Shattered Glass

Fights

Imagine a person who is with you almost all the time and is very much interested in fighting you. In fact, this person looks for every and any excuse to start conflict with you. Can you picture that person? For me it is the reality of having a younger brother who is love with mixed martial arts. We are constantly fighting, despite living on the second floor of an apartment building. My mother's request seem almost futile at this point; "Don't make a mess" no longer registers quite like it used to since we both started watching the MMA. 

Our battles were epic. Both of us know a good amount of Jiu Jitsu, and my brother knows some Muay Thai and Taekwondo from watching it. Even though he is younger, my brother is already freakishly my size at the tender age of fourteen. This creates a fighting atmosphere that is an intense amount of fun. We often spar in the living room because of the all the space to jump around.  However, when you are throwing each other around without a cage, no amount of space is enough. 

One fight will be remembered by not only the memories in our head, but also by the ones scarred on my brother's arm. It was the day before New Year’s Eve and my mom was out of town for business. This basically signaled a free for all fight without a single word being exchanged. We were going at it, kicking and punching and tackling. Then all of a sudden, I side-kicked my brother too hard and he went sprawling backwards off balance. As he fell he began reaching his arms back, aiming to grab hold of anything to slow his plunge. In doing so he rammed his elbow directly into the glass widow behind him. Once he got up the wounds were already dripping with blood. Not only did I have to clean up blood from the floor and my brother's arm, but I also had to figure out what to do with the broken window in our living room. It was not a good day to be left in charge.

Unrelatable

Death

I constantly think about the idea of death. What does it really mean? Does it just end my existence? Is that it, game over? Unfortunately I cannot answer these questions as no one has truly and fully died and come back to tell us about their grand adventure. I guess I could call it fortunate that I have not experienced a person who was very close to me dying. I cannot know that feeling, when a human being who once meant so much to me no longer exists. 

            My grandmother's life and mine overlapped for less than a year. I have no memory of her, only a dream-like photograph of her holding me as a baby. The picture seems so perfect for some reason. There we are, me sitting on her lap. She somehow got me to look at the camera, which is a daunting task from my mom's memory as I was notorious for not sitting still.  I wish I could have met her. My mom tells me she would never put me down after picking me up. She was the ideal grandmother and I really wish I could personify her more, but unfortunately I can't.

It is really difficult for me to understand why bad things happen to good people. At home I am showered with, "It's all in God's plan" and, "Just trust in God". The death and suffering of good people cannot be part of the plan of such a good guy right? Though this memory is very recent, it is a memory. One of my friends is not feeling so hot right now, she is in the hospital. This is definitely not a great time for her. She is smart and funny, I always have fun hanging out with her. This friend of mine is the kindest person I have had the pleasure of meeting. So why is she having to suffer through this horrible ordeal? I guess only when death hits me, can I feel its power. Until then, all I can conclude is that this world is not a just one, don't believe the hype.

White Elephant

Game

‘Twas the night before Christmas in a young family household. We were invited to a nice house party from a friend of my mother. It was the first social gathering we had been invited to in New Waverly. Surprisingly there were s lot of kids my age, many I had seen in church or from playing basketball. The party really got started with the introduction of the White Elephant game.

I had never heard of this misleading game until that night. At first, in my head I was oddly thinking, "Okay where's this animal at". My mom seemed to instinctively move with the beat and hand our present over to the middle table as all the other people followed. All I could do was watch, frozen with confusion as kids took turns picking from the pile of presents. All of a sudden, one kid points to a gift in another kid's hands. And then that kid willingly and with a smile handed it over! You can not comprehend my level of confusion at this point. I just witnessed a fellow Pokemon trainer hand over a beautiful, jumbo pack Pokemon cards to a kid who simply gestured at it. 

I turned to my mom for an explanation. She understood right away why I was questioning whether this was a dream or not- to be dramatic. She quietly demystified White Elephant for me. As soon as the concept registered I felt a revival of consciousness, only comparable to finally understanding a complex math concept. Quickly i rejoined the inner circle of kids awaiting their turn. There was the classic Pokemon Red game for the Game-boy Color still in circulation with only one steal left on it. I was definitely eyeballing it, after all what more is there to life than catching them all. I strategically positioned myself behind the kid who had an intense fascination with Legos, knowing he would steal a Lego set. It was my turn and no hesitation was made in stealing that game. No remorse, I was a ruthless kid. White Elephant was a game of planning and luck, only the chosen would come out with a quality gift. Flash forward to last year I won a $15 iTunes gift card, White Elephant is good to me and on that fateful night I found my favorite Christmas game.

Lost Dogs

Pet

Growing up, my brother and I disagreed on almost every topic, it was simply our nature. However, there were rare times we would come together in unity: to beg for a pet. Cassandra, affectionately and as the result of an early speech impediment called "Ca-ja-ba", was my first dog. She was a huge, black, mixed breed puppy that very quickly got big enough to bully me daily. Soon afterward we inherited a golden retriever mixed with something unique, possibly a wiener dog. It looked like a normal golden retriever, just a lot stubbier. Those mutts kept my brother and I running around every day after school. It was a great time to be young and rambunctious. 

The tide changed when my mom announced that we were moving to New Waverly in the middle of Texas, specifically a small rural village of 900 people. Immediately I cried, "What about the puppies?", and my brother followed with the same concern. My mom decided it would be best to reply, “Let’s not worry about them right now, they will be fine". For some reason we accepted this as legitimate answer to our question. Looking back of course, with my current propensity to question the logic behind everything, I would have not have been satisfied. On my last day of school, I arrived home and the backyard was empty. No excited barking to greet me. No new holes dug. No Cassandra. No Jayjay. My brother told me a man came and picked them up earlier. The next few days of packing were not very pleasant. No school, no friend... no puppies, it was not a great time to be young and rambunctious. 

