"This I Believe: A Ride to Remember" by Patrick V

This December, Advanced Composition students studied, wrote, and recorded audio essays. Students wrote and recorded their own "This I Believe" essays inspired by the weekly This I Believe Podcast. While we're publishing the text of each essay below, we strongly encourage you to listen to each student's audio essay for a more intimate experience.

It was a hot summer afternoon, and my coach had just told us to start warming up. It was a sweaty day, but it didn’t bother me. I knew what I needed to do. I knew that in my heart I took the necessary steps toward making it as far as we did: the district tournament. It was all simply just another game. The game had never changed, but I did.

My dad told me, “I love you, and I'm so proud of what you have accomplished, now go have fun." My dad came to all of my games and whether we won or lost, he would talk baseball to me the whole car ride home. Baseball was our bond, despite having to live a whole world away from my dad.

Baseball was never something I hated. It was something I knew I could be great at. I would practice baseball with my dad any free time I would get.It’s rough not having a dad around all the time. I will never forget the car ride home from that last district tournament and even though we lost and my hopes for a longer summer baseball season were crushed, that car ride home is something I will cherish forever, and with that, it taught me a life lesson I continue to implement to this day.

In that car ride home, my dad said to me, "Kid, that was a rough game and I'm sure you know that, what I want to tell you is that, you gave it your all, you put best foot forward and came up short. But, you practiced hard and you took care of what you needed to, and you did your part, and there is no shame in that, your character is how you hold yourself at this moment, right here, and right now. All I know, is you sure played one heck of a game kid." I was pretty distraught from that game and I was not necessarily the happiest fellow. From that car ride with my dad, I learned perseverance. Being able to keep moving forward and grinding along, even when things get hard or tough. Even though I live without a dad and only get to see him on the weekends, have learned to persevere and keep moving forward in everything I do. This is what I believe in.

"This I Believe: Mac and Cheese" by Jaiden

This December, Advanced Composition students studied, wrote, and recorded audio essays. Students wrote and recorded their own "This I Believe" essays inspired by the weekly This I Believe Podcast. While we're publishing the text of each essay below, we strongly encourage you to listen to each student's audio essay for a more intimate experience

As I grew up, I bounced from my mother's house to my father's house. Every other weekend I was shipped off to my father's house. Being an introvert, it was a very hectic and annoying schedule for me. I didn't like to leave the comfort of my home. My parents have been separated since I was three, so I was used to the constant moving. On the weekends that I was with my father, he sensed my hostility. He did everything he could to make me feel comfortable. Most of these things were extravagant. He wanted to go places every weekend. That didn't impress my young mind. I just wanted to stay indoors and play with toys.

Finally, my father gave up and he retreated to more modest ways. Every Saturday we would stay in his small, cramped apartment and watch a movie. Our favorites were Dumb and Dumber and anything that had Adam Sandler in it. To go along with our A1 movies, we had a 5-star meal. Usually, we ate mac and cheese or pizza. My dad was a very health-conscious man. Every time we were together we always knew that we were going to watch these movies with our special dinner. So, after a few weekends, we trademarked these acts as our own little routine.

When I was only 11, my father passed away. It changed my life completely. I went from a young happy child to someone that was fatherless. The mourning period was long and vicious, but while I was mourning, I went back to the routines that comforted me when he was alive. They made me feel secure. 

I believe in the power that routines have. By adding small routines to our daily lives we can become more comfortable with everything we do. When we come home we fall into our simple but important routines like taking off your shoes at the door, hanging up your keys, and changing from your work clothes. You can just feel the stress lift off of your shoulders, and that's how I felt every times I was with my father. These routines can make us feel safe and stress free. When I begin our routine, it feels like I get a giant hug from my father. I just feel safe.

While I was grieving after my father's death, I always went back to these routines. In a way, it felt like it sped up the entire grieving process. It made me feel like he was with me in spirit and this made me feel happy as I could be in that point and time in my life. Somehow, I could feel him laughing at the part in Dumb and Dumber when Jim Carrey and Jeff Daniels arrive to the hotel in ridiculous outfits. It just feels like his soul is trapped inside our routine, and that's good. It's amazing how something so small as a movie and a pot of mac and cheese made me feel so happy, and still continues to make me feel that way. After that, I knew why people called it comfort food. It just goes to show how much routines impact us. The smaller the routine, the larger the impact.

