he adds.

“What?” my mom asks. “No, you will not become a psychologist. Just become a doctor–but not a psychologist. There’s no money there.”

Torn apart by my mother’s comments, I drop the subject.

My aunt originally wanted a dentist of her daughter, or a diabetic specialist, or even a nurse. What would she think now? There’s no way my aunt would accept her daughter’s decision.