My Hometown

Cultural Space Photo Essay My hometown, Temecula, covers 37.18 square miles and is located along the I-15/I215 freeway passage in Southwest California, just north of the San Diego County line. Temecula is 85 miles southeast of Los Angeles, 60 miles north of San Diego, 61 miles southeast of Orange County. From 2000-2010 the population there was an 84.11% increase and in recent years 2010-2015 the population increased by 10.10%. The largest population group falls between the ages of 45-54 years

My hometown of Winston-Salem, North Carolina is an industrial city built on tobacco, textiles manufacturing and Krispy Kreme donuts. In many ways, Winston is a relic of a South that I’ve never identified with — my parents are from D.C. and New Jersey, and they taught me to never put sugar in iced tea. Growing up, I didn’t understand how there could be 47 distinct country songs about a truck or why people panicked about having to drive on one inch of snow. More seriously, I resented the people who

Theme of Sacrifice in My Antonia and The Song of the Lark         A common trait for Willa Cather's characters is that they possess a certain talent or skill. This art usually controls the lives of these characters. According to critic Maxell Geismar, Cather's heroines who possess a skill often either do not marry or marry men whom they dominate; if they do marry the marriage is without excitement because their passion is invested in their art. In a sense, Geismar accuses Cather's heroines

The typical love story would start with the sun blaring down; rays of sunlight finding their way through the green leaves with heat prickling his skins like hot needles. It was to be expected, it was summer after all. The wooden bench was warm under his touch, and he was thankful that it wasn’t made from iron or else, he couldn’t sit there and wait. It was already near the end of August yet the summer heat seemed to be lingering longer than usual. Sweats started dripping down his back and the thin

was 12-12 in overtime against Cardinal Gibbons. This was my last game with my brothers, best friends, and a family I will cherish for the rest of my life. I not only let my teammates down, I let my family down. We lost against Cardinal Gibbons in the 2015 3A State Championship game 13-12 in overtime. When they scored their final goal I immediately dropped to my knees and began to sob, I was not upset that I lost, I was upset that I let my family down and that was the last time I would ever step on

wouldn’t take a genius to say who was on the other line. “Harry.” “And how exactly did you get my number?” I inquired and I could hear the smile that was growing on his face. “I get things, Gray. It is what I do.” God, it’s like I can also see him shrugging. Get what things? Phone numbers, or girls? I glared at myself, at my subconscious. “How do you get things, Styles?” I glanced up at the door, knowing my father was probably going to emerge any second. And I glanced again, feeling like I was having

do this anymore. It’s not healthy for me. I’m sorry.” I looked at him, my previously joy-filled face melted away into an expression of hurt confusion, brows tugging together tightly and tears building up in my eyes as I tried to process exactly what he meant. “Do what?” “This. The talking, the friendship, the love. It’s not real.” “But I love you,” I bawled, slowly dragging the back of my hand along my cheek to clear my face of tears, leaving a damp streak in its path . “I love you too, that’s

ONE Bruno is not dead. His voice still rings in my head, his scent of cacao and dirt still linger in my nose. I wish I could touch him and wrap my arms around torso, and tell him how sorry I am. But I cannot, I am a coward. I am afraid of looking at my son. I know that he is still around, I can feel him following me. I can feel his cold stare lurking behind me, I can feel the guilt he put upon me. Whenever you lose something, a necklace, your keys or whatever. Everyone tells you to look in the last

understood the definition of fear. To be victimised as the villain of the story. To be discriminated as the plague behind all creation’s problems. To be stereotyped as the face of the oppressors. The fear was so overwhelming and overpowering, as if my stomach was rotting away, with whatever dignity that remained of me being eaten by blood-thirsty parasites. I could only pray for the Earth beneath me to crack wide open and swallow me into an eternal abyss- away from this trembling terror. It was the

fairly, nice day. Work wasn’t to bad. My boss wasn’t on my tail for not getting him a paper on time. It was supper time when I got home. The food was already set out and the kids at the table when I walked in the door. Jane, 9 years old, had a book in her hand like normal. Billy, 4 years old, sat there picking at his scab. My husband came in with the last plate. Jason had been out of a job for 9 months now, so he was the stay at home mom for a little while. I set my bag down on our wooden table right