"This I Believe: A Different Kind of Princess" by Nina

This December, Advanced Composition students studied, wrote, and recorded audio essays. Students wrote and recorded their own "This I Believe" essays inspired by the weekly This I Believe Podcast. While we're publishing the text of each essay below, we strongly encourage you to listen to each student's audio essay for a more intimate experience.

Growing up, my childhood was highly influenced by Disney films. The princesses and princes, the castles, the dresses; it was all a dream come true. I fantasized day and night about making fairy tales like those come to life. I dreamed about one day finding my Prince Charming and moving far, far away where he and I could live happily ever after, but that wasn't the case.

My childhood was a breeze. No cares in the world and free to feel and think whatever I wanted. There was no judgment and everyone got along. During elementary school, I was determined to live out my fairy tale fantasy. Seems foolish, I know, but at that time I was ignorant and gullible. I was under the impression that women were meant to find love at a young age. Once middle school came around, I was totally ready for love. I met this boy. He was tall, brown haired and blue eyed with a radiant smile. I knew I had found him; my one true love. When I confessed my love for him he responded with, "I'm sorry, but I don't like fat girls".

Numb. That’s what I was. That’s what I was feeling. It were those few words that broke my heart and scarred me for life. It had never occurred to me that my weight would be a factor in whether loving me was okay. Looking back, I'd always known the prince falling for the princess for her generosity and genuinely kind soul. After further observation, it was clear that every single princess that had been swept off her feet was not only kind and generous, but thin and beautiful.

Ever since that day, I'd question my whole belief system. What was beauty? Why am I not considered beautiful? My soul was crushed and I didn't know how to heal. I spent the rest of my middle school years trying to change my appearance. I experimented with all kinds of fashion styles and cosmetic products but that didn't change how I looked and felt underneath. I needed a drastic change. I tried working out, but I would begin to feel discouraged when I didn't see results. At this point, I was desperate. I began starving myself. I avoided eating at all costs and when I did, I'd forcefully vomit to rid my body of the empty carbs. Because of this sick obsession, I developed an eating disorder.

You may ask yourself, "How crazy would someone have to be to put their health in jeopardy"? Well, I acted without reasonable thinking and I didn't consider the subsequent consequences. It’s insane to think that because of one thing someone said to me 5 years ago, I’d be suffering from a long and life-threatening disorder. I was so infatuated with this idea of falling in love, that I blinded missed the actual meaning of it. What is love anyway? And why is it so damn appealing?  My definition back then was that regardless of your personality, you must be physically attractive in order to be loved. However, through the course of my disorder and treatment, I’ve learned that love is when you can be yourself, inside and out, and that special someone will appreciate you for being you.

I had always thought that if I had a beautiful face and a thinner body figure, then I’d find someone to love me, but I was completely wrong. Today, I am a 17 year old recovering bulimic and I believe that, while I’m not the thinnest girl in the world, I still deserve a happily ever after. I battled through some of the toughest obstacles anyone could ever endure in a lifetime, but it’s made me who I am and I’m grateful for it everyday. And even though I may never find my prince charming, or live in a palace far, far away, my life had always kind of been a fairy tale.  It’s a different Disney story and I’m a different kind of princess.

"We Call it Making Memories" by Catfish

Done up like a cigarette
laying burnt out in the streets
Only face what's in our head
We call it making memories
Living for colors
and dying for a taste
Prayers from our mothers
but we drift religion to waste
Yet in spite of our sins
we still look to the stars
we're already up there with them
polluted in our brains, but cosmic in our hearts
And we indulge this
with trembling gasps
from the aimless miss
to the climactic collapse
You say "I'm scared"
I am too
but we're courageous on a dare
and I revel with you

"The Colors of my Life" by Ann Onimous

Red is my war paint

The nail polish I wear

When I mean business.

Orange is the juice

I only have when on trips

No one else likes it.

Yellow is the sun

That taught me the lesson that

What you love can hurt.

Green is my back yard

Lush with clovers and hastas

And our maple tree.

Blue are the oceans

Atlantic and Pacific

I will cross again.

Purple is the bruise

From when I ran and I tripped

Remember caution.

Pink is the flower,

My hibiscus, which reminds

Me of Hawaii.

Brown is the chocolate

That fills my mouth with sweetness

As I share with friends.

