Rerun

I get home and I do my homework, like always. The kitchen door is open, the windows are open and covered with a thin layer of cloth, the coffee table is full of junk that I haven’t used for a while, and my desktop is waiting for me to use it like again. The drawer full of discs opens with a small pull, and magically I see a whole world made of movie cases and discs. I take one while I linger around to see the back, is it good? Will it be enough to please me? Can this also be another favorite? The DVD player works it’s magic, and just like pop goes the weasel the disc chamber opens…waiting for its command. A smile comes across my face while I place the unscratched disc into the chamber entrance. Up goes the TV, and down goes the watcher onto the couch.

The scenes pass one by one and I watch like an owl watches its prey. "The End" comes onto the screen and yet the movie plays again. I laugh with an affable smile and watch the interminable movie until I run out of time. Yes, I like to watch reruns again and again. Even I don’t know what impels me to watch them again. My brother goes on a tirade asking how I can watch it so many times even though I already know what happens. It’s fun to watch them even if you’re bored; once you watch it for the first time you can skip to your favorite scenes. I think it also makes you feel better when you're despondent, reruns may take up time and may get boring, but it doesn't mean that they aren't as good as the first time you watch a movie.

Glass Eyed Dolls

CAUTION! DO NOT READ ANY FURTHER IF YOU ARE SCARED OF DOLLS! Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Little dolls for girls…or should I say big dolls for girls? I hate them, I can’t stand them! The glow in their freakishly open eyes, the scary “I’m gonna kill you “smile, the weirdly neat dress with fringes and colors, and obviously the stories my friends tell. “My grandma has this doll with a glass eye, and it sits on a piano in the attic!” or “Once there was this girl, and she had this doll in the house right? And then it killed everyone…but it killed her first.” When I hear these kinds of stories it creeps me out, when people tell stories I can picture it in my mind which at this point, is not a good thing. Sure it’s helpful for when I read poems or pieces of literary writing but come on! When you’re talking about that kind of doll who would want to picture it?

I’ll admit that the baby ones that little kids play with is okay, but these dolls are like the total opposite! I remember I saw one somewhere (I forgot where though) and it was okay, but since my friends tell me scary stories about them I never want to see one again. I’m afraid that the doll might come to life and kill people, believe me…it’s a scary thought. If any of your friends start telling a scary story I would cover my ears if I were you.

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.

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?

Traumatized

I sat on the hard, brown stage right in the gym. I watched everyone play sports: volleyball, basketball, soccer, and football. I wondered how I got to this stage, how I had stopped participating in class, how I knew I would fail the class but kept sitting out. Why did I stop playing the sport I had thought was the best-volleyball.

I went back, back to the time when I was younger and no one could yell or shout at you when you play sports. When all people did was have fun, and didn't care if you won or if you lost the game. But now, you can see people shouting, and sometimes they even shout at you.

You can pretend nothing happened, but I know that it really hurts. It hurts you deep, its like being stabbed by a knife, and signed with a scar. I have been through that, I have been signed with a scar from a person I have already forgiven. She felt guilt, but so did I. I cost my team the volleyball game, and therefore don't want to cause more trouble. I don't want to play sports anymore, even if it means I'll get yelled at for my failing P.E. grade.

Don't Get Mad

I've always wondered what good comes out of getting mad, whether your parents get mad, or if your friends get mad, and maybe even your own siblings. Parents scold you when they get mad, they ground you, can send you upstairs without dinner, and will cool off. Friends will get mad sometimes too, if you say the wrong thing, if you forget something, but after a fight, you can make-up. If your siblings get mad, you can act like it just never happened. That's how usual fights go, but for me its completely different.

My father called me to his room, to discuss some issue with me. I wondered in, pondering about what he could want me for. "This is about your...behavior...at your relatives' house." said the man with crossed arms. I started to worry, what did I do? What's my punishment? What would happen at the end? I finally gathered up the courage to ask what I did.

"I've heard from some of your relatives that you were being rude, that has started to spread within the family. The time that we went to one of your relatives' house, your mother and I asked you to wait twenty minutes with your brother when you sat on the carpet. You waited quietly, but then blurted out that twenty minutes was over, and that you wanted to leave." I stayed shocked, my arms that I had thrown onto the bed drooped, my eyes stayed as open as long as I could open them for. I didn't believe it, my relative had said that I was rude.

I pictured in my mind a beating fit for him, I pictured the relative being beat up by me. I couldn't think of anything else, except how much anger I had for him. My father told me to calm down and to forget about it, but I knew that I couldn't calm down. I took some deep breaths and calmed down, though I had given up my hope to beat him up-because he's a relative-I had not forgotten what he had said about me. I hope that someday I will get my revenge, but not a violent revenge, at least I hope not a violent revenge. I'd just like to ask him why he spread it, not to actually beat him up. I would like to use my voice, not my fist.