Adventure hidden in among a forest

Tree-house

New Waverly, Texas is located smack in the middle of a huge forest and state park. This forest is unlike most depicted in movies and books. The forest around my home was filled with extremely tall trees packed so tightly together you could not see more than 20 feet into it. The tops of the trees strained your neck; they seemed to be about as tall as the sky. I lived in a circle of trailer homes completely surrounded by this thick ocean of trees. My friend Michael lived right next to me and was my investigation partner. Every day after school you could find our backpacks on the edge of tree line and know where we were. We explored every part of the dense forest, discovering many unique things about nature that still interest me today. 

The state park is a strict no-shooting zone and the wildlife is very aware of this. As a result, animals such as deer and feral hogs are not afraid of humans. In fact, one Saturday morning my brother and I were eating breakfast with Michael when all of a sudden we see three deer emerge from the thick underbrush. They notice us immediately but aren't phased by our presence. Then, they just waltz out in the open and munch on some grass. Another time, We were pushing through some bushes and entered a new clearing. At first we were calm and wanted to explore. Next thing I hear is Michael yelling, "Run!". I jolt upright and turn towards him. He was in a full sprint coming at me, and behind was a huge boar leaping at him. It looked like a pig, but bigger, faster, and way scarier. It resembled an angry Pumba from the Lion King. Without an invitation I darted ahead of Michael, springing back into the bushes and continuing until my lungs were dead. Michael came up behind me and with a hand resting on my shoulder he whimpered, “I guess pigs are that slow". We both let out a sigh of relief and laughed. He explained to me how he saw little baby boars on the other side of the clearing and wanted to get a closer look. Then the mother rolled out of the brush and went full attack mode on him. That was the first time either of us saw wild boar in the forest. It was crazy to think they were less than a few miles from our home and we had no idea they were there. It inspired many more searches into the forest to explore what else lies in its depths. Of course this also led to several more encounters with boars and a few life saving sprints to safety. 

  

Talentless

Talent is a trick subject with me. Anyone that knows me will agree to this statement. For me, drumline is life. The only problem is that I don’t consider myself to be very talented. Can I play, I guess, do I have to work harder than everyone around me to sound decent, yes. I’m not talented, I’m a hard worker.

I remember band camp my freshman year very clearly. I was put on first bass drum, so I thought that I was good. I thought I was better than good, I thought I was a gift sent from the heavens. I couldn’t have been more wrong. Different rhythms and pitches came naturally to everyone except me. I found myself having to stress over stupid mistakes just to sound presentable to the people around me. Even my brother told me that he remembers me coming home after practice and diving into the music, with a look of anger and determination. The music didn’t always come easy, I had to struggle and work that’s what has made me the player that I am today.

I remember one occasion in particular where I felt just horrible about myself and my skills. Some people think that it’s stupid, but I don’t, to me this was serious. We were in band one morning, finally working on our fourth show piece. The first twenty measures was a drum break inspired by a drum solo that Ringo Starr did for the song Abbey road. Everyone else’s part on the bass line was more complicated than mine, I had a simple beat that lasted the full twenty measures, so whatever I was just going to chill with it. My band director counted us of and we started. It went good for about two and a half measures when I messed up. Whatever the first time is always shaky, so we tried again, and again, and again. I messed up every single time and I was getting nervous. I was nervous and mad and disappointed. I was humiliating myself in front of everyone over the simplest beast to ever exist (looking back on it, the beat didn’t mess me up, it was how I fit in with what the others were playing). I was shaking and I dropped my sticks, it seemed over to me. My director looked at me and said, “Diego, you’re good, but you’re not that good. Stop being complacent and mad pick yourself up and go practice.” Those words stuck with me.

I practiced, because that was the only way that I would keep up with everyone. I would play it off, pretend that I never practiced act like I didn’t care. In a way I wish that I could be like that. Just slack off and pull of a miracle last minute, but I can’t. I’m not wired that way. However I think that this makes better than others. I’m motivated, to prove my worth as a musician, to others and to myself. 

Meltdown

School is a big part of anyone’s life, whether they like it or not. When I got into high school I was overjoyed to be going to school, for once in my life. This wasn’t the case my first day of school in 2001 when I went to preschool. I threw probably the biggest fit of my life. My mother and I look on it now and laugh, but at the time, she could’ve beat me in front of everyone out of embarrassment.

            It was my first day at preschool and my mom had walked me to the bus stop. We waited there for about fifteen minutes, I looked around and saw a couple of other kids standing with their mothers, all with the same terrified look on their faces. That’s really all I remember from the time pre tantrum, but my mother says that I did a little bit more than just stand around looking mortified. Apparently, I paced around aimlessly, trying to bargain with my mother. She says that it was the funniest thing ever seeing a four year old try to convince her that he saw no point in going to school and that it would be more beneficial for me to dedicate my time to training to become a Power Ranger.  

            Finally the bus arrived, and I was scared stiff. I made sure that I was the last one to get on board. As my mother half dragged me up the steps of the bus, the shock ended and I went wild. I attacked anyone that came near, the world morphed into a blur of tears, fists and screaming. The bus driver, the other parents my own mother couldn’t calm the atomic bomb that had manifested itself into a four year old Mexican child, with glass too big for his face and a bowl cut.

            Eventually, after a ten minute delay, my mom gave up, picked me up and said, “fine we’re going home,” in probably the scariest tone my mother has ever used. Suddenly I didn’t want to go home, but still, anything seemed better than school. She took me home and sat down on the couch with me in silence for two hours before I finally broke and agreed to go to school. The drive to the school is a blur, but I remember arriving at my classroom and throwing, yet another, nuclear tantrum. This time, my mother smiled and said, “see you after school,” and preceded to run out of the classroom. It took two teachers thirty minutes to calm me down with a mix of blocks and crayons.

