Stop Yelling at Me

I absolutely hate how people always yell at me. My dad, my mom, and even my brother!

I walked into the living room with my some-what muddy shoes stepping on my pants. (My pants are really long) My bag goes boom onto the couch when there's impact and I take out the shiny-silver circles. Some are in mint condition, some are in the dulling stage, and the rest are barely even silver. They're all mixed with each other shuffling in my pocket all day. I take out the stack of nickels and hold them in my hand.

"Hey! Look! Haha I have a stack of nickels!...Hello? Look at the nickels. Look at the nickels!" I shout at my brother while he's fidgeting with the belongings he has in his backpack. "OKAY LOOK! NO ONE GIVES A FLYING FAT ABOUT YOUR NICKELS OKAY? I. DON'T. *BEEP*. CARE! God." I walk away frightened and trembling to my laptop that's charging.

"Wow. Did I annoy him that much? He didn't have to yell like that. I mean I know he yells when he's on Skype, but that was soo different." I thought to myself. Walking to the desktop was the last thing I wanted to do (my desktop is near my brother's laptop and that's where he was) but I didn't want to go upstairs or move my laptop. A friend on BBM asked for my cellphone number (not anything special) and he called me soon after.

We talked for a while until my only sibling told me to go upstairs, and of course I listened.

My Turn

1. When I get home I grab my blackberry and put it on the table while its still vibrating, my friend is still text messaging me (not gonna tell you who it is.) From when I'm text messaging on the bus (which I do often) I continue at home.

2. Sometimes I login to Facebook to see what's new, and usually there's not much. So I stick around for a couple of hours while I do other stuff on my computer.

3. I'm sitting in my chair in front of my desktop right? I'm looking and browsing through pages of information and pictures. Researching for huskies, other dog breeds, dresses, and just the other day I was desperately asking people if anyone had the student council sign-up sheet (so they could scan it and send it to me...but no. No one had it unfilled.)

4. All day until around five o'clock I'm on my desktop NOT doing my homework. When the door opens and my dad steps inside I immediately jump at him and bombard him with questions. "Did you get my...? When is it coming? Why are the people such slowpokes? Even you said they were slowpokes." I tell him every time. "Tell me when you get it okay?" (I just found out from an e-mail my dad sent me that I'm getting my long awaited laptop today...finally.)

5. After I get over my disappointment (mean slowpokes *pout*) its time to do my homework, I'm working and I'm called to eat dinner. I do my homework but I'm actually still text messaging sometimes. Most of the time I finish at around ten o'clock, but the time usually varies.

I text message a lot and I don't get as much sleep as a 13 year old should get. Even though it's like this, I'm actually pretty happy with my life.

The Closet Opens

because there's something

screaming inside.

Layers of paper from

last year

just lays there.

A pile of dirty clothes

running away.

Boxes wrapped in

pretty pink circles.

A photo frame of

me and a poem,

dedicated to mom.

She opened it?

I cry out in disbelief.

I turn the other way

squealing to my mind.

Oh looky there,

this ones getting dusty.

I stare,

I droop,

and I walk away.

View of a Witness

The night was dark, there were no streetlights anywhere in sight. Near midnight is when it happened. I gingerly walked to the table after hearing a shriek in the house next to mine, and surmised it was out of terror. It was silent like a deserted town after the shriek. Clad in my pajamas I made a cursory search, scrambling through the inventory lists for the one with ink on the back. Numbers made of ink blobs.

Before this all happened it started seven nights ago. Every night simulated the one before, until that black hour of day I had been observing the house next door-every time. Every night it's the same thing, I always tried to sleep...but I always had this insecure feeling coming from that house. My dehydrated tongue would always sink to the bottom of my mouth. I grimaced at the fact that whoever was making me feel uneasy, didn't think that I would notice something wrong.

I made an endeavor to call my friend's telephone, however all I heard was the dial sound...she- didn't pick up. I called the police right after and luckily they answered. I explained the situation and they said they'd come in a couple of minutes. As I was tip-toeing back to the window I tripped over my leather satchel, gaining an abrasion to make the night worse. The police electrified me when they came about four hours after I had called. I ended up sitting next to the window, and then I heard someone shouting gruesome words from the house. The person making me uneasy had killed the old man.

That was too much. That was just too much to hear. I couldn't get the words out of my head so I succumbed to my sleepiness, and laid down on my bed. My eyes open and my consciousness still ringing. I never heard words from the old man again, but luckily...the murderer had been caught and I could rest at ease.

What Kind of Guy?

He struts with his somewhat curly hair swinging in the hallway. I'm staring at him with my eyes twinkling. When did I start? Why did it start? Why did I fall for him? It was third grade and he had skipped a grade from Kindergarten to second grade. Now he was in the class as me and was even younger than me. He was the one that I stared at in class with awe, and luckily he sat in front of me. I knew I couldn't have him, but I could still look at him couldn't I?

His blue eyes intrigued me, his dirty blond hair looked like golden locks and extra curly. Why did he have to be dating my friend? Why did he have to be so lovey-dovey with her? Why did they kiss in front of my eyes?

It doesn't hurt me so much that I'd cry, but it still hurt. I walked into class, I put my head down on my arms and wonder "Why do I feel so ashamed?" Like always our classmates are watching and laughing at his jokes. Suddenly I see him doing something he shouldn't be doing. What was he doing? Try guessing. He was...picking his nose. What kind of guy does that? I mean really, I couldn't even stand the thought, and now he was doing it in front of me. That was so disgusting! From that moment I didn't like him, maybe as a friend, but nothing more. Now that just haunts me, in my dreams and in reality. I guess that I just have bad taste in guys huh?

See Ya

I can remember it all. I was in the sixth grade, and I was at my friend's house. What happened? Tears, clutching, and waving. She pulled tightly and firmly onto my shirt. I could already see a lake of tears on her lap, it was all happening so fast. My father was being transferred, and I was going along with him. She cried and cried, and couldn't stop. I tried my best to cheer her up, but it had already gotten her depressed. After a while she stopped, she wiped away the last of her tears and she became strong.

Her puffy red eyes told a story, what we had been through, what we had done together...all of it. I start to wonder "Is this REALLY the end? NO WAY! We'll keep in touch and we'll meet again...definitely." We get up, and my dad asks if I'm ready to go. I support my friend, and she nods slowly. It was time to say goodbye... I put on the helmet, and get on the scooter. As she bursts into tears I wave and say "See ya." She waves slowly, replies, and I'm on my way home. The last time I saw her, the last time I've been with her...for now. Now we're trying to organize a meeting during one of the school breaks, I think she's still living in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. I haven't seen her for a year and some months, but we've been in contact. I'll definitely meet her someday, maybe not now or soon...but someday.

This Feeling

This hidden feeling,

what is it?

It's getting heavier,

it’s getting bigger,

what is this awful feeling?

Caltech, an institute

that will soon gain a

great student.

It hurts,

it’s crushing me when we discuss

my brother’s future.

Everyday I laugh,

talk,

and hurt.

I hope this year my brother can soar

with many memorable memories.

I sit on the cold chair,

as the silent words float out

of a senior and a middle-aged man.

I laugh and clench my stomach,

will I be able to laugh like?

He says he won’t miss us,

but I know he will.

The way we laugh

we play our childish games,

the piano playing,

and the game playing are all things

he can leave with,

but they should be enough.

I hope this year my brother can soar

with many memorable memories.

He will visit us,

we will welcome him

like coming home from school,

and he will mooch off of my parents.

This is the feeling of goodbye,

the words I don’t want to say.

Goodbye Simon.