What Is...
by Marika Julia
I wake up, not to the sound of an alarm clock, but to the sound of my parents yelling. My dad came by to pick me up for school just a little bit too early for my mom. They must’ve started fighting about that and now they’re back at who cheated first. They do this everyday and only stop when I come in the room. It’s like they think, I can’t hear them unless I’m 5 feet away from them. I wonder what would happen if I just stayed here. I stay in my room by the door listening to my parent’s argument.
“You want to know why I cheated?” asks my mom, “Because you disgust me!”
“Yeah, I know how you feel. I CAN’T STAND THE SIGHT OF YOU!” my dad yells.
“Good, well you won’t have to see me anymore, unless it’s in court! I’m filing for a divorce!”
“Good!” my dad exclaims, “Where’s Joyce? She’s going to be late.”
That’s my cue. I come down the stairs in whatever clothes I can find and my mom angrily tosses me an apple. I guess that’s my breakfast. On the way to school, I think about my parents and their constant fighting. I’m glad they’re finally getting a divorce, but it puts me off getting married in the future. I wonder why people get married in the first place. What is marriage supposed to be anyway? It seems to me that it’s a load of empty promises made in the moment, that can be broken as long as you have the money for a lawyer that gets you out of it.
Before I know it, I’m at school, so I get out of the car and go to class. My first class is history and we get lectured on the Civil Rights movement. My teacher asks us to compare life then for coloured people with life now. I think about it and conclude that sure people of colour have the same rights as white people now, but we’re still facing the same issue. People still get judged by the colour of their skin or the country that they’re from.
At the beginning of the school year, my teacher asked us why history is important. She said it was important so we don’t make the same mistakes. What is the point of having history, if we keep on making the same mistakes? As far as I’m concerned, history should just be called Present because everything that was an issue back then, is an issue now.
The bell rings and I pack up my things and head to the dreaded Lit. class. I say “dreaded” not because I hate Lit. (because I don’t), but because we’re having a discussion. I don’t participate much, so I always feel bad at the end of the class. I feel like I’ve disappointed my teacher somehow and it’s not even my fault.
Once the bell rings, my teacher asks a question about the book we’ve been reading to start the discussion. As usual, the same hands go up and they talk for the majority of the period. Every time a question gets asked, I start to think of an answer, but before I have the chance to gather my thoughts, someone has already answered the question. It’s always like that. Sometimes I wonder why we get marked on participation. It never feels fair. What is participation even defined as? I think I read once that it’s taking part in something. At this school, I seems like it’s just an extra credit opportunity for fast thinkers.
Finally, the bell rings and it’s lunch. I meet my friends in the quad and they talk while I listen.
Some of my friends go to the washroom, leaving me with one of my newer friends, Olivia. Since, I’m not too familiar with her, I don’t really have much to say. It gets awkward pretty quick.
Then, Olivia asks, “Why are you always so quiet?”
I look at her, then look away as I try to formulate an answer. She doesn’t give enough time.
“You should really try being less antisocial. It’s kind of rude.” she says.
Just in time (for her sake), my friends come back and she talks with them. While they gossip about who’s dating who, I think about what Olivia said. People always think that introverts are shy and antisocial, but that’s not always the case. We just need time to ourselves to breathe and recharge and we like to think before we speak! Why can’t people comprehend that? They think we need fixing. If I were to ask them, “What is an introvert?”, I bet they’d say it’s a broken extravert.
The bell rings pulling me out of my thoughts and I reluctantly head to drama. I would much rather stay here and think some more. In drama, my teacher posts the roles for our upcoming production of Romeo and Juliet in the 21st century. I look at the list and figure out I’m playing Lady Montague. My friend in the class, Noah, is playing Mercutio. He gets to do an epic staged gun fight with choreography and everything! We start rehearsing, beginning with our Romeo and Juliet.
Noah comes to me and whispers, “Matt is so lucky, he gets to kiss Kyla! Multiple times!”
I shake my head. Noah is absolutely obsessed with that girl.
“Why are you so obsessed with Kyla?” I ask.
“Are we jealous?” he asks wiggling his eyebrows.
I roll my eyes and say, “No, I’m just curious.”
“Isn’t it obvious? She’s the hottest girl in school!” he explains.
After a moment of silence, I ask, “How do you know she’s pretty if you’ve never seen her real face?”
Noah rolls his eyes this time and doesn’t answer my question. Instead, I think about it. I find out that even though people say that beauty in what’s on the inside, beauty is most widely assessed by a person’s ability to put on make up. What is beauty, then? I guess it’s not even skin deep, just a layer on top.