Black is my old life

Faded away to nothing

With the girl I was.

White is my future

Nothing but a blank canvas

Waiting for colors.

"Baby Steps" by Wesley Meeks

This whole experience is scary new.

Your life is changing and you’re not sure what to expect.

She’s small swaddled in pink and staring at you

And you know raising her will be your hardest test.

Now she can walk and talk and sing

She’s getting bigger and growing all the time.

You’re her hero, her best friend, her everything

But someday it won’t just be all nursery rhymes

Years go by and you’re always there

You teach her right from wrong.

Her burdens aren’t just hers to bear

And you nurture her and make her strong.

You comfort her in times of hardship

And rejoice in her success.

You instill in her patience, independence, and leadership

And assure her she is perfect even if she feels like a mess.

She’s now a young lady.

Under your guidance she came into her own.

She’s no longer just a baby

Just look at how much she has grown.

Her senior year has finally arrived.

Acceptance letters trickle in one by one.

High school is almost over now; she survived

And you are so proud of all she’s done.

But now it’s the day you’ve been dreading

 It has finally appeared.

All along this is where her life’s been heading.

She’s ready to leave home just like you’ve feared.

Leaving her is the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do

And you try not to let that show.

You are scared to say goodbye – she is too.

But it’s time to let her go.

"Salvation" by Bear Force One

Many a time have I induced my father’s ire;

I consistently refuse to ever give in to his desire.

“One day you’ll be just like me boy,” he affirms to himself.

Desperately hoping sins of the father really do become sins of the son.

Many a time have I induced my father’s hate;

Perhaps it’s true that I really will become nothing at this rate.

Broken bottles, smoldering filters, impulsive insults, and derisive glares

Provide a soundtrack and background to a nightmare that seems never-ending.

Many a time have I induced my father’s disgust;

My honest wishes for the future only lead to further distrust.

“You can change dad; you have it in you,” I encouragingly whisper to myself.

But all that courage dissipates when I see him come home every night, bleary eyed.

Many a time have I induced my father’s regret;

He stares at me like some part of the past he wants to forget.

Though his body may ache and quake and his lungs wheeze and seize,

His face only shows true anguish whenever his calls back home are left ringing.

Many a time have I induced my father’s affection;

He announces to me over and over how I’m his path to absolution.

However, did you ever truly love me father?

Did I ever truly love you?  

"17" by Bartholomew Stewart

Seventeen. It’s an awfully weird number to write about, but here I am writing about it anyways. Seventeen. Numbers have different meanings in different walks of life. In chemistry, it represents the atomic number for chlorine. On the football team, that’s Jack’s number. Speaking for myself, numbers are interesting; even though some might say, “So what, I’ve been able to count since Kindergarten?” Numbers are so interesting because they represent so many diverse things. Mathematically, numbers can represent vast and enormous unknown quantities. Conversely, they could represent quantities so minute that they bring into question whether or not they are even significant at all. Decimals, fractions, rational numbers, irrational numbers. Whole numbers, natural numbers, integers. The list goes on and on.

Not only do numbers represent an infinite number of quantities, but there also an infinite number of classifications for each set of numbers. All numbers are significant, no matter the magnitude. The zeroes and ones which make up binary code are the foundation of all computers, and are especially significant, because without those numbers, there would be no computers, DVD players, Netflix, and the Herndon Robotics Team definitely wouldn’t be able to create a fully functional 120-lbs robot. Numbers can be built upon, in order to understand highly advanced principles.

Numbers just go on and on and on. They define the world around us. Numbers are infinite in two ways: There is an infinite quantity of numbers, and there is an infinite quantity of numbers between each of those numbers. For example, there are an infinite number of values between one and two. Numbers define us, and everything around us. So, the next time you find yourself, or someone you know cursing numbers, or their math class, just think: “What would I do without them?”