            School has been a roller coaster ride, from beginning, and I’m sure, until the end. I hope I go out with a bang just like I started. Ultimately, I see my separation anxiety at the time as endearing. My mother won’t be around for much longer, and when that time comes, I won’t be breaking down in a school bus.

            

Max

I’ve only had one pet in my entire life, and that is my cocker spaniel, Max. Now just to let you know, Max is dead. He’s been dead for about seven years. I had Max when I was between the age of four and eleven, and I have never wanted another dog after Max. He was my first dog and I’m fine with him being my last.

I remember the first day my older cousin brought Max to my house. My cousin Adriana was about twenty at the time, she stood about 5’6, a business major in college with tattoos crawling up her left arm up into her back. This girl has been an amazing part of my life, and she gave me one of the best things that you could ever give a kid, yes even better then proof that Santa Clause exists (which I recieved), my first dog. Her and her, now husband, had two cocker spaniel breed dogs, one named Penny and the other named Coby. At the time I thought that Coby and Penny were in love and married and that’s why they had puppies. One of those puppies was my soon to be Max.

Adrianna got out of the car with a basket full of four ecstatic blonde puppies. Three girls and one boy. My parents told me that I chose Max because he was a boy and apparently I said, “Guys need to stick together.” Adrianna says that I chose Max because when I peaked into the old laundry basket max jumped up licked my face, so of course, I wanted the puppy that had the audacity to lick me. Adrianna stuck around for a while to talk with my parents, but she had other stops to make, so she said her goodbyes and told me to have fun with my new best friend.

I don’t remember that day too clearly but my whole family says that I didn’t even want to eat that day unless it was dog food like Max. I spent all day with him, we were inseparable. I still have this picture of me and him that first day. We were both on the floor under a blanket, I wore an orange Sponge Bob Squarepants t-shirt and we both had passed out after a day of nonstop playtime. It’s probably my favorite picture of all time.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not really an animal person, but it was different with Max. He wasn’t a dog to me, he was my closest friend. With him, I was an animal person. Maybe I just liked that I could tell him anything, as weird as that sounds. Or maybe I liked that even if he would leave, he would come back. His loyalty was greater than some of my family members. Even as a small child I understood that. 

Conquer the world

Love isn’t always spectacular and everlasting, especially in youth. At the time an eighth grade relationship seemed infinite. It feels like you’ve found the person that will love you for the rest of your life, and if by chance, maybe in the life after this. She and I look back on that time, and just laugh. How ignorant we sounded in the grand scheme of things, acting as if our love could conquer the world.

             A few days ago, I texted my ex-girlfriend Taryn. A chance to catch up and talk about what idiots we used to be. The day of our first break up is a bit foggy to both of us. I mean it sort makes sense, it’s been four years since that day and so much has changed. For the record, she broke up with me, and it stands as the worst break up of my young adult life.

            The day before she broke up with me we got into our biggest fight to date. Neither of us can remember what we were fighting about, which probably shows how ridiculous and irrelevant that reason must be. However, I remember her exact words, “Do you want to break up?” I thought she was asking not demanding. I told her no I don’t want to break up, she said ok and the fight was over.

            The next day I walked into class, and people swarmed around me, “OMG you and Taryn broke up?” that was the question of the day, everywhere I went I was bombarded with that question. My explanation to each person was, “no we just got into a fight,” and everyone would say, “That’s not what she’s telling everyone.” I was devastated, why was she saying this? Was the fight really that bad? Was she asking if I wanted to break up or stating that she wanted to? I couldn’t find her at lunch, and I didn’t have her for class until the last two periods. So I was left in silence on her part all day, left to deal with the onslaught of preteen gossip. When I finally saw her at the end of the day, all hell broke loose.

            I screamed at her about love, honesty and about how she embarrassed me beyond belief. She was no stranger to confrontation and began to yell back at me. I told her that she betrayed and how much it hurt to hear from half the school that we had broken up before hearing it from her. She said, “I thought you understood what I meant last night.” She had wanted to break up but didn’t have the heart to tell me directly.

            Since then we’ve had several failed romances and have found our way back to each other several times. Although our “love” wasn’t storybook ready, it was a real experience that we both took a lot from. Love does not conquer all, but it seemed like a nice idea to try, and to continue trying.

Party Monster

Life lessons are learned every day, but there are certain ones that stick with you. My freshman year, I learned that you can’t really trust people. Everyone has their own agenda or means behind what they do. Nothing remains genuine anymore, everyone has something to gain. It’s kind of sad when you put your trust into someone, and then they just betray you, no hesitation, and no regret.

My first high school party, sound like fun right I mean come on they usually are, but not this one. It wasn’t the fact that I knew absolutely no one at the party or that everyone around me was either wasted or under some other influence. None of this bothered me, but the night ended up full of drama. It wasn’t even a high school party. More than eighty percent of the people at the party were not in high school anymore. At the time I felt cool though, I was at a party, I had taken my first shot of alcohol, and everything seemed great. Except it wasn’t. I awkwardly stood in the corner as my “friend” was “dancing” with some guy in his mid-twenties who looked like he didn’t even knew where he was at the time. It was eleven, and the night had just begun.

The real trouble started  when my friend came up to me at about two in the morning, with her mind on a completely different planet, and asked half belligerently, “what’s wrong?” I didn’t want to seem like a downer so I sloshed down what remained of my drink my drink. Bad idea, and tried to pass it off as I was having the time of my life. She then proceeded to savagely insult me and talk about how she doesn’t even like hanging out with me and that she only hung out with me out of pity. I really didn’t feel like putting up with her drunken escapade any more so I told her off and walked out of the party with a bottle that she had bought with her own money ( at least worth thirty dollars).

