Oh you know, explosions and stuff

Has your world ever exploded? And not in a spontaneous combustion kind of way, but more of a "woah life makes sense and might have purpose!" kind of way? Because mine has recently and it's as if everything is spontaneously combusting because I am freaking out. So, informative backstory for anyone who cares: I always liked science and did well in science classes, but never really considered science as a possible career simply because I thought I wasn't smart enough. And then I came across a lovely, relatively simple (NOT) class called physics. Even though math isn't really my "thing", as some might say, I migrated towards sciences that were more math related (chemistry over biology). Despite that, knowing that physics was a math intensive course was enough to make me fear it. After much internal debate, I decided to take it because having three years of lab science would make me more competitive for college. Yes, this act is quite small minded and somewhat pessimistic (for lack of a better word), but if being competitive for college had been drilled into your head since the age of eleven, you would've done the same thing. So the school year started and I was SLAPPED IN THE FACE with knowledge of things I had never even thought about before. Like why the hell do I fall when I lean forward? Or why, when the car goes forward, are we pushed back? And why is it that my hair repels itself when I rub a balloon on it? Physics was f-ing hard. IS f-ing hard. But it is also magic. And let me tell you, from a Harry Potter fanatic's viewpoint, MAGIC IS FUCKING INSANE. And scary. And Amazing. My views in physics have followed this pattern throughout the year. First, it was insane. No, I was insane for taking it. Then it was scary-I had many sleepless nights hiding from the forces in my room. I mean physics was the bane of my existence. And that's a very rude pun because physics literally is the bane of the existence of anyone who does not die from natural causes. And then, it was amazing. I started to see things in the world that had always been there, but I had been blind too. Falling while trying to teach myself how to skateboard didn't hurt so much when I was too busy assessing the forces that caused my fall, and applying Newton's First Law of Gravity. I almost feel safer in the world now, like now I have the means by which to understand what's going on. And I love the fact that there is still so much to learn. That doesn't mean I still don't think I'm smart enough to do physics. Because that definitely still applies. But I don't really care anymore, because the urge to learn is so much stronger than my self doubt. And that's insane. And scary. And amazing.

So I guess a lesson to take from all this is take any class you can, especially the ones you don't think you'll like, because the world truly is magical. And you never know what will make you see the magic.

Chapel Hill Shooting

Three white people in their twenties shot by a Muslim man.

If that's what had happened at Chapel Hill, it would have been all over the news.

So why is it, that when three muslim people in their twenties are shot by a white man, for absolutely no reason, the media barely speaks a word?
Why do they still need us to hate Islam?

And it makes me wonder how many cases like this, and how many innocent lives forgotten, have their been?

RIP Deah Barakat, Yusor Mohammad, and Razan Mohammad

"I May Be a Sinner, but I Can Be a Hero Too"

The crescent moon shone through the abyss of blackness as little Tommy Ray ran through the narrow streets home. He had snuck out to go see the cat. The little, gray, worm eaten ball of fur, that he had named Tommy Ray Jr., had no home and was aching for some milk. Tommy's mom had warned him not to go out, as Crazy Sue was always lurking.

None of the adults would tell him why she was called Crazy Sue. All the children knew was that a woman of 40 shouldn't have skin so gray, eyes so yellow, and a yearning for compassion. Tommy had never met Crazy Sue, until tonight.

The woman had been beside Little Tommy Jr., rocking back and forth a to a tune Tommy had never heard before. With a muffled scream, he hurried into the streets, and just as the cars headlights turned on him, he heard Crazy Sue shout "sorry".

The car must not have been moving fast, he thought, as he awoke lying on the cool, damp grass where the cat lived. All he could remember was something pulling him. Trying to make sense of what had happened, he sat up slowly, and turned his head.

Frozen with fear, all he could do was stare into the ladies warm, yellow eyes. In a state of panic, he fled the scene, running as fast as his velcro sneakers would take him as the poor woman shrieked, "I may be a sinner, but I can be a hero too!"
as memories of her deceased son encumbered her mind, and rain flooded the streets.

Short Story: The Little Monster

The Little Monster

by Arden Rose

It was a warm day in may, they say, when the Little Monster first peered at the sun.

His big eyes reflected the warmth in which he felt and saw. His tiny green hands opened and closed as he felt himself and the world around him.

No bigger than a football, the Litter Monster was cute as could be. Although his face was speckled with black dots and he had tiny little horns sprouting from his head, he did not scare anything around him.

Where did he come from or how did he get there? No one knows.

But that is not the point.

He was one with nature as he stood up. Looking around him he had felt that he was no different from the grass or the sky. But as he touched the ground, the grass began to shrivel and die. He looked up at the sky, and as he breathed, it is said, the sky turned gray.

Being young, he thought nothing of it.

It is said that when he was born, the Little Monster didn't know that in his little hands he held all the power in the world.

He grew exponentially.

At one the world was huge to his Little eyes. He could feel it's beauty but knew nothing of the power he would soon hold.

At five he realized he had more responsibility. Not everything around him was kind. But his world was still simple. He had no knowledge of the power he had.

At fifteen the days grew dark for the Little Monster. He had more black dots than every, and he wasn't so little anymore. He began to see the sky turning gray. He started to understand his power.

But he did nothing.

As he grew older and older, the grass turned to dust and the sky got darker and darker. The poor Little Monster hadn't wished for this. He didn't want to destroy the world his big eyes had once marveled at.

But, it is said, it was too late when he realized he could use his power for good.

That for every plant he made wither, he could revive with a new one, and make sure to water it.

That if he breathed a little lighter, the sky could be more blue.

That if he didn't stop so hard on his birthplace, the ground would be whole.

But it was too late. The damage was done.