"Sand" by Silver

A life full of sand

As the baby is born

A grain drops

with the first laugh

The mother holds her child

Grains slipping carelessly

There are millions left

Millions of moments

to be lived

The child blows out two candles

on her second year

Slipping sand

The first time she falls off her bike

Her first day of school

Time spent with the family

Moments pass

Sand slips

Her first kiss

Her first heartbreak

Her first party

Sand has covered the bottom

She applies to college

Graduates

and moves away

Slipping steadily

Her mother’s sand runs out

and in her devastation

she loses sand

She finds new love

and gets married

and has a baby boy

with a life full of sand

She wishes that there

could be a stopper

on her sand

She wants to freeze time

and live forever in the moment

of happiness with her son

But sand falls

Slowly she ages

as she watches her son grow up

Her sand is almost out

It seems to slip more quickly now

Now that she wants it the most

Her first grandchild is born

She and her husband retire

Sand slips

Holding hands

Sand slips

Watching the ocean outside

Sand drains

Five grains of sand left

Fall to the bottom

Four left

Three left

She says goodbye

Two left

She closes her eyes

One left

Her last breath

Her hourglass of life

is flipped

and she is reborn

With a life full of sand

Ahead of her.

"Insecurities" by L

We all have insecurities

whether they be the size of your thighs or the color of your eyes,

your face, or how you feel so out of place.

We all need to learn to accept our flaws,

to realize that people don’t stare at your “unruly” hair,

and they don’t care if your complexion is fair.

We are all beautiful in our own way,

those who love us will make our opinions sway

so that one day we will say we are beautiful,

that we are useful and forever youthful.

We will love ourselves, and teach others to accept themselves

and maybe one day, we will all learn to love ourselves.

Though we all may bawl and long to fit in,

we all have insecurities.

"My Earliest Memory," by Victoria Lemmings

My earliest memory is of sitting on my father’s lap in the house I grew up in, just down the street from the house in which I live now. We were sitting in the front living room on our squishy turquoise couch. I used to love that couch just because of its color- no house I had ever been in had a couch as unique as mine. I used to sit on my dad’s lap in that front room and listen as he read me picture books and stories. The best time of day to do this was always in the morning because we had these thin, cream-colored curtains. As the sun would shine into the wide windows, the curtains would send yellowish beams of light all over the living room. I used to love bathing in that light because it was so warm and comfortable. Paired with the strong feel of my dad’s arm around me, it was bliss.

            I remember one time we were reading a book about a teacher. In the story, she read to her class and taught them arithmetic and history. Once, I asked by dad, “How did she become a teacher? Who decides she’s gonna be a teacher?” So young and so naïve, I didn’t understand how people found their job or decided their place in the world. I remember, clear as day, that my dad chuckled and told me, “She is the one who decides she’s going to be a teacher. Just like you will decide what you want to be one day. You can be anything in the world.”

            As a four year old (or however old I was at the time), this struck me as quite odd. I was too young to make the decision of what I wanted to eat for dinner, let alone what my job would be one day. I recall being a little bit confused, but I accepted it. As I grew up in that house, a lot of the memories I associate with my youth include being in that living room. But I don’t remember anything better than when my dad told me I could be anything I wanted when I grew up.

            Now, my seventeen year old self is receiving letters from colleges in the mail, visiting universities, and thinking about what majors I might go into. The whole process is quite stressful and extremely overwhelming. However, through it all, my dad still has the same wise words that he had when I was a little kid. He insists to me that I can do whatever I set my mind to. If I want to become a doctor, I am capable of that. If I want to become a world traveler, I am capable of that, too. He reassures me daily that I have all the opportunity in the world. Even though so much has changed, my dad’s wisdom hasn’t. Just like the teacher in my childhood story book, I know I am the driver of my own destiny, and I find that very comforting- almost as comforting as sitting on my dad’s lap in the living room just reading a book. 

"On Growing Up" by Indigo

As we grow in age our anxieties grow with us, with life becoming a constant up and down. There are too many aspects for the human mind to comprehend at once. Each of the challenges we go through are spread throughout our lives, being pushed upon us one by one, year by year as new obstacles, with the next one waiting in line just ahead. Yet all of our worries and frustrations are unique to our being and, because life is a sacred thing, the majority of us want to succeed to our full potential, in the end wishing to have conquered the obstacles thrown at us.

For a person like myself, I am constantly thinking of tomorrow and never today. I live in a world where all that amuses me is the thought of growing up. In the mental block that I am currently having, I am certain that once I am older, my deepest anxiety will have faded. Though I assume that adulthood is harder than I make it out to be in my head, I can honestly say I am ready to go forth with it, with my life. We pair our youth and the most stressful years of our lives. For me, they are one in the same, but the majority of my peers will most likely disagree- but that is my point exactly.