The party was in the north east and I had no ride home, so I just walked in the direction of my house and though that I would make it home eventually. My parents thought that I had spent the night at a friend’s house, so there was no worry about where I was. I tried finishing the bottle but ended up only getting half way through it then leaving it abandoned in the middle of the street. So my night was totally unproductive and pointless. I was left half drunken and with a damaged ego. I guess that’s what I get for thinking that she was my friend.

I learned that you can’t trust everyone, especially after learning that before I left she stole twenty dollars from my wallet. Whatever, it makes a decent story. I watch everyone now, seeing their true motives. Cynical maybe, but not stupid. 

Doodles of Despair

When I started any type of school, I was three and starting my first day at the Learning Center. My mother dressed me in a Mickey Mouse t-shirt and a matching red skirt. My hair was cut very short and I resembled a little Asian boy.

I trudged down the hall with my mom. I was holding her hand and rolling my backpack behind me. My mother pushed me towards the door of my classroom. She knelt down, pulled me in for a big hug, and said “Good luck mija. I'll be back for you at three, okay?” While my mom was on her way out, I ran and grasped her leg. “No mommy! Don't leave me here! Mommy, don't go!”

I bawledmy eyes out. I refused to let my mother's leg go. It took three teachers to get me off of my mother. After they finally got me away from my mom, they sat me down at the tables near the window. I looked around the room and I was surrounded by pictures of rainbows and cats.

I continued to cry. I remember my teacher sat next to me and put a piece of a paper and a box of crayons down in front of me. “Draw what you feel sweetie,” she said in a voice that sounded like monkey.

I ended up creating a series of black swirls and sketches. I wanted to express my anger and sadness. The teacher laughed and said “How cute.” I turned to my teacher quite seriously and sniffed. “Can you write something for me please?”

“Of course! What do you want me to write?” I instructed her. When my mom finally came to pick me up, my teacher handed her my artwork. My mother read out loud: “ 'Mommy, please don't forget me,' and how cute! Look at the little frowny face.”

Peanut

My first pet was a Chihuahua-Pomeranian mix named Peanut. Looking back I realized that receiving him had been one of the best things that had ever happened to me. As a six year old at the time, the idea of a puppy was amazed me me.

On a Saturday afternoon at my mother's work, I had been coloring on the ground for about an hour by then. I got up and walked out of my mom's office. I started wandering around the gigantic office building.

A few halls over, I heard a commotion and I decided to be nosy and peek into the room to see what was happening. The room was filled with a bunch of little girls around my age gathered around a box. “Come on in little one!” called a woman sitting behind a computer.

I walked in shyly and sat down next to a little blond girl. In the box a bunch of tiny little dogs appeared amongst an array of blankets. Splashes of brown, white, and black squirmed around in the box. They were the cutest things I had ever seen.

“Do you want one sweetheart?” The lady said. I looked up. “Really!?”

I had a the tiniest puppy in my hands and walked back to my mom's office. “Where were you?” my mom said not looking away from her computer monitor. The puppy made a little noise and my mom finally looked towards me. “What's that?” Her head peaked over the screen. I giggled and showed her the little dog.

“Oh my god mija.”  

Let Go of Me

As a little girl, I never thought of falling in love or finding “the one.” Just like any little girl, I dreamed of a wedding, but not falling in love. As I got older I began to believe that no one would ever fall in love with me so why would I fall in love with anyone else? But once I got to high school, my whole view on love changed. I met a boy who quickly became my best friend.

He was extremely skinny and he had a dark brown hair- so dark that you would've mistaken it for black. He had gigantic brown eyes and eyelashes that were a mile long. His smile was fantastic and his dimples were the most adorable thing I had ever seen.

At the beginning, things were great. I was happy. We spent every weekend together, whether it was Netflix at my house or dinner at a random restaurant, the stereotypical perfect teenage relationship. But after a while, things would change for the worst. He seemed distant and, in some instances, completely disinterested in me.

I eventually found out that he was seeing another girl and I was devastated. A whole year of my life wasted. Afterwards, we tried getting things back on track. We wanted to start dating again. It just ended with constant arguing and crying. I began getting more and more tired. There is one particular argument that always stands out to me.

It had been on a half-day at school. That boy I had-and still- loved so much had asked me to hang out. I had plans with a boy who had begun to like me and some of our mutual friends. When he found out, he stopped me in front of the steps of the school. “You're going with him?”

“I'm going with a group of friends.”

“You're seriously ditching me for HIM?”

“I'm not ditching. I told you that I couldn't hang out.”

He had then grabbed my arm and burst into tears. I could feel my heart breaking.

“Please don't go with them. Stay with me. Please, stay with me,” he said. His grip had gotten tighter and it had started to hurt me. I didn't know what to say. “Let go of me.” I made sure to speak in a whisper. “No! Stay here and talk to me.” I kept telling him to let me go. Every one of my requests got louder and louder. He wouldn't let go of me. It had gotten to the point where I yelled at him.

“LET GO OF ME!” I yanked my arm away as roughly as I could. Everyone who had been in the vicinity turned and looked my way. My friends called out to me, “Yo! Come on! We're gonna go eat now.” I looked away from him and walked away.

I cried on the way to the restaurant. I loved this kid so much, yet I knew I didn't deserve to feel like I was the reason for everything that had gone wrong. That day I realized how much I had put up with, and I learned that love is a compromise and that things wouldn't be easy. To this day I still love that boy. Probably more than anything.  

