The Sage

All the kids screamed out of delight “Yay! Its break time!” The grass was glittering with dew, the sun shone high and the snow covered what looked like grass. The kids were herded bad to the classroom. Time moved slowly with the ticking of the clock, the moving of pencils, and the crying of kindergarteners at the lunch table. I might have been a recluse when I first moved to Macedonia, but then a sage came and spoke wise words. The words reverberated in my head and eventually I made great friends.

The day ends with shouts from teachers, “It’s the last day of school so quickly get in your bus or cars!” The cars start moving along the pavement, bus doors slam shut…oh wait, there was only one bus. Then things went amiss. My teacher the one who taught me the first grade closed the bus door. I waved goodbye, no respond but footsteps fading away. What had happened impelled me to question her actions. Did she see me? Did she ignore me? Was I abhorrent to her? The questions were interminable, until I came to a profound conclusion. Oh…maybe she hates me! Today was the last day of school! How could you not wave goodbye on the last day? I became despondent and said to myself “She just didn’t see it.” trying to comfort myself. (I know, pathetic right?)

I just thought that I’d never see her again, she was always nice and positive even though my class only had four people. (Including me.) It was a fun year, she was an affable person. She wasn’t irascible, she never had to entreat anyone in class and I just wanted to sum it up with a nice goodbye…I suppose I should’ve said goodbye before it was time to leave. Even though I eventually got over it, it haunted me to the very last minute it could. Like a tirade given by some guy I didn’t even know, and my tremulous arms were at my side. Yes…I don’t like it when I can’t say goodbye or when others don’t say goodbye, that’s just part of who I am.

Any More to Say?

I’m sitting at home with frizzy hair and my hands clasped on my forehead. What can I do? My backpack glares at me for forgetting my Spanish textbook at school. It’s the day I would normally be throwing my backpack down and kicking off my shoes. It was Friday. The day of happiness…but that day was the day of panic. I worry about what to do, can I ask a friend to get it and send type the page for me? Can I stop by school to get it? No…if she gets it then she’ll miss the afterschool bus. I guess I have to get it tomorrow, damn! Nobody goes to school on a Saturday! That’s just sad. Great.

My dad’s not feeling well today, my brother’s at his friend’s house, I don’t even know where my mom is. Yesterday when I forgot the textbook it was okay, because there was always today to get it. But no, I had to forget it…again. I’m a mess this year. I left my pencil in my math classroom inside a desk (luckily I looked for it and found it,) when I went to a friend’s house I brought everything back home except my thumb drive, I keep forgetting to put in the rubber band thingies for my braces, and what more can I say? I look at my blackberry and forget to reply sometimes, I lose stuff without even knowing it (especially stationary) and just earlier today I lost my headphone piece (silicon part so I can’t hear anything outside of my music) that my brother brought back when he came home. I rest my case, I look responsible and mature (maybe) but I’m really, really forgetful.

My Own Phoenix

I sat in the basement working on my wooden phoenix, with my brother pulling my arm and my hands numb from all the splinters I must have gotten. The legs were crooked, the arms weren't even pulled out of the rectangle of wood, the body was all mixed up and placed in different layers, and the head was cracked with pieces of wood sticking out. Everything was a mess. My brother’s phoenix stood next to my cracked and shattered phoenix. It was all perfect, spic and span, not a thread of wood in sight, it all looked so graceful and well…perfect. I stared at his amazing phoenix and wondered “How did he do that? He didn't even want to do it.” I pouted and crossed my arms; I was comparing my crappy little chicken, and looking into his honorable majestic fire. All he had to do was paint it, paint it in the color of fire I had in my eyes. I continued with my chicken, and eventually I gave up.

The head was still shattered from the pull of force when I tore it out of the rectangle, the body was somewhat put together but most of it was still lingering on the table, the feet were like chickens. Not like birds (even though the feet still look the same) not like anything but a little chicken…maybe even a little chick. I stand up and start to pick up the shreds on the floor, small excluded extra pieces, the crying empty rectangle frame drenched with loneliness. What have I been doing all this time? Chasing my brother’s footsteps in the sand? No, I need to do this my way. I got back to the wooden block, and carved a beautiful phoenix. I realized I can’t follow my brother’s footsteps; all I can do is do it myself.

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.

Rice

I stared into the clear liquid in the small tank, my little fish was swimming happily through the wavy kelp and the sand that drifted to the bottom. I walked away to meet my father on the floor below, where his computer room was. I took a little while as a break, and returned to my spot to observe my little creature. It lay on its back floating, the color had disappeared from the tiny floating body.

I poked it with a little stick that I had found earlier, but it still drifted away from me. My mother came into the room with a smile on her face, and held a tray to clean the dining table.

"Hey mom...do you know what happened to my fishy?" I asked feeling sad. She stopped cleaning with a frown, her tray was placed on the dining table as she came towards me.

