I am simultaneously a barely artistic and an entirely creative person. I’ve never been good at drawing and I’ve never been good at musical instruments, but I love to paint and I love to sing and write. Since I was a child, I would turn to arts and crafts, loud music and literature to refresh my mind. Art, as it is for many people, is an outlet for stress, frustrations, depression, joy, peace. As an introverted person, art has allowed me to exercise and develop my intellectual capabilities beyond the common methods of social interaction. Continue reading “The Arts”
Neyda Borges is the Department Chair of the English Department at Miami Lakes Educational Center; an English Honors teacher and an AP Literature teacher to ninth graders and twelfth graders, respectively; the journalism strand adviser; and a mother to all who enter the homey classroom with bright pink walls, and become part of the decade-old legacy she helps her student build. In short, she is a real-life Wonder Woman, General Leia Organa, and Hermione Granger, complete with strength and wisdom and grace. She humbly deflects praise, calmly corrects mistakes, and fiercely protects her ever-growing staff of student journalists—all while maintaining a happy marriage with her husband, caring for her two-year-old son, and making the Pink Room feel like a home away from home for all of her journalists, including me. Mrs. Borges is a woman anyone could admire and respect, and she has taught me to act with the same confidence, courage, and compassion. Continue reading “Teacher, Adviser, Mother”
Everyone talks about the holidays as if they’re the best time of the year; there are songs about how wonderful it all is. It’s a time to spend time with family and loved ones, and reunite with pets, and give gifts, and spread joy, and be merry, and lock yourself in your room because your family is terrible and it’s better to be alone than to be surrounded by constant fighting and resentment. Continue reading “Happy Holidays”
In times of distress and frustration, I can turn to this song which begins like any other. However, the emotion behind the song is so much more than simple, meaningful lyrics. The beauty in the second lies in the second half, where the choir enters and the harmonies take over and the listener is suddenly overwhelmed by a dizzying mashup of every other song on the album; it is, indeed, the outro, the culmination of an album carefully crafted to appeal to all those who listen.
Smoke signals outside;
They’re telling me to run.
Tell me about my future.
Is it worth all my pride?
I’m feeling like a loaded gun.
I should steady my aim.
Why can’t I steady my aim?
That’s an awful long time.
Love never lasts forever.
After a while it’s routine and comfort that holds you.
What happens when the routine is broken by simple mistakes?
When those simple mistakes create a world of heartache?
Or is it really heartache?
How do you break an empty heart?
Sweetheart, your best friend beat you to it.
Long before you, this heart was touched.
He was the beacon of light on miserable school mornings.
He was the pest abruptly interrupting quiet afternoons.
He was long nights and sing-alongs when my father thought me to be asleep.
Did I love him? Surely, I must have.
One could never be sure after a lifetime of feeling unwanted.
We fell out; miscommunication can break people.
You brought me a new kind of love.
I was unstoppable with you on my mind.
My friends watched me smile more than I have since your best friend left me crumbling.
You swore you’d do so much and more for me.
At night, you’d send sweet messages.
The first time you disappeared, I had hope.
You reappeared, and those pictures came up.
Social media can destroy one’s mentality.
Your dry words broke me down further, yet I got back up.
The second time, my mother warned me.
Too little, too late, and I should’ve listened.
I knew something was wrong.
Your best friend appeared in my life again.
Calls between the two of us became a regular thing.
He has endless friends; he chose to find me.
We reminisced our days together and created new ones to look upon in the future.
Everyone who knew us knew we were together again.
You could see it in my smile, in my annoyed glances and in my screams filled with laughter.
You came back.
You left again, and this time it was three weeks.
I learned to live without you; I lived with your best friend.
He never let me out of his sight for me than the few hours of sleep I got at 3am when he finally gave into his own need for rest.
You came back again.
I saw you online, but we never talked.
He hadn’t talked to me since you got back.
I’m not sure which hurt worse.
I messaged you on a Saturday night, a moment of weakness.
It’s been two days and you haven’t answered.
I’m sure it’ll soon turn into a week then a month then I’ll forget you altogether.
I logged off. A desperate need for isolation itched away at my chest.
He talked to me again, asked me to wish him luck on his exam.
I’m sure he did great.
I hope you’re happy with her, if the situation is what i think it is.
You could’ve at least told me.
This always happens to me, I’m just that type of girl.
Maybe I should’ve said yes to him, that night we met, and avoided all of this.
Do I regret taking your hand?
No, I’d do it all again.
There’s nothing I do better than make mistakes.
What I’m trying to say is…
It’s 2am and you can go screw yourself.