“The Girl on the Other Side” by Inspired Spaghetti

My trembling eyes struggle to make out the distressed figure staring back at me. I strive to understand why, a mirror, something whose outcome should be so predictable, fails to show me any truth every time I come into its view. My fingertips smear the reflection as I so desperately try to make a connection with the girl on the other side. With once clench of a fist and strong hit forward; she could disappear in seconds. Her existence lost into the small shards of glass stuck between my bleeding fingers, but destroying her would not be a solution to my problems. The girl on the other side would still haunt me in screen doors, car windows, or the shiny part of my dinner spoon, she will find a way to make me remember her pained face.

Yes, we may bare the same forehead scar from falling down the stairs at age two or the long brown hair desperately in need of a trim, but her eyes tell me different. Her eyes speak a truth, about true struggle, one that I thought I hid well from the world. Maybe the absence of truth, the one that angered me so greatly, was there the whole time, but I chose to ignore it. That is the hard thing about a reflection; it is shows us so much about ourselves, and it is scary.

I start to notice all my flaws that make up the reflection; the dark circles under my eyes, my chapped lips, or the scars of my acne, I am very far from perfect. But I also start to notice all the many other things about me; the smile lines from funny jokes, or the highlights of my hair from days in the sun, these things are apart of me too--not perfect but still beautiful. With the thought of this, I start to see a grin appear on the girl in front of me. I start to realize that seeing the beauties in the reflection before me, help ease the pain of all the flaws I perceive to have.

As time passes, I understand why she stands before me; her presence aids me in understanding who I am. I realize my internal struggles make me prone to an overwhelming amount of ignorance, allowing me to doubt my own reflection, but I am inclined to entertain the possibility that the truth I had doubted to exist can be easily found by the flaws I found about the girl on the other side.

“Solace in Pusillanimous Service” by Hummingbird

Americans have a tendency to find solace in the idea that they are helping people or doing something for a better cause; you see it all the time, plastered all over morning television news and popping up as notifications on expensive phones. “US to Send Aid to Puerto Rico” or “US Troops to Donate Thousands to Struggling African Countries”. The United States is built off of the ideal that it is the duty of the nation to aid other countries- however, have you noticed that this civic duty is only provided to areas that are presumably weaker than the US itself? Let us think of the 2016 terrorist attack in Nice, France. When 87 people were killed due a mass shooting, the United States offered no support except than keeping France within their prayers. Same thing for the May 2017 Manchester terrorist attack; between 250-520 people were injured or killed as a result, and the US merely offered prayers or well-wishes instead of legitimate aid in terms of supplies or reinforcement. The US believes that helping others is heroic and worthy of utmost praise, so why hasn’t the country legitimately helped its allies?

Let us now remember the 2010 Haitian earthquake. Immediately did the United States spring into action; sending countless troops to Haiti and creating nationwide fundraisers to raise money for the country. Citizens took pity on Haitians; sending over money, food, clothing, and other helpful resources over to organizations that promised to aid the struggling country. This, however, contrasts heavily with the prayer-oriented aid that the United States had against its allies 6 and 7 years later. The US took action for Haiti because it saw a struggling country, thus felt the need to swoop in and correct-the-wrong by sending over everything and everyone it could afford to send over. While the US masqueraded its arrogance with promises of saving Haitians from poverty, starvation, and disease, the country was realistically taking the resources given to them by the citizens and using them all for the country itself. Besides, has anyone actually seen coverage of the remaining Red Cross supplies being delivered to Haiti? Has anyone heard any progress of the country’s development aside from political turmoil, discourse and further poverty? If the US is so adamant on aiding other nations and sweeping them up from the possibility of ruin, then why has the state of Haiti only worsened since 2010?

Essentially, the solace from this perceived aid comes from the idea that the US is helping somebody somewhere. This country cares not of where the supplies go or what the final impact of their targeted “help” is, but the idea of help is what throws coal into the fiery arrogance the US contains. As long as the country can visually present itself as helping others, therefore the state of the country is stable and citizens can once again find solace in perceived heroism.

December 2017 Statistics Report

November 2017 Statistics Report

"Bending the Truth" by Genghis

Growing up with strict parents I have learned two vital tools. To improvise, and to bend the truth. And by bend the truth, I mean just that; as lying has a different connotation. Simply what I mean is that I’ll always tell the truth however at times I won’t be very specific or I’ll withhold information I’d otherwise specify. I don’t do it because I want to, rather it’s out of necessity. As an only, first generation child, my parents are obligated to be as overprotective as they are. And I appreciate that, I know that they restrict me to protect me, and at the end of the day it's because they care about me. But, it can be hard to breathe with that amount of restriction.

The main reason their restrictions bother me is that it prevents me from making stupid mistakes. Mistakes that I need in order to mature and never make when I’m older. Most of my friends honestly can’t fathom that I’ve never had a sleepover or been paintballing.

I remember the first time I bent the truth to get out of the house. I had to stay after school for something I can’t remember, however the teacher was not there. I decided to go downstairs and just wait for my ride. I met a couple of friends there. They had invited me earlier in the week to go see a movie with them, Now You See Me 2. They knew my situation, but figured to ask anyways in case I was somehow allowed to. Of course I tested my luck and asked for permission, to which my dad replied, “No” without hesitation. They informed me about how they were waiting for their ride, a friend’s older brother, to pick them up. I then thought about it. I really wanted to go. It wasn’t because it was a cool movie, it wasn’t because I wanted to rebel. It was because I felt that I needed more experiences in my life. I wanted to be social but my parent’s rules forced me into being an introvert. So I made the most important decision of my life, to make my own decisions and go with my gut. Instead of texting my Dad that I was done, I told him I would finish at 5:00PM. I then went with them, that warm, June day to see a movie. I still have the ticket, and since that day I have collected every movie ticket in my wallet. Not only did that movie mean a great deal to me in terms of personal development, it was the last movie I got to see with my close friend Hamza who passed away two months later. Since then, movies with friends has been much more meaningful to me personally.