Life Line

Many children have their first experience with death when a pet or grandparent passes on. My first experience was my own encounter with the it. I became depressed at an exceptionally young age.

At age ten I had come across a lot of things I didn't understand and it became overwhelmingly difficult and I was sad beyond all control.

My first run in with death had been a failed suicide attempt. It happened during my seventh grade year and I was twelve at the time. I had attempted to hang myself with a belt in my closet, and just when I thought it was going to work, the belt snapped, forcing me back onto the ground. The sound boomed through the house. I remember hearing someone call my name, and footsteps. It had been my mother who found me.

After all was done, you could see a change in the way my mother went about her daily life differently. She roamed around like a zombie. Her movement was restrained and her face constantly still. In my attempt to end my own life, I ended something much more precious; my mother's happiness.

A few weeks after the initial incident, I had been staying at my mother's house. The house smelt of chile and the house was abnormally dark. I was lying in my mother's bed watching whatever cartoon was playing that Saturday morning. My mother walked into her room and flew onto the bed exhausted. “I cannot keep cooking for these work parties. My hands can't take it anymore.” I crawled closer to my mother

“I'm sorry mama. Do you need help?” she peered at me and a slight grin developed on her face. “Mija, you burn water.” She giggled slightly. It had been the first smile that I had witnessed in weeks, and I wanted to keep the fantastic feelings going.

I started massaging my mother's hands and you could see how much better she felt. Her facial expressions said it. They screamed it even. It appeared that her dull, lifeless eyes had returned to their bright hazel color.

My mother grabbed my hand and started tracing the lines along my palm. I remember growing up, my mother would talk about how reading palms and all of that was nothing bad luck, so I was surprised to hear: “Your life line is long. That means your going to live a very, very, very long life.”

After speaking, she pulled me in for a tight hug, and began crying. “Mi reina. Mi reina. Mi reina.” She ended up falling asleep after crying for a good twenty minutes. I couldn't sleep that night. That experience was definitely an eye-opener. I had felt the pain my mother had to feel, and it definitely changed my view on how I dealt with everything, mainly because I couldn't cause that kind of hurt to someone I loved so much.

Tita

A plastic Tweety bird figurine with a blue backpack and a matching cap wasn't anything special. Yet, I loved it and I would take it everywhere.

Every Sunday up until I turned four, my family would attend Spanish mass in the morning and then visit my great-grandmother in the nursing home. We would sit in her room and the adults would chatter for hours on end. The conversations seemed to last forever.

On one particular Sunday, it was my great-grandma's birthday so I was forced into wearing a super frilly dress. It was pink and had ruffles on the skirt. My grandparents were dressed very sharply and my mother was wearing a black dress that made her pale skin look white as a ghost's.

My great-grandma, who I called “Tita,” had the small television in her room turned to a novela and the bleakness of the room was accompanied by the smell of a powdery perfume. “Your Tita likes to spray the room with her perfume before we get here so it'll smell real pretty,” my grandma would tell me. We had been allowed to bring a cake for my Tita's birthday. It was chocolate, her favorite. We sang “Los Mañanitas” and stuffed our faces until we couldn't eat anymore.

After the initial celebration, I was sitting on the ground, playing with my Tweety figurine when my Tita called me over. I shyly walked over to her bedside. My grandpa picked me up and put me next to my Tita. She spoke to me in Spanish and held her hand out. I handed her my toy, and she grabbed it and made him dance. She then made a weak attempt to copy Tweety's voice. I giggled and she hugged me. She continued to create a bunch of stories with the small figurine. We ended up leaving the small room a few hours later. I would never smell my Tita's perfume, which was as

My Tita ended up passing away a few weeks later. I never really got the chance to be sad about it because at the time I was too young to understand what death was. Looking back, that is the only real memory I have of my Tita and it is one I continue to treasure even to this day.

Lost dogs

Growing up, my brother and I disagreed on almost every topic, it was simply our nature. However, there were rare times we would come together in unity: to beg for a pet. Cassandra, affectionately and as the result of an early speech impediment called "Ca-ja-ba", was my first dog. She was a huge, black, mixed breed puppy that very quickly got big enough to bully me daily. Soon afterward we inherited a golden retriever mixed with something unique, possibly a wiener dog. It looked like a normal golden retriever, just a lot stubbier.Those mutts kept my brother and I running around everyday after school. It was a great time to be young and rambunctious. 

The tide changed when my mom announced that we were moving to New Waverly in the middle of Texas, specifically a small rural village of 900 people. Immediately I cried, "What about the puppies?", and my brother followed with the same concern. My mom decided it would be best to reply, " Let's not worry about them right now, they will be fine". For some reason we accepted this as legitimate answer to our question. Looking back of course, with my current propensity to question the logic behind everything, I would have not have been satisfied. On my last day of school, I arrived home and the backyard was empty. No excited barking to greet me. No new holes dug. No Cassandra. No Jayjay. My brother told me a man came and picked them up earlier. The next few days of packing were not very pleasant. No school, no friend... no puppies, it was not a great time to be young and rambunctious. 

The friend that changes you

When I graduated from the fifth grade my family and I moved from El Paso, Texas to Albuquerque, New Mexico. This move appeared a little harder on my father than it was on my mother, mainly because most of my father’s family lived in El Paso and Mexico. Meanwhile my mother’s family lived in New Mexico. I on the other hand did not mind moving as much as my father did, mainly because I would get into fights at my old school. Albuquerque would mean anopportunity for a new start. 

I only remember bits and pieces of sixth grade: the first day of school I waited in the frontof the school with my sister for about one and a half hours before school started because myfather would go into work very early. I remember feeling certain nervousness while waiting there with my sister; the feeling kept growing as more students showed up to school. 

