Tag Archives: writing

Three Years Later, Thank You All So Much!

This is crazy. I can’t believe I’ve actually kept this up for three years now. Well actually on Wednesday it’ll be three years, but it’s fine. I’ll celebrate today. 😉

I’d just like to give a big hug and thanks to everyone that’s read my blog. Whether you’re just now reading this one or you’ve been around for a while, thank you. I’ve been able to share my opinions and my writing with you for the past three years and I’ve loved every minute of it. I’ve written about everything from my favorite soup recipe to recently my junior prom. I’ve posted videos of my sister and I making Dubsmashes and I’ve shared a variety of quotes and poems that make me happy. I hope all of this has also made you happy or given you something to think about or some information you maybe didn’t know.

Without my dad giving me this website, I might not have become the writer I am today. Thanks Dad! 🙂 I might not have had the confidence to write about some of the things I have on this blog and in school. I might not have become more open with my feelings and thoughts. Thanks to all you readers too for dealing with my feelings, thoughts, obsessions, and ideas.

As of right now, I’m above 5,000 views on this blog which is above anything I ever imagined and this will be the 155th blog post. That’s a lot of writing! Some weeks, it’s been difficult to come up with actual ideas and so I’ve had to dig deep and sometimes they turn out really good and sometimes you get something really random like a post about fruit or polar bears. Sometimes I’m really passionate about something and you get multiple posts on that topic like with all of the posts about JFK and tennis, especially when dealing with sportsmanship.

I hope this blog is something I keep up for years to come. It’s been fun to write and create posts for the past three years. It’s been fun knowing that people are out there reading my writing and hopefully enjoying it. Once again, thank you for allowing me to share my life and loves with you. Here’s to many more years of blog posts. Thanks again!

Love, Ana

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JFK Assassination Vignette

If you’ve been a round for a while, you may have noticed that I have a slight obsession with the JFK administration and Kennedy’s presidency. In AP Lang, we had the opportunity to pick any event in time and write a short piece about that moment. I picked the JFK assassination and wrote from the perspective of Lyndon B. Johnson as they were getting ready to leave Texas and head back to Washington D.C. Enjoy.

The heat was unbearable. The crowd was unbearable. The news was unbearable. Vice President Lyndon B. Johnson stood as a crumbling stone wall aboard Air Force One. Franticly searching around the stateroom, he cried, “We can’t leave Dallas yet. Please!” This was all happening too fast. The arrival at the airport, the breakfast, the parade, and then the gunshots. He turned to Mrs. Kennedy who stared blankly at the floor, covered in the brains and blood of her deceased husband. President Kennedy was dead, dead as the Camelot he had fought so hard for. Johnson trembled as he placed his left hand on the Bible then raised his right hand to recite the oath of office. He fought to hold tears from rushing down his cheeks. He had lost his co-worker, his friend, his president. Johnson finally pleaded, “So help me God.” and with these last words, he became the next fearless leader of the United States of America. With the tragic events of the past few hours, the country watched as a peaceful river turned into a raging, destructive torrent after heavy rain. Once the rain had cleared, the river calmed back down and left fertile, new land to grow on. The country would grow strong again and Johnson would lead the way.  

JFK Assassination Vignette

Why I am a Self-Critic

Recently in AP Lang, we had a creative writing assignment inspired by a piece by Zitkala-Sa titled “Why I am a Pagan”. I chose to write about why I am so hard on myself and here is that piece. Enjoy.

Heavy breathing. Sweat dripping. Mind racing. There was no way I’m going to pull off this match. Two hours pass under the glaring sun and I’m still out on the battlefield. My back burns as the heat stabs into it. My feet burn as I dash madly from sideline to sideline in a frantic attempt to keep myself from raising that white flag. My heart burns as I watch the championship match against my nemesis go up in flames. No matter how many serves I sent penetrating the enemy’s walls or how many shots I fired evening the playing field it wasn’t enough. It never seems to be enough.

My last play haunts my mind as I walk up to the net. “You just had to miss it in the net didn’t you Ana? I can’t believe you just let that happen. It’s not like that doesn’t happen at least six or seven times in a match. You’ve been working on that! Get a grip!” My opponent and I may have ceased fire on the court but that ceasefire hasn’t reached the strident voice nagging me in my head. I hold back my frustration and overwhelming feeling of crying as we shake hands and head off the court to our families.  

I knew my family would be proud of me. They always are. They’ll see that I worked hard out on the court. Or did I? Was I good enough out there?