"I fed it some rice...but after it started to float, I realized that I shouldn't have. Sorry honey...but I killed it." she said with relief of coming clean. I fell to my knees, weak to the bone and laid down facing the ceiling for the many minutes that followed. I decided that I needed to forgive her and forget the incident. I needed to know that I should forgive and forget that incident.

Rejected

I walked into the gym with my friends. We did our class of gymnastics for that period of time for P.E. Shortly after we were allowed to have the rest of the class to ourselves. I looked at the Australian boy and blushed, because, well...he was my crush. I laid down on the mats with my exhausted friends.My best friend looked at me blushing, and whispered in my ear.

"I'll go ask him for you...to the dance." she whispered. I stood up and looked at my other friends for support to stop her, but they all were too tired to stop her. She walked to the bleacher with all the boys of the class, and just had to ask when everyone was there. I laid back on the mat and covered my eyes, my friends came over to comfort me. I felt a jolt of pain, would he say yes? Would he reject me?

By the time I lifted my arms from my eyes, I battled with the bright lights in the gym. She came to me and sat down, she was prepared to tell me some news, though I had no idea what she was going to say.

"He said...he wasn't going to go. All his friends laughed when I asked for you...I'm sorry." she said. I told her not to worry, truthfully, I expected as much, I knew that nobody would ever say yes. I knew from the beginning that I was going to regret even liking him. Luckily we continued to be friends...well kind of. I couldn't help but think that we couldn't ever be friends again. Have you felt the pain? Have you ever experienced this kind of punishment? I definitely have, and I don't want to experience it again. If I don't ask anyone, I can't get rejected, at least not again.

Mandarin

In Fremont my brother and I would study the Chinese dialogue Mandarin, I was about five when I first started class. We both went to a Chinese school, he went there longer than I did but I still enjoyed it. There were like three people with the same first name as me, but I didn't mind, we all had different choices and opinions. I really enjoyed going there, in tests you would take it and when you got it back depending on how well you did, you would get some pink slips. After class, depending on how many pink slips you had you could buy more items from the teacher. I loved to get stationary so I got a lot of stationary which always made me happy.
I had a great time until I graduated my first year since I had enrolled to the school, I graduated earning a small trophy. When I arrived home, I showed my parents, they were really proud of me. They saw my brother's and then that's when I didn't want to show my trophy anymore. I had one measly trophy, while my brother had three, I was disappointed that all I had to show was one trophy. I felt ashamed, weak and puny, my one trophy didn't even compare to the three that my brother had.
Later as I grew up I started to forget little by little and now I can barely remember it happening, its fuzzy but I can still make it out. Now I don't really care that my brother has more than me, now if I'm jealous, I can just say its because my brother was born before me and that he started before me. I'm over it, and if at some times I'm not I'll just think of those reasons.

The One Night

Rebecca, or as we call her Becca, the girl that was my friend, but now doesn't check her e-mail. I used send her heart-warming e-mails, but I got no reply. I capitulated and stopped sending things to her. I think back, when we had fun and when we hung out.

She had blond short curly hair, at least that's what she had the last time I saw her. She a bit taller than most people but I didn't care. I liked her for her personality, not because she lived in a big house. My father and her father both worked at the American Embassy. I don't know if they talked or even glanced at each other except when he sent me to Becca's house.

One day we had a sleepover, it took place at my house. We talked, laughed, and played, for she was one of those girls that make people laugh all the time. She really emphisizes on her jokes and makes them funny. We sat next to each other in the car and listened to music on the way to dinner. There were many places to eat at that they sold food for a cheap price.

The sleepover went great until we were bringing her back home. We were talking about how fun it would be if we had a double sleepover. So we asked her mother if we could have another sleepover on a week day, however she said no. If only Becca didn't ask, then she wouldn't have been grounded for a month. If we didn't ask I could've had more memories of her. I should have just waited for the next week. If only we didn't ask.

The Unwrapped Gift

Last Christmas, I remember it clearly. It wasn't an ordinary day at school, there was a Christmas sale near the field where they sell little handicraft items: mini stockings, wooden dolls, handmade jewelry, bookmarks. They were separate little stores with their own inventory. I just browsed around and looked for something to content my mother.

I brought my mother a mini stocking for Christmas. I wrapped it up with wrapping paper and set it under the artificial white decorated tree ready for the special day to come. It waited and waited for the grasp of a hand to open it up. To see the surprised look of the person who opened it.

The days that followed Christmas were cold and filled with misery for the present, still under the tree reading "To:Mom". She still didn't touch it until the following year.

She finally picked it up after I told her, showed her and put it in her face, the present she should have opened the previous year. She held it after I had given it to her, but just put it in a drawer.

I was disappointed, I wanted to see her face, her expression when she saw it, but it wasn't meant to be. She was probably just unaccustomed to the idea of gifts. I don't think she has opened it even now. I just wish I could see her face when she decides to open it. I wish she opened it when the time was right. I realized that she was unaccustomed to the idea, but I still wish I could see her face.