It was bitter cold. I could hear Jack Frost nipping at my window sill. His icy minions pattering at the glass, chipping at the remaining brain cells I had. It was kind of scary that something so clear and beautiful could be so deadly at the same time. For some it was an obvious mood killer, for me, it was the bringer of mini vacations and sweet hot cocoa. What more could a middle schooler ask for( other than cash obviously).

 I was young at the time, thirteen, and had no knack for danger. I sought to hide somewhere safe and warm, my home. My square small room with one television and an electronic system to feed me the comfort I needed during the snow storm. I was contemptuous, for there was no way the storm could touch me. My mom’s television was on to the usual news channel with the stiff man in the small suit. I always wanted to call and tell him that is armpits looked like they were leaking. The anchor man reported about how the oncoming snow blocked up all the major bridges and highways, warning people to just wait it out till it dies. There was no saying when it would end. So we did. In between commercials of Ed, Edd And Eddy, and Ben 10. I took a brief glance outside. For at least an hour could only see pure white neverending flashes. The snow looked as if it had a cleansing effect, as it covered everything in its frozen dust. 

  But as quickly as Jack Frost knocked at my window, he left, and the beauty that I saw was now just a mess. Buried cars, covered trash cans, and piercing icicles on the edge of houses created a terrible hazard. All I wanted to do was look and nothing else, I didn’t want to do anything else. However, that’s not what my mom had in plan for me. Previously I had asked for money and she finally grew tired of becoming my only source of income. “It finally stopped snowing” she exclaimed, “ how about you shovel sidewalks for money instead.”  I laughed in a super cocky way not fully aware she wasn’t joking. I just got a cold statue warming stare confirming her seriousness. 

Me? Leave my sanctuary to go into the wasted danger zone that held bitter coldness and slippery terrain that not even a master of skill could maneuver at this time. I wasn’t given much of a choice in this matter to be honest. I felt random shivers and I hadn’t even left my house yet. I was scared and grumpy that my own mother would put me closer to a snowy grave. This is not how I want to go! I thought. So in order to protect my innocence I wrapped myself in a never-ending of clothes. Scarf after scarf, Coat after coat, sock after sock. Each layer added an additional set of warmth but even created more doubt in my head. My own body had become stiff and hard to walk but I didn’t care since I was determined to beat the cold. My mission was simple to memorize… find snowy blocks, ask to shovel at a reasonable price, and come home. After all the times I replayed it in my head it still felt like the plan would fall apart halfway through. As I started to walk out the door I almost forgot the one important object of my plan, the stupid shovel. I went upstairs to my aunts building to ask for her shovel. She told me to look in the closet in the back, and there it was. As I touched the cold plastic I noticed how warned down it looked, however that made me trust it more. It was like the shovel itself was more prepared than I was from seeing and resolving countless struggles. I needed a simple tool but instead I got a strong parnther I could rely on: automatically I felt better as I went towards icy doom. 

The white beauty of the storms after effects  no longer held the same look, now I saw gray and dullness. The slush from tire tracks and wandering winds that blew cold air onto my face had left a discerning taste in my mouth. My eyes twitched from left to right as I noticed people struggling to get to their cars. I heard multiple curse words as people tripped and almost tripped. I myself had started to get trouble maintaining balance when walking. The soft crunch of the snow was immediately replaced with a sticky-like surface that kept my feet super close to the floor. I was starting to get anxious again as I got further and further from my home, my sanctuary.  Then my hands felt a familiar presence, Mr. shovel was still here, and he was my friend today. Therefore i trekked onward in the hope of a new source of income. 

House by the house I went. The big idea that seemed like the easiest job soon became a dull drag. The shovel I used seemed heavier and heavier after each scoop of white snow. As I bent my legs, the shovel tipped me to one side, closer to the ground, but only for a second: then I would reverse my step and swing the haul into the other side. My fingers were numb and I had started to see my own reflection in my breath, but I kept repeating the same process over and over until the job was done. My plastic partner however gave no expression or sign that it was ready to break. At this point, I would have given up and gone on, but doing this work, the work with my shovel and I seemed less like work and more like a goal I was striving for.

