Honors Writing
For second semester humanities honors I kept a journal which I wrote 10 pages in a week. It didn't matter what specifically I wrote about or if each writing piece was prefect. The point was to practice the habit of just writing. Sometimes I would write things I was proud of and other days I wouldn't feel very inspired. Here is a collection of my favorite story, poem, and thought.
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The Skinless Dear
Try to think back to a memory, a memory you had, far back as you can remember. Most of the time, it’s only a few things; an image, a feeling, or the taste of a piece of shrimp you still crave.
My oldest memory is tumbling down the twenty steps that led to my first house. I was four years old. I swear, the cold San Francisco breeze lured me to them, and seeing the front door wide open was a big welcome sign. My mom and dad made walking down the steps seem simple but those stairs were a mask to a trap full of scrapes and bruises. It was like that big red door held me in and spit me out. Before I knew it, I was tumbling down those stairs, looking up to the sky, then to the floor. Sky, floor, and again, and again. When my eyes met the steps, I remember being mesmerized for a split second. I vividly remember how they were black and white, and how they sparkled a bit. With a final thud, I laid dizzy and confused at the bottom.
I believed that memories are the most valuable things you possess. My childhood memories have always fascinated me. Nothing is more powerful than the memories created by a child's experiences. Such memories form the rest of your life. I can think of countless memories that made me who I am but certain ones really stick with me.
One of my most significant childhood memories occurred when I was five. One blistering hot New Orleans’ summer afternoon, my father took me on my first hike to an Indian reservation. We drove in my dad’s magnificent white 62’ Ford Galaxie. It was his pride and joy and the car I grew up in. He spent most of his free time working on it. My car seat sat upon the red leather interior. My legs stuck to the seat with the humidity. I remember how the sunlight filtered through the tall trees that lined the long windy road, and how they left splotches of light shining on my legs.
Once we arrived, I got out of the car and approached a glass case displaying artifacts from the native americans who previously lived there. I scanned over the misshapen pieces of rock and dried corn. Then, something caught my eye. At the end of the box, there was a small, dusty deer pelt. To me it was magical, because right then, my five year old mind immediately came to a conclusion. My eyes lit up in disbelief. Somewhere in this very forest, there must be a skinless deer prancing about. Completely oblivious to the cruel truth; my innocent mind went wild.
“Daddy, we gotta find him”, I screamed.
“Who?”
“The skinless deer!”, I explained as I pointed to the tattered skin. My father smiled as he understood my observation. He shielded me from the brutal truth that the deer was killed, slaughtered, and eaten many years ago. Because in that moment, the world was still just a purely magical place where deer willingly take off their fur like a jacket and donate it to glass boxes.
We set off into the forest, searching for the skinless deer. We spotted many deer but, unfortunately, they all had skin. After hours of hiking through the trails, the woods turned gold as the sun went down and dusk approached. I returned to the car for the long disappointed ride home through the hot night. I watched the fireflies light up the fields until I dozed off after the long day.
We never gave up. We often returned to the same forest looking for him. For years we wandered through those tall trees and lush fields, never to find him. My final summer living in New Orleans passed. The long trails became dusted with crunchy leaves as fall neared. My family decided to move six hundred and eighty one miles away, and as time passed, I eventually forgot about my skinless friend.
It was not until recently while moving into my new home that I discovered an old dusty book. I opened it to find it filled with photos of my past. I had been too young to remember many of them. When I looked through the pages many of these pictures only sparked a vague little flash of these moments. Until, I came across a page full of pictures of my father and I hiking through the mystical indian reservations. At that moment, I remembered my strange childhood activity. Oddly enough my heart was a little broken, that there was no such thing as a living skinless animal.
My oldest memory is tumbling down the twenty steps that led to my first house. I was four years old. I swear, the cold San Francisco breeze lured me to them, and seeing the front door wide open was a big welcome sign. My mom and dad made walking down the steps seem simple but those stairs were a mask to a trap full of scrapes and bruises. It was like that big red door held me in and spit me out. Before I knew it, I was tumbling down those stairs, looking up to the sky, then to the floor. Sky, floor, and again, and again. When my eyes met the steps, I remember being mesmerized for a split second. I vividly remember how they were black and white, and how they sparkled a bit. With a final thud, I laid dizzy and confused at the bottom.
I believed that memories are the most valuable things you possess. My childhood memories have always fascinated me. Nothing is more powerful than the memories created by a child's experiences. Such memories form the rest of your life. I can think of countless memories that made me who I am but certain ones really stick with me.