He was old now. His horns were great and ugly. The dots on his face huge and menacing. He scared the world around him.

The Little Monster looked at the world he had destroyed. He had wished, then and there, that he hadn't been given so much power.

The he lay down to die.

Leaving the world he once marveled at, in ruins.

What Happened in Israel

My friend, her sister, and I at the Dead Sea

Israel is described as the Holy Land. A place not to be missed by any Jew, Muslim, or Christian. Being a Jew, Israel is supposed to have a special place in my heart, but, because I'm not very religious, it honestly did not. I expected this trip to be life changing, not because I would finally see the place my ancestors came to after roaming the desert for forty years, but because it was my first opportunity to be independent. I was going only with the company of my friend Hannah, who's family and friends we would be staying with. Being two stubborn teenage girls, it wasn't easy having to stay together 24/7 for three weeks. By the end of our trip, we had managed to refrain from killing each other after a few fights and childish tears (so much for maturity and independence). On the last day of our trip, I was disappointed. Had I become a crazy, but independent, teen? Not really. This was supposed to be my “life-changing” trip, as I called it, and the irony of that name set in on the last day as I had had no “life-changing” moments. On the last day, we made our way back to Hannah's friend Hadar's house in Tel-Aviv, where she would take us to the airport. When we got to Hadar's house, everything seemed as it should be: Shir, her sister, was watching TV while her brother, Tomer, played on the computer, and her father Etan chatted me up about the World Cup. Her mother, Liat, was in the kitchen making dinner when I noticed the TV was showing images of rockets falling from the sky, narrowly being stopped by the iron dome before they hit the ground. Suddenly, the microwave dinged and beeped--so I thought. Hadar, her family, and Hannah stood up and rushed to the door. Hannah urged me in that direction as she tried to stay calm. Momentary confusion quickly gave way to the terrifying realization that it wasn't the microwave that had gone off, but a bomb alert. I hurried down the four flights of stairs, past the other apartments, willing my legs to move faster in order to get to the locked doors of the bomb shelter. That's right, LOCKED doors. The woman in front of me quietly mumbled, “Lo beseder” (no good in hebrew), and all I could think in a slightly frightened yet ironically proper tone was, “yes, very bad indeed”. There was a horrifying silence that I presumed to be fear, but as I stared at the faces around me , time seemed to freeze. I studied each of the Israeli's faces: their somewhat bemused looks with boredom in their eyes. I realized what they were experiencing wasn't fear for their lives, but a momentary adrenaline rush. They weren't worried, except for Shir who lacked shoes and didn't want to get her feet dirty. They were tired. America is not Israel. These people are used to this. No one can hide forever. No one can worry. There's no time for that. Life, even faced with fear, must go on I realized. Life must go on, sometimes oddly normally, in a war zone.

Looking back after four months of being home, the trip was really great. And I truly miss Israel

10:52 In the Afternoon

It was nine in the afternoon when I realized the irony of that sentence.
It was 10:52 in the afternoon when I realized the thing i hate most had become of me, and that my life was ironic. I had betrayed myself. I'm so scared of becoming nothing, of being talentless, of being bored, yet I let myself turn into the couch instead of the potato, wasting my days away merely existing whilst having anxiety dreams about a research paper I still have to write. Let me take it back to high school musical, the epitome of my fantasy life. Troy promises something or another to Gabriela and Gabriela replies with "promise is a big word Troy" then sings some sappy song about how her perfect love life is slightly less perfect in the face of small adversary. So basically, every dramatic teenage girl ever. In this case I play the role of both Troy and Gabriela. Pretty lonely to be both of them at once. And pretty lonely to be without a blog. I want to write. So I will..write my research paper. And then get back to this.

Independence in Israel during the Fourth of July

Well Blogger-sphere (if that's how you say it), I'm bacccckkkkkkkk. Let's call my month break from blogging a short hiatus from my boring life. I was on vacation, and frankly to tired to charge my computer after using up all the battery watching HSM and HSM 2. So here we have it, my very good excuse for not blogging. I traveled to a place that you should not be going to right now, Israel. There's alot going on in Israel right now, so I want to blog about that later.

My Israel trip wasn't the life changing, coming of age experience I'd hoped it would be. My whole life I've been at home. I mean I've traveled, but I've always been with my family. Up until the three weeks I spent in Israel, I had never been away for my twin brother for more than a day. Naturally, I wanted to get the hell out of my house and be ON MY OWN. I looked up educational and community service programs but all were too expensive. When my friend told me she was going to Israel (by herself), I expressed my jealousy, which resulted in an invitation to join along. The idea sounded fantastic, and by some miracle, my parents agreed to let me go.

So off we went. Before we even left, I had a bad feeling. As I've expressed in this post, I like to be alone. I was sixteen years old going to a foreign country with another sixteen year old. Needless to say, I didn't get any alone time at all. The friend I went with is very stubborn. Long story short, it was an awful trip that I would like to remove from my memory. I realize how terribly rude that is, considering I got to travel at all, but what can I say, it's the truth.

Dorothy spoke the truth when she said "There's no place like home". I had never wanted to return to my quiet abode in the boring San Fernando Valley until I actually left it. Being back feels great, especially for my back, as I had been sleeping on couches. It's still tough to come back though. After being without your parents for a while, you get a sense of what it's like to be truly independent. I absolutely loved it. If my trip had gone differently, or been with a different person, I probably wouldn't have wanted to come back at all, and would go into my rebellious teenage stage. I'm still waiting for that "phase" so I can finally write about something.

We missed Independence day here in America, but I still got my own taste of freedom, as well as a fireworks show, as I was still there when the first missiles were being fired.

I'm not sure what the purpose of this post was, but I'm just trying to come back. Thanks for sticking with me!