I do recall the bell ringing after that but I don’t remember many of my classes that day until I got to science class, this is where I met my first middle school friend: Gabriel. Gabriel and I started talking when the teacher set up an ice-breaker for the class; she partnered us up and gave us questions to ask each other to kick-start a conversation. Fortunately this worked very well with Gabriel and I. I remember asking Gabriel where he was from and he told me Albuquerque; he replied asking where I was from; I answered him telling him that I was from El Paso. He went on to ask me if I knew anyone from the school. I told him no, outside of my sister of course. Gabriel then invited me to eat lunch with him and his friends that day; I accepted his offer. That conversation I had with Gabriel helped me become friends with other kids in school and I became able to establish my own status at school that year. I became social, had my first girlfriend, and as well it resulted in me participating in sports. 

Everything seemed to be going great until my family and I moved back to El Paso and I once again had to start over at a new school. This time felt different though, I was taller, more outspoken, and I knew my weaknesses as well as my strengths. This time I made my own place among the other students, but I owed all of that to Gabriel. He taught me to be confident around others and to not let others tell me how to be, but to be myself and people will like that the best about me. Overall it might have not have resulted in the move itself that helped me to be the person I am today, but Gabriel himself. 

Switching places

​I was around four when my family and I moved out of my grandparents’ house and into our own. I was young when we left so moving really wasn’t that big of a deal for me. We also really didn’t have much so moving was almost a fresh start for us. When we arrived to our new house I was amazed at its size, living with my grandparents was great but not very big. We all had our own rooms now, a big backyard and to my surprise I met my best friend that day.

​As we unpacked our things a woman and her son came to our door holding a plate of casserole. Me hiding behind my mom and him hiding behind his, we didn’t really say hi at first kind of just looked at each other. Soon enough, without even realizing he would just come over, help me unpack and hang out. We would hang out for countless hours just running around thinking of things to do as we went. Going on a new adventure each day.

​As a kid I remember thinking I wouldn’t really care for the move, and would rather stay with my grandparents but as I look back on the move now I can only see it as fate that I would happen to move into the house across the street from my best friend. Even to this day he has grown to be more of a brother than friend and I wouldn’t have it any other way.  

What is love?

​Love, it is a difficult word to describe. It is kind yet cruel, simple yet misleading it means warmth but constantly bourdons. My personal view on love happens to be a bit more cynical than others. Love is not bad, everyone needs it, wants it, longs for it but when have it abuse it, cripple it slowly, deteriorating its meaning until it becomes something completely different. It is a very tricky feeling, constantly confused with other feelings producing sometimes harsh outcomes.

​For example my parents, they married young, had kids, bought a house and ultimately built a life together simply based on this idea of love. They lived well for a couple years until one day they woke up in a bed side by side with someone they used to know, someone they can only regard to as nothing more than a stranger. They’ve spent years together in this perfect little life with nothing more than a faint bitter feeling of an unfulfilled life.

​Personally I could not say I have felt love itself due the simple fact that I have not lived long enough to love. My view on love is at times twisted, different than any other feeling because of its rarity. In my life the only people that I can say have truly loved are my grandparents. Together for sixty years plus up until and after my grandfather’s death they have loved. They fought constantly, yelling at each other until they day he died and even a bit after. But through it all they never gave up, they held onto that love they had and for me was something so beautiful that to this day have never seen done again.

​I’ve only come to witness the love of others and only then seen this occurrence once. Love is the only feeling that can be so wildly interpreted by others and constantly holds a new meaning. This is a word that constantly astonishes me, a word that I will most likely never fully understand and frankly does not scare me because it is always changing meaning. This is a word that when asked, everyone has their own unique definition.

Possesed Pikachu

I was in first grade when I was hospitalized to get my appendix removed, my mom and dad bought me a Pikachu plush. Ever since then I liked pikachu, and in the Christmas of that same year I was given my favorite toy/plush, an electronic Pikachu.

I was raised in a home that would watch Disney movies and stuff of that sort so I always thought that imagination and other factors could make things real, not to mention that Toy Story was my favorite movie when little. I used to think that everything kind of had a form of a soul, so I would talk to my pikachu. I could press the buttons inside its hand to make it respond with a "pika" or a joyful "pika-pika!". I would take that pikachu wherever except to school, because I always feared losing him.

One day I was on my bed talking to the pikachu and playing with him, my brothers were on the floor watching Dragon Ball, when my mom calls me from the kitchen. I go and leave my pikachu in the bed, but as soon as I left my brothers opened the bottom of pikachu where there was a switch, and they shifted the button into try-mode. The try mode is the original store function, its supposed to activate when something moves in front of him and he will automatically "speak", it was meant to attract kids as they were walking down store aisles. Well my brothers left the pikachu in try-mode and went back to watching television. I finished the errand my mom told me and came back to my pikachu. As soon as I walked in I asked my Pikachu what he wanted to do, and when I sat down in front of it so the Pikachu responded with a "pika!". For some reason I was terrified of it at that moment. I threw him down the bed and went running outside the room, my brothers were cracking up until shortly after when my mom showed up. At that moment she demanded to know what happened and so my brothers confessed. I remember being so relieved more than anything for some reason.

I still have that Pikachu to this day, up in a closet. In most life experiences there are lessons to be learned but in this experience I didn't learn anything except I can’t trust my brothers.

Life lessons

​I am and was the hardest headed kid making me very difficult to deal with, I loved getting into debates with anyone about anything for the simple fact of arguing. I hated to be caught without an answer so I always made sure I had a good one. As a kid growing up I remember my parents wouldn’t even let me get a word in because they knew once I got started I would ultimately have my way so their answer for everything was always “End of discussion.”. As you can imagine that phrase angered me a lot growing up.