One of my most significant childhood memories occurred when I was five. One blistering hot New Orleans’ summer afternoon, my father took me on my first hike to an Indian reservation. We drove in my dad’s magnificent white 62’ Ford Galaxie. It was his pride and joy and the car I grew up in. He spent most of his free time working on it. My car seat sat upon the red leather interior. My legs stuck to the seat with the humidity. I remember how the sunlight filtered through the tall trees that lined the long windy road, and how they left splotches of light shining on my legs.
Once we arrived, I got out of the car and approached a glass case displaying artifacts from the native americans who previously lived there. I scanned over the misshapen pieces of rock and dried corn. Then, something caught my eye. At the end of the box, there was a small, dusty deer pelt. To me it was magical, because right then, my five year old mind immediately came to a conclusion. My eyes lit up in disbelief. Somewhere in this very forest, there must be a skinless deer prancing about. Completely oblivious to the cruel truth; my innocent mind went wild.
“Daddy, we gotta find him”, I screamed.
“Who?”
“The skinless deer!”, I explained as I pointed to the tattered skin. My father smiled as he understood my observation. He shielded me from the brutal truth that the deer was killed, slaughtered, and eaten many years ago. Because in that moment, the world was still just a purely magical place where deer willingly take off their fur like a jacket and donate it to glass boxes.
We set off into the forest, searching for the skinless deer. We spotted many deer but, unfortunately, they all had skin. After hours of hiking through the trails, the woods turned gold as the sun went down and dusk approached. I returned to the car for the long disappointed ride home through the hot night. I watched the fireflies light up the fields until I dozed off after the long day.
We never gave up. We often returned to the same forest looking for him. For years we wandered through those tall trees and lush fields, never to find him. My final summer living in New Orleans passed. The long trails became dusted with crunchy leaves as fall neared. My family decided to move six hundred and eighty one miles away, and as time passed, I eventually forgot about my skinless friend.
It was not until recently while moving into my new home that I discovered an old dusty book. I opened it to find it filled with photos of my past. I had been too young to remember many of them. When I looked through the pages many of these pictures only sparked a vague little flash of these moments. Until, I came across a page full of pictures of my father and I hiking through the mystical indian reservations. At that moment, I remembered my strange childhood activity. Oddly enough my heart was a little broken, that there was no such thing as a living skinless animal.
My Mission Poem
My mission is not to end the killing of animals
It is to uncover the extent of unnecessary cruelty millions animals are suffering every single day
My mission is not to end the killing of animals
It is to give a voice and power to the creatures who can’t protect them selfs
My mission is not to end the killing of animals
It is to create a world who values humanity and compassion and quality over money
My mission is not to end the killing of animals
It is to respects and honors the lives of the animals we eat, wear, and own.
It is to uncover the extent of unnecessary cruelty millions animals are suffering every single day
My mission is not to end the killing of animals
It is to give a voice and power to the creatures who can’t protect them selfs
My mission is not to end the killing of animals
It is to create a world who values humanity and compassion and quality over money
My mission is not to end the killing of animals
It is to respects and honors the lives of the animals we eat, wear, and own.
Astrol Projection:
The true story you probably won't believe.
It was about 10:30 pm on a average school night. The air was hot and thick and my ceiling fan delivered a comforting warm breeze. My house was quiet and everyone had retired early that night. I went through the routine; wash face, brush teeth, put on pajamas, and got into bed. My room was dark and as my eyes adjusted all I could see the was moonlight window curtain waving in the synthetic wind. I drifted off but then was quickly reawoken. I wasn't very tired anymore. So I got out of bed and turned on the lights. Something seemed off. I had the strangest suspicion I was dreaming but after walking around my room and carefully inspected each object and found everything to be completely normal I reasoned that was impossible. So I called my closest friend, Nina. Time passed second by second in logical increments as I waited for her to arrive. When she got there I told her this strange feeling I was having. We discussed it for quite sometime. She said to pinch myself and I did, I felt the string on my arm. We established that I wasn't dreaming.
I woke up with a shocking gasp in a dark room. I was all a dream I thought in disbelief. Then I noticed I wasn't in my own bed. Or my room. I turned on the lights to discover I was in a completely different room in my house. Confused and frightened I realized I was still dreaming. Embarrassing my lucid dream I ran outside my home. My house wasn't on a street anymore. My house was in the middle of a dark forest with ambient shades of purple and green lining different paths. I wasn't scared and I felt excited like a child in a new world with infinite possibilities. I chased the purples and greens through the dark forest. I ran with no regard for nothing about this world felt real or dangerous. But unlike a dream I grew tired. Time was steady and logical and didn't skip from moment to moment. My thoughts were clear. I sat down. My excitement quickly turned into boredom with turned into uncertainty and with time I grew panicked. I confidently walked back to home but as I navigated I had no idea which way I had came from. Then this feeling consumed me. I sat in the dark forest for what must has been a hour. This wasn't working. I could imagine my body lying in my bed on earth. I felt a million miles away. I tried to imagine myself a map or a path back to my house. Nothing. I tried to scream hoping that in reality my body would have some sort of reaction and someone could help me. I began to think I would be trapped forever. I gave up I figured I might have died or that I was in a coma. I cried.