           With their priorities to stay young forever, we differ in that I prioritize in growing older, where the concern is not what is happening during the upcoming weekend but what could be happening in this very moment of my adulthood. I constantly worry and stress as I search for the answer to where I will be ten years from now. Will I have found happiness by then; will I have married and started a loving family that will grow and prosper surely on the love and nutrients I give them? With the severe lack of interest I have in my youth, it is troubling to find motivation to be like and apply myself to be surrounded by peers my age. I simply seek to be in a position where I am able to adjust to my surroundings knowing that, good or bad, this is where God intended me to be, and with my ambition, I believe I will do great things, as a wife, as a mother, and a friend. The goals we set for ourselves are original to our being and my goal is to grow up and leave my anxiety behind and finally be able to live in the moment as a grown woman.

"Hogwarts* (Midnight Writing)" by Percival Brendan Noble the Third

*Note: The name of the university in this essay has been changed. The writer didn't actually apply to Hogwarts.

Writing is a very time-specific thing, isn't it? If I wrote this 6 hours ago, it would've probably sounded different. Not that I am ever going to know because this is another subject that will be discussed on another day. I avoided that tangent very smoothly. Kudos to me.

I didn't get accepted to Hogwarts.

It hasn't gotten to me. With its acceptance rates in the single digits, I wasn't surprised. I don't know if I'm ready to completely push the school from my mind though. There's always going to be a Hogwarts t-shirt hanging in my closet that I'm never going to be able to wear ever again. I haven’t worn it since some inexplicit time in June. I've steered clear of all college t-shirts in general. It just seemed too presumptuous and jinxing.

The Dean of Admissions was very kind in the wording. They weren't able to offer me admission. It seemed to take the responsibility away from me. And I really appreciate that, especially given the extra load of responsibility life has decided to dump on me. The Dean attached an article that he wrote for the Los Angeles Times. He had three main points. I honestly do believe that the article squashed any notions of self-pity before they even emerged.

First, I didn't not get in because I wasn't good enough. I might have been among the applicants who met the demands of a Hogwarts education. But, it was just a matter of how many people Hogwarts could actually accept. Hogwarts's graduating class size is 1700, but they have about 40000 applicants every year. According to my calculations, that's an acceptance rate of about 4.25%. That doesn't even round to 10. Second, transitioning from high school to college is a monumental turning point. Instead of focusing on where that happens, everyone, including myself, needs to focus on how it happens. If I spend the next four years lamenting on how I’m not at Hogwarts, I’ve wasted them. And third, "Education is what the student makes of it." [Insert proper citation that I simply cannot do at this late hour of 1 AM somewhere in this vicinity]. I may not have been granted admission, but that doesn't mean my chances of ever joining the Hogwarts family are over. I might just end up there someday doing who knows what. Or I might never go there. But, regardless of where I end up, my life will still be fulfilling.

I am disappointed that I won't be able to go there for my undergraduate years. I've always been able to see myself flourishing there. But, I'm not bothered by it, and I'm not going to let me be bothered by it. I'm not going to be broadcasting this news over social media, but I am definitely going to tell some of my close(r) friends. One could say that I am much more terrified of upcoming Christmas gatherings. And please no hugs. Hugs are reserved for extremely happy moments or bawling-my-eyes-out-in-sadness moments. This moment is neither of those two.

As you can probably tell, this post was just my progression of thought at 1 AM, as are all my other writings that are personal and about me. I seemed to have taken this first college letter quite well, and I hope my reactions stay this way.

Good night.

"Rebellion Against the Robot" by Adrenaline

When I was younger, I was just like everyone else. Everyone’s moms controlled them, picked their outfits, brushed their hair. We were all exactly what our moms wanted us to be, on the inside almost as much as on the outside. As we grew older other girls began making their own choices, but I was still a robot, unable to separate from my controller. They listened to the radio stations they wanted to listen to, wore the clothes they wanted to wear, and started to develop their own person. Most of all, they made vital life decisions on how to act. I stayed robotic, with my mother picking out my outfits, choosing what music and radio shows I listened to, small things like that. But it wasn’t only the small things. I remember in third grade I was having friend troubles, just little fights here and there, same as everyone else. When I told my mom, she gave me some advice, and just like a robot I followed that advice and proceeded to tell my three best friends that I could no longer be friends with them. They were great people and of course that didn’t last long but if they hadn’t been so forgiving then I might have really lost my closest friends! But even after that the robot still controlled me.