​I think thought the years I have learned that there is always a time and place to say what is on your mind and some situations don’t need a quick response instead a simple acknowledgement will suffice. This is something that has taken me several years to learn, silence itself sometimes says a lot more than any phrase or comeback ever could. Learning how to stop talking sometimes and listen to others is a quality I work on every day and something I plan to perfect as the years go by.

​I have also learned that patience is a key quality to have and something I know little about. I have been recently informed that as a child I was far from being the most patient child and am now trying to correct it. I realize the many mistakes I have made in my past but use them as lessons and make sure I don’t make the same mistake again. I have taken these strides to perfect myself not for the better of others but because I choose to learn how to make myself a better person.

Lost Uncle

Three years ago in the summer of 2012, my mom decided to plan a trip to Georgia. This trip was a random surprise to say the least, but she insisted we all go, not like we had much of a choice. We didn't know at the moment, but this was to meet a lost uncle we didn't know about, which was her lost brother.

While driving to Georgia, my mom told me and my two brothers the backstory of our uncle as we were on our way there. Our uncle Gillermo, also nicknamed Santa, lived with my mom and the rest of my grandma's family back in Guadalajara, Mexico. There were complications between our uncle and his father, his dad was a person full of rage and hate due to the loss of his legs. My uncle didn't want to deal with his furious dad and the system of Mexico anymore so he decided to immigrate to the United States, but didn't tell anyone where he was heading. Twenty-five years later my mom was browsing through her facebook account and got in contact with a woman and had posted pictures with her brother. She messaged her and she told my mom to come to Georgia.

We arrived at Georgia and we found our uncle outside of a tattered country home, I didn't know the man. This man appeared just like a hobo right off the street, covered in hair and filth like a bear that had just rolled through the mud and then stolen Santa’s beard. My mom sprinted out and embraced him, and she introduced us to him. A few moments later we were invited to his home, and met ten different family members. A bunch of what people might reference to as the typical "rednecks". They knew my mom was a cosmetologist and had their hair showering the sidewalk the next moment. The part that had an explosion of emotion, a waterfall of feeling as my mom proceeded to cut "Santa's" hair and beard. He hadn't cut his hair since he left his home at Mexico, so everyone was so surprised about it.

The visit lasted a few days and we got to meet a whole side of the family we didn't know existed. We left shortly after to go back home, but when we arrived my mom got a call from my uncle. His wife was diagnosed with cancloster. I haven't heard much from them since then.

Childhood fights

​​

​I have had my share of fights in my life and yes they were tough but they made me the person I am today. The only times I have had to resort to fighting was when it came to my cousin, he was constantly looking for fights. He was arrogant and cocky at times and one way or another I would always get dragged into it. Now I am able to fend for myself but back then it was difficult for a boy of 12 years to be going up against 16 year old kids. They were bigger, stronger, and faster But there id go ready for the next one, and I did it gladly simply because I knew if and when the tables were turned I could always count on him.

​My cousin lives in a small town where everyone knows each other so of course anytime we fought or got in trouble we knew what was to come. I was a different kid back then, hard headed, never really cared for my personal wellbeing, just making sure my cousin was okay and vice versa. We could not go a week without having fought someone because of something as simple as a dumb remark.

​But that just how we were, young and dumb. Even though I was just a boy I learned the meaning of self-independence extremely quickly. I remember being around the age of twelve and already taking the bus all around town, causing trouble wherever I went. My cousin and I both would call out any kid or group of kids no matter how much we knew we were going to end up with a black eye or sore ribs.

​To this day I cannot say I regret anything because for one thing it taught me how to be independent for and also prepared me for the tough parts of life. I now realize that in life there are things you cannot back out from and even though there is a great risk you just have to do it and wish for the best. I enjoyed my childhood beatings very much and wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Deadly experience

​As a young boy I was extremely arrogant, I never really understood the concept of death. It was always this great mystery. What happens? How it feels? Are you ever truly prepared for death? So when the day came that I had my first encounter with death I didn’t really know how to react. I always loved to have an answer for everything so it was a rude awakening to what life entails and the mystery’s it holds.

​My grandfather Pollo Ramirez was the man to introduce me to death. It was a strange feeling when my parents told me he had died. I cried, I mourned, and through it all had never truly realized that he had even died. This is a man that I considered a second father, he picked me up from school every day, put a roof on my head when I didn’t have one of my own and fed me so that I never went hungry. 

​This man brought me up, he taught me a lot of things that are still very relevant to me now. So as a boy looking around the wake and seeing my entire family in tears seemed odd. My father is a strong character as is my mother. Imagine my surprise as they seek comfort themselves due to what had happened. At the funeral home things only worsened as you can imagine, my parents crushed, my grandmother widowed and myself too young to truly comprehend what is happening before my very eyes.

​We walk up those dreaded steps, those everyone fears as they can see their loved ones simply boxed up as if they were any other object. Although still fearful, I went up those steps still unprepared for what lies ahead and with each step my feet grow weaker and heavier for I fear what lay ahead. Not necessarily because it is scary as used in the traditional sense but because of the realization that this is not only a loved one but also a fate nobody escapes. So I look down then at my surroundings finally realizing that everyone around me including myself will one day find themselves neatly arranged in that dreaded box up those long and heavy steps.

My One Talent

​Ever since I was seven years old I’ve been playing football. I’ve played other sports too, but football has always been what I’ve flourished best at. Football has just always caught my attention more than other things.