Since then, my parents have become much more lenient. My dad tells me his main concern was that he did not trust teen drivers and did not want to risk me getting into a car accident. Since I have a car and license now, my parents rarely say no. Of course they still restrict me from driving at night and driving my friends, I know they do it for my safety. And for the meantime, I’ll take what I can get and not be a brat.

"Of Hope" by Lucky

Hope is like the sun’s light.  Hope causes happiness at the thought of a positive goal, like the sunlight making the land shine with brightness. Hope can always be found, just as there is always sunlight beaming down on some part of the earth. Hope is not always apparent, and often even hard to find in this modern world. However, hope is important because it has the power to bring people together among chaos, and even strengthen them with a renewed sense of needed change. Hope is as strong as fire when first ignited, it inspires people to keep going. It may be true that trying to stay hopeful in the 21st century can be like trying to stay positive about our current president, one tweet after another. Hope may become hard to hold on to, especially during a failed leadership and a country of frustrated citizens. Hope is sometimes hard to find in extreme measures such as these, but can always be found even as hate is spread as fast as darkness of the night. The sun’s light will always be present, somewhere around the globe, even if it is not readily visible. Shady spots of overlapping trees, and dark storm clouds may temporarily block this light, but the light is still there. Hope is not always easy to come by, but is always there for someone who is really willing to search for it. Hope is like a mirror, people see what they want to see, and those who wish to stay positive are able to maintain hope. Hope is important because it gives people the positivity they need to overcome challenges of this modern world. Hope becomes as important as the freedom of an individual, seen in times of despair, when the motivation to keep going becomes significantly difficult to keep. People shipping their own blankets and food to families who need the supplies more in the flooded swamp of Texas, or praying for others grieving from a loss in Las Vegas exemplify hope’s importance. During tragedies such as Hurricane Harvey, or the Las Vegas shooting, hope is important because it brings people together and strengthens them to face what needs to change in the future. Hope is as important as a blanket to a newborn baby, it provides support and warmth.

"The Beehive" by Another Radio

Only after taking a short nap on the rock did I notice the beehive. It hung a fair distance from where I rested, so I didn’t budge as I recognized its presence. I saw the bees, buzzing and flying in and out the hive, seemingly endless work to be done. It repeated a pattern that had no end; leave the hive, collect as much nectar as your fluffy bodies can hold, come back to the hive and dump it all, restart. My mind, for some reason, say this as a high score challenge all bees compete in in a endless game mode. I shut my eyes and thought to myself, “Dude, you’re kidding me right? Just take a break from videogames for once, jeez. Can’t you think of anything else when you’re outside?”  I rolled of the stone and flopped onto the grass-filled floor. The cool cordillera winds flew through the leaves and slightly lifted my dark hair, spreading specks of dust and coal. The Bolivian weather was usually like this, and I began to appreciate the beehive my mind had managed to create before me. Of course, no bees would live here, less in my backyard. This looks like it came straight out of my cousin’s coloring book, with its messy mustard yellow and simple design. The bees were no different, and I tried to make the vision go away. At last, the hive slowly faded and I awoke from my daydream; back in the mountainous city of La Paz, Bolivia. Home.

I got up and went back inside, believing that enough fresh air was taken and it was time to leave. The small apartment-house where I lived with my parents was small, but seemed nice. Flopping again on my bed, I began my homework once more. The Spanish words on the page that had once baffled me now seemed common. School seemed easy, mainly since I was a good student with good habits and had a good family and possibly a good future, something that other Bolivians could only dream of. I felt like a master of two worlds as I breezed through the English assignment; having been born in the U.S. and having Bolivian family was a true benefit that would serve me for the rest of my life. Most of these things passed over my head and my blissful innocence blocked all these advantages. My parents worked hard, I went to a respected, expensive and exclusive school, and I had lots of family. I never knew why we had moved in the first place, what happened with my brother, my parents’ struggles to constantly give me and my brother what we needed, the protests in the streets, the anger in the country; all I knew is that I went to this cool school and lived a nice life with video games. Only when I became more mature did I see all these things and it left me dumbfounded. Was this indifference of my surroundings or innocence of the situations? So many things were revolving around me, but my mind and soul had been sold to Pokemon, Nintendo, and schoolwork.

Homework having been finished, I went to my 3DS, pressed the power button, and played away at Pokemon. Besides reaching out for some popcorn, I spent the rest of the day playing until my dad arrived home. We had dinner, and I went to sleep. That was my usual day, uneventful, yet somewhat enjoyable. Even though I wasn’t born here, I felt that Bolivia was my home, place of birth. Partially because I felt that that was where my life began and where my oldest memories lay. The mountain breeze blew once more through the windows, beginning the chilly night. Spot, my half-wolf, half-something-else dog, barked once, and fell asleep. I too fell into slumber as I wondered how the next day would be, ignorant of the turmoil happening elsewhere and the possible throwing of dynamite onto the streets or into a building.