Then I looked up and I saw a blurry light. It was my bedroom light. My house was only 50 feet away. I got up immediately and ran home. I ran through the door leaving it wide up and went straight for my room. When I opened my door I saw myself sleeping in my bed. I jumped into my mattress as quickly as i could and once again with a gasp I woke up in my room. I looked at my hand. At this point I had not the slightest guess if I was dreaming or in reality. I looked at the clock it was 4 a.m. I called Nina and asked her if she had been at my house earlier. She said no. I explained to her that I wasn't quite sure the conversation I was currently having with her was real. She was tired and I let her go back to sleep. I didn't go back to sleep that night. I waited until my alarm went off. I went to school. Still not quite positive what was real. It wasn't until I told a classmate about this surreal experience that I was informed about astral projection. A concept I would never have considered possibly until this experience.
I woke up with a shocking gasp in a dark room. I was all a dream I thought in disbelief. Then I noticed I wasn't in my own bed. Or my room. I turned on the lights to discover I was in a completely different room in my house. Confused and frightened I realized I was still dreaming. Embarrassing my lucid dream I ran outside my home. My house wasn't on a street anymore. My house was in the middle of a dark forest with ambient shades of purple and green lining different paths. I wasn't scared and I felt excited like a child in a new world with infinite possibilities. I chased the purples and greens through the dark forest. I ran with no regard for nothing about this world felt real or dangerous. But unlike a dream I grew tired. Time was steady and logical and didn't skip from moment to moment. My thoughts were clear. I sat down. My excitement quickly turned into boredom with turned into uncertainty and with time I grew panicked. I confidently walked back to home but as I navigated I had no idea which way I had came from. Then this feeling consumed me. I sat in the dark forest for what must has been a hour. This wasn't working. I could imagine my body lying in my bed on earth. I felt a million miles away. I tried to imagine myself a map or a path back to my house. Nothing. I tried to scream hoping that in reality my body would have some sort of reaction and someone could help me. I began to think I would be trapped forever. I gave up I figured I might have died or that I was in a coma. I cried.
Then I looked up and I saw a blurry light. It was my bedroom light. My house was only 50 feet away. I got up immediately and ran home. I ran through the door leaving it wide up and went straight for my room. When I opened my door I saw myself sleeping in my bed. I jumped into my mattress as quickly as i could and once again with a gasp I woke up in my room. I looked at my hand. At this point I had not the slightest guess if I was dreaming or in reality. I looked at the clock it was 4 a.m. I called Nina and asked her if she had been at my house earlier. She said no. I explained to her that I wasn't quite sure the conversation I was currently having with her was real. She was tired and I let her go back to sleep. I didn't go back to sleep that night. I waited until my alarm went off. I went to school. Still not quite positive what was real. It wasn't until I told a classmate about this surreal experience that I was informed about astral projection. A concept I would never have considered possibly until this experience.
Dehumanization of civilization
Brief Interview
“What should I write about ?” -Me
“Dehumanization of civilization?”
“It sounds cynical”-Me
“But what does it mean?”
“It means as society progresses humanity lessens” -Me
“Write about that”
The dehumanization of civilization is my idea of technology destroying a natural connection with life. Computers and phones allow us to live in the past, future, or somewhere else entirely for very extended periods of time. As society progresses we live more of our daily lives with technology and therefore disconnected with the present. As a society this is changing us into a mindless nation. The internet, as a recreational pastime, is a distraction. Its so intriguing because it gives us instant information and thus gratification. However when you might be experiencing many things very quickly the depth of these experiences aren't significant enough to be valuable. I believe the constant accessibility will depress creatively and slowly disconnect our minds from reality.
“What should I write about ?” -Me
“Dehumanization of civilization?”
“It sounds cynical”-Me
“But what does it mean?”
“It means as society progresses humanity lessens” -Me
“Write about that”
The dehumanization of civilization is my idea of technology destroying a natural connection with life. Computers and phones allow us to live in the past, future, or somewhere else entirely for very extended periods of time. As society progresses we live more of our daily lives with technology and therefore disconnected with the present. As a society this is changing us into a mindless nation. The internet, as a recreational pastime, is a distraction. Its so intriguing because it gives us instant information and thus gratification. However when you might be experiencing many things very quickly the depth of these experiences aren't significant enough to be valuable. I believe the constant accessibility will depress creatively and slowly disconnect our minds from reality.