​ I remember every ride when we would go drop of my brother at practice. I always wanted to play but never asked if I could join. One day I stayed for his practice and the coach for the team, Coach Gibbs, asked me why I wasn’t playing. I told him that I had always wanted to play but never built up the courage to ask my parents. After practice he talked to my parents about letting me join, and when my parents asked me if I wanted to join, to their surprise I said yes. My parents told me when we got home that I would be joining a pee-wee football team because I wasn’t old enough to play on my brother’s team. I told them that I only wanted to play on my brother’s team. It was settled, I would play for the 8-10 year olds when I was only 7, much to my mom’s worry.

​I remember playing for my first football team, the Ponies. I know it wasn’t the manliest name for a football team, but we did win a Little Bowl. I remember the feeling when I played my first game; it was so breathtaking, literally and figuratively, it was just so much fun.

​After I turned 11 I started playing for the older group of Ponies. I started playing for the Mustangs. During this time I was in 6th grade, and also playing football for my school. I had practice in the morning for school and practice in the afternoon for the Mustangs. It was tough, but I was willing to do it for football.

​Once I started high school I focused only on playing for my school. We haven’t had the greatest years but we’re getting better.

​Ever since that first day that I practiced, football has been a major part of my life and my main talent.

My Change in Schools

​I loved going to Rusk Elementary. I loved the friends I had there. My elementary days were very happy and fun filled days. But then I reached the end of my fifth grade year. I was sad but also looking forward to going to either Basset or Armendariz, and continue being with my friends.

​Soon after my parents told me that I wouldn’t be going to either one of those schools. Instead I would be going to a private school called Bethel Christian School. I begged them to not send me there. I told them that I would lose all the friends I had and I didn’t want to be the new kid. On one occasion they said I threatened to run away and live with my grandpa so I could go to public school. They “insisted”, and I ended up going to private school. Actually, the following year was pretty great. I got my first girlfriend that year, but I think the best part was being able to play sports my sixth grade year and not have to wait until my seventh grade year. That same year the school closed down because of lack of funds. I would end up going to a new private school, Jesus Chapel.

​I was the new kid again; my second school in two years. I met tons of cool people in this school too. But after one year of being there I had to change schools again. This time because of our lack of funds.

​My eight grade year I was homeschooled. It was pretty depressing. The only time you ever got to socialize was when it was time for football or basketball practice. We did go undefeated for both football and basketball though; and yes, I did end up moving schools again, but this time by choice.

​Ever since I was a little kid I would picture myself going to Austin High School. So when my eight grade year ended and it was time for high school, I brought up going to school at Austin. At first my parents were shocked; they were planning on homeschooling me throughout high school. It took a bit of convincing but they said yes. After all that time, and although I didn’t take the “traditional route,” I ended up at the school where I really wanted to go.

My Pet Shelby

​I’ve had a fair amount of pets throughout my life. I’m going to tell you about one on particular, my dog Shelby.

​My brother brought her home from his friend’s house, his friend’s dog just had puppies and he decided to keep one. We were all really excited of course. My parents said we could keep her as long as took care of her. We all agreed and we were all ecstatic.

​Shelby was a very hyper dog; she would always be playing fetch and would never let you sleep. We would take turns playing and taking her for walks. My youngest sister and I particularly took the lead in taking care of her. So naturally Shelby got closer to us than anyone else.

​One day she just wasn’t active, she wasn’t eating, she just wasn’t herself. We thought it was nothing serious. The next day she started throwing up. We were just kids and we thought she would get better herself.

​Things only got worse.

​I remember that day, at this point she could barely walk, we would have to hand feed her, and she threw it all up most of the time.

​It was about noon and my sister and I were out there with the dog petting her as she just lay without moving. At about 12:15 Shelby took her last big breath and finally passed away.

​ My sister started sobbing and my eyes got watery. Shelby was a good dog that passed away right in front of us. Her passing caused us to not have another pet for a few years.

is it even worth it?

I have only involved myself in a physical fight once. The only reason I involved myself was because I wanted to defend my mother. I am very pacifist but when it comes to defending what I love, I fight with all I got.

It started at the park, we went out to have a picnic and somehow the lady next to us decided it had been ok to start playing volleyball over us. My mom asked her if she could go play somewhere else, but the lady acted out and started pushing my mom. The lady told my mom she was no one to tell her what to do. My mom, obviously had to defend herself. That’s where it all started. I was ok until the lady’s daughter started getting in, that’s the moment I was very upset and decided to defend my mom. I swear, I was so mad and angry I didn’t feel the punches and slaps she would give me. The only thing I felt was the anger that emerged from seeing my mom being hit, and that’s when I let it all out. The fight was over within a couple of minutes and things didn’t end well. That same day I realized fighting wasn’t something I enjoyed, I just did it because I felt the need to defend my mom.

Honestly I felt like fighting was stupid and there was no need. We could have just talked things out and everything would have been ok. Maybe what trigger her fury wasn’t my mom maybe she had a bad day but in my opinion fighting is never the answer.

its going to be ok.

Death is one of the hardest things one must go through. Because it is the moment when a loved one has to go and will never return. Death has become just another part of nature even though it hurts so much. The first time I had experienced and actually understood death was at the age of 10years old and it was my Uncle Ruben Ramos past away.

My uncle lived and Juarez and he had a really hard time getting over drugs even though he tried rehabilitation, but it just didn’t work out and unfortunately he didn’t make it. At the day at the funeral I didn’t understand what had happened, I just remember that everybody wore black and people where crying. Until I had asked my dad why my uncle was laying down and wouldn’t wake up. My dad said that my uncle had to go because his time had come. My dad had said something I will never forget. He said, “God sends us to this earth with a mission and once we accomplish that mission God will call on us to return to his throne”. That was just something so wise and it just made me understand and see things from a different perspective.

Even though death is very painful there’s is always a reason it happened. Death may not seem as something many people understand. I remember my dad saying to his brother,” it’s not a good bye my friend, it’s a see you later