Throughout middle school I stayed robotic. I dated a couple boys and befriended people that my mother would have approved of. I got good grades and the classes that weren’t As or Bs I worked even harder and stayed after school for. I never talked back to teachers, even if they were rude to me. There was no “me”, there was only “Mini-her”.

By ninth grade I learned it was best to act nice in front of her, but I acted how I wanted when she left the room. I learned how to control my self so I looked like a robot on the outside, but I was a full on rebellion on the inside. I’d sit up straight, act normal. Remember my “Yes please”’s and “no thanks you”’s. It was weird because most people described their home a place to be themselves without a fear of judgement, when my home was just the opposite. When I’m home, I’m a scarecrow, and my mom is the farmer. Let me tell you just how uncomfortable that pole is.

"Perfection" by Robin Stinson

I’m an only child. I used to ask my parents why, and every time they would respond: “There was no need to try again, we got it right the first time. You’re perfect.” Then my mother would hug me and my father would give me a playful pat on the back. This should’ve put my mind at ease, but it would only make me think harder. Am I really perfect?

"Growing Pains" by The Weeks Review

"Oh that’s your SAT score?

That’s pretty low…"

"You’re in a lot of clubs, that’s great!

But you don’t have a leadership role."

"You’re lazy, you’re spoiled

and you haven’t faced any struggles or strife."

I’m only seventeen!

What do you expect me to do with my life!

"The Puzzle Growing Up" by Robin Stinson

I remember being a kid in elementary school, the pure simplicity of it. I lived in my own perfect little world where my biggest problem was whether or not I could go out and play before dinner. Nothing was a big deal. If I had a bad day, I would go to bed and wake the next morning having completely forgotten the travesty. I didn’t care that I wore mismatched ensembles or that I had goofy chopped bangs. All I needed to have fun was my best friend and my cul-de-sac.

            I remember being in middle school, going through the usual transitions. My world had gotten bigger. I had some more homework, and there were a lot of new people I had to meet. I learned that some of them didn’t want to be my friend. I was first chair in the middle school orchestra, and proud of it. I didn’t have to work too hard for it, I did my daily 20 minute practises and that would be that. When I had problems I’d get pretty upset. I accused myself of being worthless and not good enough. I noticed that I looked different from all the other girls. They wore tight jeans and tops showing off their assets and had shiny hair and wore makeup. I wore baggy shirts, cargo pants, and pulled my hair into a ponytail on a daily basis. On special occasions I wore lip balm. This began to bother me. And my cul-de-sac seemed a lot smaller.

            I remember being a freshman in high school. My world was suddenly huge, and college was now looming over my head like a formidable raincloud. On the first day of high school, a cute boy sat across from me. He was nice to me. I decided I wanted him to like me. I started paying more attention to my clothes and my hair, even putting on makeup. I was still in orchestra, but I was first chair of the second violin section and the music had gotten harder. 20 minute practises were no longer sufficient. Between school, boys, and violin, I was busy. I no longer wanted to play in my cul-de-sac. I just wanted to do all the things that I didn’t have enough money to do. I had so many more problems. Freshman year was tough.

            In life, you start as a carefree child, ready to take on the world. As you grow up, your innocence slowly melts away and you see all the hardships in life. Sometimes your outlook grows bleak. I know that mine certainly did; I was in a downward spiral.

            I remember how sophomore year changed me. I’m not sure what happened, but somehow I made friends. Good friends. They gave me something else to focus on. Even though school made life miserable sometimes, I knew that I had fun times with friends ahead to look forward to.

            Now, I’m a junior. I know that that doesn’t mean I’ve seen everything and it certainly doesn’t mean I know everything. But I do understand something important. I understand that life can be rough, but it can be fun as well. You can’t dwell on the bad parts, or else they’ll seem even worse. Instead, you need to focus on the good parts. Thinking about the good parts will carry you through the bad with less pain. The quality of your life doesn’t depend on what happens to you, it depends on how you deal with it. When you’re given a challenge do you step up and face it, or do you cry because life isn’t fair? That choice can make your life either great or miserable.

            Instead of looking back at myself in middle school and being ashamed of who I was, I’m thankful for it. I’m where I’ve gotten because of the choices that person made. To tell you the truth, I’m happy with my life right now and I wouldn’t have wanted it to turn out any other way.