Once drama is over, I go home and do my homework and think some more. I rethink everything I’ve been thinking about today. What is marriage? What is history? What is participation? What is an introvert? What is beauty? Then, I come to the ultimate question, what is life? I don’t think “life” has a definite meaning. I think it depends on what a person perceives it to be. That way, it’s different for everyone, because everyone lives a different life. And with that, I turn off my brain for the day and turn on the TV.
by Marika Julia
I wake up, not to the sound of an alarm clock, but to the sound of my parents yelling. My dad came by to pick me up for school just a little bit too early for my mom. They must’ve started fighting about that and now they’re back at who cheated first. They do this everyday and only stop when I come in the room. It’s like they think, I can’t hear them unless I’m 5 feet away from them. I wonder what would happen if I just stayed here. I stay in my room by the door listening to my parent’s argument.
“You want to know why I cheated?” asks my mom, “Because you disgust me!”
“Yeah, I know how you feel. I CAN’T STAND THE SIGHT OF YOU!” my dad yells.
“Good, well you won’t have to see me anymore, unless it’s in court! I’m filing for a divorce!”
“Good!” my dad exclaims, “Where’s Joyce? She’s going to be late.”
That’s my cue. I come down the stairs in whatever clothes I can find and my mom angrily tosses me an apple. I guess that’s my breakfast. On the way to school, I think about my parents and their constant fighting. I’m glad they’re finally getting a divorce, but it puts me off getting married in the future. I wonder why people get married in the first place. What is marriage supposed to be anyway? It seems to me that it’s a load of empty promises made in the moment, that can be broken as long as you have the money for a lawyer that gets you out of it.
Before I know it, I’m at school, so I get out of the car and go to class. My first class is history and we get lectured on the Civil Rights movement. My teacher asks us to compare life then for coloured people with life now. I think about it and conclude that sure people of colour have the same rights as white people now, but we’re still facing the same issue. People still get judged by the colour of their skin or the country that they’re from.
At the beginning of the school year, my teacher asked us why history is important. She said it was important so we don’t make the same mistakes. What is the point of having history, if we keep on making the same mistakes? As far as I’m concerned, history should just be called Present because everything that was an issue back then, is an issue now.
The bell rings and I pack up my things and head to the dreaded Lit. class. I say “dreaded” not because I hate Lit. (because I don’t), but because we’re having a discussion. I don’t participate much, so I always feel bad at the end of the class. I feel like I’ve disappointed my teacher somehow and it’s not even my fault.
Once the bell rings, my teacher asks a question about the book we’ve been reading to start the discussion. As usual, the same hands go up and they talk for the majority of the period. Every time a question gets asked, I start to think of an answer, but before I have the chance to gather my thoughts, someone has already answered the question. It’s always like that. Sometimes I wonder why we get marked on participation. It never feels fair. What is participation even defined as? I think I read once that it’s taking part in something. At this school, I seems like it’s just an extra credit opportunity for fast thinkers.
Finally, the bell rings and it’s lunch. I meet my friends in the quad and they talk while I listen.
Some of my friends go to the washroom, leaving me with one of my newer friends, Olivia. Since, I’m not too familiar with her, I don’t really have much to say. It gets awkward pretty quick.
Then, Olivia asks, “Why are you always so quiet?”
I look at her, then look away as I try to formulate an answer. She doesn’t give enough time.
“You should really try being less antisocial. It’s kind of rude.” she says.
Just in time (for her sake), my friends come back and she talks with them. While they gossip about who’s dating who, I think about what Olivia said. People always think that introverts are shy and antisocial, but that’s not always the case. We just need time to ourselves to breathe and recharge and we like to think before we speak! Why can’t people comprehend that? They think we need fixing. If I were to ask them, “What is an introvert?”, I bet they’d say it’s a broken extravert.
The bell rings pulling me out of my thoughts and I reluctantly head to drama. I would much rather stay here and think some more. In drama, my teacher posts the roles for our upcoming production of Romeo and Juliet in the 21st century. I look at the list and figure out I’m playing Lady Montague. My friend in the class, Noah, is playing Mercutio. He gets to do an epic staged gun fight with choreography and everything! We start rehearsing, beginning with our Romeo and Juliet.
Noah comes to me and whispers, “Matt is so lucky, he gets to kiss Kyla! Multiple times!”
I shake my head. Noah is absolutely obsessed with that girl.
“Why are you so obsessed with Kyla?” I ask.
“Are we jealous?” he asks wiggling his eyebrows.
I roll my eyes and say, “No, I’m just curious.”
“Isn’t it obvious? She’s the hottest girl in school!” he explains.
After a moment of silence, I ask, “How do you know she’s pretty if you’ve never seen her real face?”
Noah rolls his eyes this time and doesn’t answer my question. Instead, I think about it. I find out that even though people say that beauty in what’s on the inside, beauty is most widely assessed by a person’s ability to put on make up. What is beauty, then? I guess it’s not even skin deep, just a layer on top.
Once drama is over, I go home and do my homework and think some more. I rethink everything I’ve been thinking about today. What is marriage? What is history? What is participation? What is an introvert? What is beauty? Then, I come to the ultimate question, what is life? I don’t think “life” has a definite meaning. I think it depends on what a person perceives it to be. That way, it’s different for everyone, because everyone lives a different life. And with that, I turn off my brain for the day and turn on the TV.