One plus one doesn’t equal two. I’m aware that mathematically, they equal two. But for me, growing up, one plus one equaled one.
Before I took my first wobbly steps on Roosevelt Ave, I was born to a single mother, whose shoes I’d see more than her face. Whether I was feeding koi fish at Baiyun Mountain or scootering down Woodhaven Boulevard, most of my childhood was spent at my grandmother’s feet. She read stories of monkeys who built treehouses weeks before monsoon season. She yelled at me for taking the goldfish out to “pet” it (he didn’t make it). At nine PM, my mother shuffled in, her heels clacking to the beat of a lullaby. She looked at the fish and shook her head, acting out of reflex. The body bag in hand, we flushed him down, where
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You could tell my brother was screaming as much as he could with his small little lungs. I quickly ran over to our tiny bathroom wondering what was going on. There you could see my little brother using all his force to hold up my mom who had fainted on our cement floor. Even with the two of us repeatedly yelling at her to wake up, her eyes stayed closed. I began to really worry. I ran over to her bedroom and scurried through my blanket looking for my phone. As my sister dialed 9-1-1, I ran back into the bathroom where my brother was sobbing. My sister had already called my aunts and cousins over. They were all trying to help wake her up. They called out her name multiple times. They also hovered rubbing alcohol under her nose, in hopes of her waking up. I let my brother know that everything was going to be fine and that the ambulance would be here in no time to help my mom. I was shaking as I sat next to my brother helping him hold up my mom. My older cousin took our spots and helped sit my mom up.
Put the gun down! Put the gun down! Pow Pow Pow. The gun shots cracked into the air as loud as thunder. One after another. We live day by day not knowing our end. In the blink of an eye our lives can be changed forever. Its life, yet even in knowing this we never expect tragedy to find us. We never expect it to affect our lives and the people we know and love. I’m going to share with you the day tragedy found my life.
We played a soccer game yesterday against Buhler, we beat them 5-1 our first win of the season. Unfortunately I got injured within like 5 minutes of the game, I sprained my ankle and it hurt really bad so I had to go out of the game for a little bit so the coach could wrap my ankle. After about 5 minutes of walking on it I started getting used to the pain. So the coach asked me if I was good to play, so I said yes. I ended up going back in with about 30 minutes left, so when I went back in coach put me as the striker which is the attacking position. Their team wasn’t so good so I ended up running a bunch because I’m fast and can produce chances. I got a couple of chances to score but didn’t get a goal, Juan Castillo got a goal and that basically ended the half. At half
When I was extended seven feet above the ground, I knew we had succeeded. My two bases were in front of me and my backspot was behind me. I heard the familiar counts of my backspot “one, two, three, four”, I bounced and pushed myself up into my bases waiting hands, “five, six, seven, eight”, I straightened as my bases lifted me up to chest level. I locked my knees and stayed tight. I put on a smile and looked ahead. I felt my backspot release her hold on my ankles. I heard her voice once again, “extension, one, two, three, four”, I brought my hands down to my sides and focused on staying tight as I slowly rose, “five, six, seven, eight. I was all the way up. Then a few moments later I heard the counts as they brought me to chest level then back down to the ground. We had done it, we had hit the stunt and did an extension.
It was a cool November day, in the middle of Afghanistan. As a medic, I was sitting outside my make shift aid station with one of my buddies sharing stories about home. We hear a loud explosion right outside of the wire. I looked up and could see the cloud of smoke billowing up from about two hundred meters away. Not knowing how bad the situation was, I grabbed a few of my soldiers, our translator and my aid bag and ran straight to the smoke. When we got there, a group of civilians were huddled around a group of people who were yelling, screaming and crying. The translator found out that a group of three men and three children were walking around a field when one of the children stepped on a mine. One of my soldiers grabbed the mine
After Dallas had convinced everyone else that going to the bar and getting shit-faced was a good idea. She was forced to go as well. Seeing as how she was practically their baby sitters. Darry stayed behind with Johnny and Pony, not wanting them to go. While she was stuck with Dally, Steve, Two-Bit, and Soda. And she as the designated driver. They all looked old enough to be drinking, even though they weren't, so they got to go into the bar.
The reason i started painting and drawing in the first place is i found that i am truly happiest when creating. I thoroughly enjoy the struggle of drawing and painting scenes or ideas created through imagination. Creating art was never about money to me, it was about seeking happiness and a sense of purpose.
he first thing I did when I was first placed into my mom’s arm was wink. It was the most peculiar thing ever. She and my dad were both confused, thinking about what that wink would symbolize. Little did they know they had a daughter who would continue to stimulate their brains and logic. I was always an outgoing, awkward child. I was also very conscious of expensive things. I, as a “mature” 3 year old, once told my brother, “Anna (that’s Telugu for older brother), be careful! Is epensive( expensive on three year old speak)!” Every where I would go, I would say hello to every person that crossed my path; if a person didn't respond, I would pester them to the point that a response seemed like their only savior.
2013 was the year they said the world was going to end. People talked and talked about how in 2013 we were all going to die. It was all a big hoax, of course. It was all made on the news and on social media. I guess you could say it was true for me. 2013 was a devastating year; it was also the year I had to grow up a little bit more and become a man. I'm seventeen now, turning eighteen in two months; but I became a man on October 6th, 2013. It was by far the most heartbreaking new we had ever received, but it was also my time to become a man. I was just a child when I saw everything come falling down.
So far, the actions that I have began to take have only reprocessed with one major
I believe in consistency. I feel that being consistent in whatever it is that you set out to do can add an immense amount of wealth to your life. I never realized how inconsistent I had been in accomplishing some goals that I set for myself until I endured the sudden loss of my grandmother last year. I saw what I was becoming, what I needed a do to go in a different direction and that I needed to be consistent in order to do so.
It was one of those accidental mornings where you know something is Distinct. My house felt different. Maybe it was because I was sleeping in my own bed instead of my mom's where I consistently spend my nights, Someone must have moved me in my sleep. Around this time, I was living with my mom and older brother in a small house near Walled Lake. I was almost scared to go look around, because it felt so odd. After minutes of questioning went by, I left my room. My mom, who was in the kitchen making breakfast, had some sort of glow like she just heard marvelous news.
The beliefs that I have are that with passion turns to motivation and get achievements from that motivation. Anything can turn into passion just from something you like to do. Through my experience I have learned that when doing something you enjoy it drives a passion and gives motivation to be better from that passion. From all of that passion you’re able to achieve a lot with that motivation.
Not one person knows everything about everything, but somehow you always get stuck having a conversation with that one person who claims they do. That person is called a “know it all”. They annoy me from the time they start talking up until my fist is down their throat.