 Finally, the day was over, the payout was not that huge but at least I actually tried a new idea for once and wasn’t scared.  However it began to get really dark, I thought it was just the sun setting but it was actually the clouds that had begun to cover whatever was left of the sun. Apparently, the winter storm was not over and Jack Frost had not gone back to hiding. I gripped the shovel tighter than I had usually done and started running as if my life depended on it because quite frankly I had watched too many horror movies and had become quite dramatic. My left and right vision had started to become blurry all around me,  the gray void became clear and hollow. I felt like I was in the middle of a cyclone of terror and ice. My legs started to stiffen, my arms became like dead weights even sooner. Maybe even worse because at least you would feel the deadweights, I felt like I was losing pieces of my body. It was like a puzzle being torn apart and put back in the box: incomplete. My shoes were soggier than a swamp, colder than an ice tray. All that risen courage from before seemed to be disappearing, I walked slower and slower starting to become that anxious at-home boy from before. 

But then, I remembered. I was still holding on to something that brought me back into perspective, into reality. It was my anchor, it held my newfound strength and resolve. It showed me that the world out there is dangerous but also filled with chances. It can make money or make other opportunities. It was just a shovel but it was also not. It was more. The shovel showed me my bravery and that there will be harsh consequences for my humanity in the future but I have to keep moving forward, if I stay in the past I’ll miss my chance for greatness and if I stay still I’ll be stuck in a storm of self-doubt. So I got up, carried my aunt’s smelly old shovel, and kept walking till I was home and drank three cups of hot cocoa.

Fizzy Universe

Bubbling out of your control

Just Carbonated 

I remember the first time I went in an airplane. It’s one of those experiences where people explain how it felt but you still don’t get a firm grasp on it. My first time was when I was around 17 and I wanted to visit my childhood friend in the west. The minute I realized I would have to fly I did get quite nervous but honestly, the feeling didn’t last. It was a little after noon and the sun started to sink under the clouds. I waited in a long line anxiously waiting for this new experience. I doubt anyone was as happy as I was awaiting this moment. From the outside the plane does look big but as soon as you see the inside your brain loses all reasoning and you are just so confused for a second. I could hear the electricity and engines vibrating against the floors and walls of the plane. It was cold, almost like a walk-in freezer that they use in most restaurants. The space was narrow and it was hard to move, it felt as if I was being packed into a can of sardines at this point. In my head, I wanted all of this to be over, even though I had just found my seat. 

Most would close their eyes when they’re scared of a fiery metal death, however, I chose to keep them wide open. I feared the million little things that could go wrong as we started to move down the runway. But I also feared the million little things I would miss if I blinked. The speed of the accelerating bullet train with metallic wings pushed me far back in my seat. The ground had gone from solid colors to a flashing blur, the lights spun around my window as the plane had left the surface. Then it happened, my view had been expanded, to put it into simple terms, it felt like I was Google Maps. The world had become so smaller, yet I still felt like an ant all the way in these clouds. At this point, I couldn’t stop myself from grinning from cheek to cheek. Yeah, my heart was pumping and I couldn’t believe physics would allow this, but this moment became forever engraved in my childhood.

Literacy has the power to change your viewpoint on almost any standpoint or idea. As a young writer and novelist, fictional stories, either realistic or scientific, have helped build my awareness of social issues. Mental health is one of those social issues that has always affected people in our community. But one of the extraordinary aspects of mental health issues is how it can be viewed in different social lenses, depending on how others perceive those people struggling with mental health problems.  One of my favorite books that I continuously look back on is called The Perks Of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky.

To summarize, the book follows a high school adolescent with PTSD and depression from an abusive childhood. Throughout most of the story, all the main character Charlie tries to do is fit in and find his place in the world while battling with this mental illness that tries to isolate him from others and makes it harder for him to make friends and find love. Now this book may not affect everyone the same way, but it did change how I process social issues like mental health slightly. The reason I resonated with this book is that in some ways I could relate to this introverted yet interesting character that the author has created. 

As a person that also suffered from mental health problems, I see the world through a different lens from how other people do. These metaphorical lenses that I created caused me to lose confidence in myself. Part of me hated myself because everything anything I did, weird or abnormal, made me feel disgusted with myself. I had a hard time fitting in, and learning how to be social. But then I picked up reading a bit more. As I got older and wanted to learn more about the world, books like these just flicked a switch in my head. Seeing this kid fight for friends and the love of his life in ways that only he knew he could become inspirational. At the end of Perks of Being a Wallflower, I and Charlie both realized that the way we see the world isn’t a bad thing. It may sound cliche but being unique and seeing the world through our eyes is not just black and white. Literacy has taught me that it’s okay to be different and that the way we live doesn’t have to be conventional in the slightest.