The Old Laptop

The old laptop that I got in Skopje, Macedonia (Its in Europe.), silver, with a white spot, and colors starting to fade from time. I hate it, its so old, so big and so unresponsive, you can take one look at it and you would literally think "Wow. That laptop is so old it would go all the way to when Albert Einstein lived. Good thing its not mine." Its silver inside and out, well most of it is, the sides around the middle are white. These days the laptop is restarting on its own and won't log in normally because it's installing updates or something like that.

I'm really fed up with it, every year or so my father has to reinstall everything at least once or twice, and when I hibernate it if I don't restart it when it finishes installing, it'll restart by itself. I'm tired of it not going to the log in screen, how it always restarts, and sometimes when I'm using the internet it gets stuck and I have to close the screen. I'm so sick of these events occurring, I'm so tired of having to do the same procedure every time it does something like that.

I want a new laptop, I have had this laptop for five years! FIVE YEARS!!! I want a new one, one that doesn't have the noise of the fan in the background, one that isn't losing it's color because of time, one that responds when I use the internet, one that opens up to the log in screen every time, and that I don't have to wait long for every time I turn it on. I'm so miserable with this old laptop. I don't want it anymore, when I first got it I thought that it was so cool, now I think that it's just there, broken, I don't want it anymore, I want a new one.

Arjun

The friends my brother makes is his choice, and he usually chooses people that like to play games like him. When my brother brings them to our house, I glare at them even when I don't know them. Then I start to feel bad, especially when they're kind and caring. They say things like "Hi. What's your name?" and I just glare, ignoring their friendly questions and greetings. I look at them like I'm a tiger about to pounce at my pray and just walk away. Until one day something happened.

I was dropped off at the corner of my street with my brother, and his friend. I didn't like him, I didn't even know who he was but I just didn't like him. I walked silently and quickly up to my house, but they were tailing behind me. They were talking and laughing, I wondered how long he was going to stay.

When we arrived at my house, I pushed the small gate and let myself in. My brother closed the gate behind him and the evil one, and walked towards me. I climbed up the hard stairs and opened the screen door leading to the bigger, thicker door. I glared at my brother's friend as he walked through the screen door and into the house. They sat down at the table with Simon's laptop and Arjun took out his. My brother asked me to bring them some juice like I was their servant, but I got it anyway.

He held out his hand, it looked like he wanted me to shake it. I stared at the hand of the evil one and forced my hand to shake it. He introduced himself and so did I even if I didn't like him. Then I left after I said my name and headed upstairs. They were playing Warcraft and Counter Strike (Video games on the computer.). They asked if I wanted to play and I said okay. I played a while and got bored. I said bye and by this time I started to like him as a friend, because he was nice to me. My father called me into the kitchen and told me I wasn't supposed to play with my brother's friend. Then I told him that I stopped and went upstairs. Soon he was about to leave and I said bye to him.

Now I think that he's a good guy and a good friend for Simon, though my family and I moved I think he still keeps in touch with Arjun. He's a good guy and he'll remain that way, I hope, maybe we can still play sometime in the future.

Feeling Weak

During P.E. on the 20^th of November was the day I dreaded. We were told the previous day that we, the girls were going to have to do some pull-ups. I hated them because I could never do them as much as the other girls could. I hated the feeling that I was weak because it was so true. My legs, I had no control of them, they just kept walking to the locker room. When I arrived with my friends, Mari, Nysha, Yeji and Violeta, we all went to the locker room and changed. We changed, just like normal, and left the locker room.

At the beginning it seemed like a normal P.E. class, but it wasn't. All the girls and boys met at the big gym, waiting to be commanded or told what to do. We sat on the stage, and waited. Shortly after, the coaches came and told us what to do. The boys were sent to the room G-3, the waiting room where you do things. They probably had to do sit-ups. While the boys went there, the girls were sent out back where the pull-up bars were, there was the short one and the tall one.

"I can't do this, just too much pressure! What if all the girls laugh at me?" I thought. Each girl, picked one by one to do as many pull-ups as they could. Many girls went and did their pull-ups, including some of my friends, until it came to be me next. My name was called and I gulped. I walked to the short bar, and waited for her instruction to say "Go.".

She said it, and I jumped up. I did one but the first one didn't count, then I dropped a little for my head to fall under the bar and tried to pull myself up. But I couldn't, I tried and tried to pull myself up, but I just couldn't. I was terrified, why couldn't I pull myself up? After about two tries of pulling myself up, I dropped down, embarrassed. I couldn't even do one while other girls did like ten or eight. I was ashamed, but kept going with P.E. until it was over and felt the shame inside me.