As I fasten my seatbelt in the car, a single tear rolls down my cheek. And then a second. And then a third. And then a flash flood rumbles down the hill. It seems like no matter how hard I push myself out there, I’m trapped swimming just below the surface of the ocean. I’m left to wander and explore the vastness of the watery depths. I’m breathless. It seems like no matter hard I work on the court, I’m doomed to endure the harsh conditions of a summitless mountain. Progress may be made but sometimes it feels like I’m headed nowhere. I see the same old trees on that horrendous mountain and every time I have to cross that river or climb over that boulder, I might vomit out of disgust. “We’re here again?! I thought we were over this already?”

I look out the window from the backseat of the car and watch as the cars, trees, and houses go by. As my dad navigates through Colorado Springs, my mom turns to me.

“Ana, you know not to be so hard on yourself. This is silly behavior. You are stronger than this. You made it to the championship, for goodness sake! Be proud of yourself for that! And who cares about some Jessica-messica Do not let that get to you, okay?”

My mom may be right. I shouldn’t let someone with poor sportsmanship like that get to me. I shouldn’t be my own worst enemy. I shouldn’t hate myself so much for losing a match in the championship of a tournament, but I have to.

Hating on myself and kicking myself in the butt for making mistakes motivates me to be better. Losing sucks, I’ll admit it, but it allows me to learn from my mistakes. I may never reach the summit of that awful mountain and I may never get to breathe the fresh, salty air by sticking my head above the water, but I’ll be able to learn from my experiences. Being critical of myself allows me to give flight to the strong, beautiful butterflies that were once weak and struggling caterpillars in my life. To some, being hard on yourself is detrimental. It’s pointless. It’s silly behavior. I don’t see it that way. I see it as an opportunity to educate myself and improve who I am. There is no limit to improvement and I am endlessly willing to become better in all I do. If this is self-improvement and growth, then forevermore, at least, I am a self-critic.

Why I am a Self-Critic
Credit to artist. Not my piece 🙂

Empowered Poem

I played in a tennis tournament yesterday that went really well. I feel like I’ve been struggling a bit lately to feel confident in my playing, but yesterday helped boost that. I may have won three of my matches and lost three of my matches, but everything I learned will help me improve my actual game as well as my mental game.

It’s also really awesome that fall is starting to actually show up on the trees here in Colorado. We had a nice, rainy day this week and I got to wear a cozy sweater and feel all bundled up. Winter is definitely my favorite season, but fall comes in at a close second.

Anyways, I’ve been able to do a lot of writing in my AP Lang class and we recently were able to write poems based off of pictures we took of words throughout the school. Here’s what I came up with. Enjoy!

No one can make you inferior without your consent
You don’t need a reason to help people,
Learn your weaknesses and fears.
Embrace them, then nobody will be able to use them.
Everyone is a genius,
so be kind and love others.
Your silent presence is more powerful than a million empty words.
You are worthy.
You empowered.

Sorry for such a short post this Sunday. Poems are fun to write and when you have an idea of what you want to write, they’re quick and easy to get done. Gotta love writing! 🙂 Have a great week!

poems

To Eat or Not to Eat

For the second half of my first semester this school year, my language arts class read Hamlet by Shakespeare. One of our assignments was to translate Hamlet’s “To be or not to be” soliloquy into something relatable and understandable. I chose to translate mine into “To eat or not to eat” and here it is. Enjoy!

To eat or not to eat -that is the question:
Whether ’tis more delicious to eat pizza
And have a happy stomach,
Or stay away from all the food,
And feel the pain of hunger.
To wait, for your order to be ready-
No more – and by waiting to say I face
The wonderful sights and smells
That each food holds-
‘Tis a situation
I want my food.
To be happy, to eat-
To eat, perhaps too long. Ay, there’s the problem.
For in overeating there comes suffering and stomach aches
When we wait at the microwave for our food
Must make us stop and think.
That’s the idea
That makes disaster of not eating or eating too much.
For who really wants to be without breakfast,
Those delicious Belgian waffles,
The many options for a wonderful lunch,
The disappointment in long lines and waits,
The early dinner that leaves you hungry the rest of the night,
The overly salted soft pretzel at the big game,
And the desperate looks
That starved people have been waiting for their meals,
When they too may feast
On days free from any worries?
Who would heed the large menu,
To decide and eat whatever they desire,
But that the horror that their stomachs may growl and food be cold,
The unknown foods that have yet to be eaten which
Food critics discuss
While we stand in a puzzled daze,
Wishing we had eaten much less
Instead of seeking the extra piece of cake?
Thus the chance of missing out does make food-lovers of us all,
And thus the enjoyment of food so precious
Is tainted by eye-opening thoughts of lost news,
And wonderful moments at Chipotle and Wendy’s
With this regard their paths are cut short
And those the sufferers of stomach aches favor of those who haven’t eaten.