Not Just a Coincidence

What goes around comes around, as the saying goes. This is a motto for some, but a belief for me. I believe people get what they deserve. It is not about vengeance or chance but the world balancing itself out. However, I haven’t always has this outlook; at one time in my life things appeared to be a mere coincidence.

I have seen plenty of people purposely do wrong. It infuriated me because many times they get away with it...time and time again. I used to believe people could behave however they please, and it wouldn’t matter. This was completely unfair in my eyes—nobody deserves to benefit through deceit. Cheating, stealing, and lying somehow didn’t influence their lives in a negative way. How was this so?

Then I met Chris.

It was seventh grade and we had all the same classes. He appeared to be one of the most intelligent, well rounded kids at school. I quickly admired him, and we became friends. Little did I know, Chris was smarter than I thought—he had mastered the art of deception.

I realized over the first weeks of school, Chris carefully chose his seat in each class. He didn’t sit with friends or even people he knew. He placed himself in the middle of the straight-A students, the ones who cared more about class than the teachers did. I discreetly began to watch him in class. His eyes were often glued to the papers of his neighbors. He didn’t ask many questions. Instead, he’d ask a classmate what the correct answer was. To him it didn’t matter how or why, as long as he could proudly call out a response in class. Teachers loved him. Faculty respected him. Students wanted to be him. I couldn’t stand him.

As we moved into high school, this cheating habit matured. Chris was placed in all advanced courses. I had three classes with him, but we still never sat near each other; he still sat within the same group of students. His wondering eyes had improved; I saw him cheat on every quiz and test in the class that year. I studied for hours in these classes; however, he always got a better grade. I worked hard, while he cheated and got praised for his effort. Chris would form study groups to go over homework and prepare for tests. Not to my surprise, while attending one of the sessions I realized Chris didn’t actually do any work. There was random scribble covering the page and he’d ask what everyone got for an answer. Then he’d write that down. I actually did the work and got the correct answers. I studied, prepared, and worked hard. He used people for his grades and nobody seemed to notice but me.

Before I knew it, it was time to take the SAT’s and apply to college. Chris was applying to only one school. Chris had a great GPA and was confident in his acceptance. I figured he could get into many schools, however he chose one—a very difficult one. The day of the SAT’s Chris looked completely disoriented. I was nervous myself, but he was overwhelmed. It then hit me that Chris knew he couldn’t cheat on the SAT. For once he would have to do it himself.

Months later, the letters were delivered. Everyone stalked their mailbox until each college had replied. I was accepted into three schools and wait-listed for one. I was ecstatic. I was going to a college I worked hard for. At school, everyone was figuring out possible roommate plans. I saw Chris walking down the hall with a blank look on his face. He didn’t say a word to anyone. I found out later that day Chris didn’t get in to the one school he applied to. He had no backup plan or options. He finally realized the result of cheating and lying.

Although I felt sympathy for his situation, I can’t say I was surprised. Chris cheated his whole way through school. More importantly he cheated himself. That day I realized, things don’t just happen. He never put in effort or earned an acceptance to a prestigious college. He relied on others to do that for him. To this day, Chris never completed a degree. He attempted two years at a local community college, but dropped out after one semester. I believe that even though things take time, even years in this case, we all will get what we deserve.

What is it worth?

I believe in achievement. Achievement, no matter what its shape or form, matters to everyone. . Achievement is what marks me as an individual, what sets me apart from everyone else. When all is done for the day and everything is in its place, I want to come home and think – “I achieved something today.” I do not want to feel like I just exist. My life has to mean something, and achievements along the way are what remind me that it has value.

This mentality began at 12., dealing with my brother and seeing what he was accomplishing in his life. Although I was young, I still looked up on him with envy. He made good grades, played sports, and had a job. His achievements in school and sports helped him excel, and that set the standard for me growing up.

Right now, my achievements are a very large part of my reason for existing. They make me feel alive and that every moment I breathe has meaning. Family, friends, and loved ones are significant elements in my life, and they have their place in the grand scheme, but ultimately, my own drive, ambition, and passion are what drive my achievement, and with that achievement comes recognition – recognition that every effort I make has a tangible and meaningful result.

My main achievement is surviving Iraq. It is heard about on the news every day, on the web, and the topic of discussion for those who lived it, being a constant reminder no matter where you are. I am proud of the fact that I got to live through the deployment, and that the experiences I have taken from it are nothing anyone can take away from me. Going to Iraq is one thing, but experiencing what many soldiers experience over there and living to tell about it is a crowning achievement because how dangerously severe running missions is . When I was over there, I realized that I was there for the man to the left and right of me first, the mission second, because without the team, the mission fails. Our achievements kept each other alive, and that was the driving factor for the duration of our stay over there. My achievement was doing my job in conjunction with my comrades, so that when I succeeded, they lived.

Pride in my actions and the end result mark my place in this world. Through those actions I exemplify my character and personality, and leave a lasting impression for friends and family. What I have done in the past is written, what is for the future has yet to be. Nonetheless, my actions are history, they are my achievements.

Friends on the Wing

I believe in friends. Earlier today I was checking my email. I wasn't shocked find a letter from as close friend. Dane and I went through school together in upstate New York. Whenever I was having a problem, Dane was the first to know about it and offer help. Whether we were running countless laps around the high school track or forgoing a day of public education for a sunny fishing hole tucked away in the mountains, we were the masters of all the world.

On a sunny spring time day and we were checking our fishing tackle for our annual "First fish after Hell' fishing trip. These trips always took place directly following winter months, when it was warm enough to go fishing again. Dane was showing me his expensive new fishing lures when I made the suggestion to take the canoe out rather than the row boat. I made the argument that the canoe would be lighter to carry to the lake. He agreed, and in moments we were paddling our way out to the other side of the lake.

The water was cold, too cold for fishing. We both knew it. It didn't matter because to us, fishing really wasn't about catching fish; fishing was about relaxing. Catching an actual fish was more of a bonus. The lake was bright from the sun's reflection against the fresh greens of the surrounding trees. An older couple sat on a dock across the lake, watching us paddle fifteen minutes to our spot. We dropped anchor, threw our lines in, and relaxed.

The hours began to pass quickly and just as figured, no bites. Suddenly, Dane's pole nearly jumped in the water. We jolted at the action, ready to risk life and limb to land whatever monster was on the other end of that line. The drag setting on Dane's reel was screaming as he fought the fish up to the surface. We saw the shadow of the fish rising toward the boat and our eyes went wild with awe. "Get the net!", Dane shouted. As I rose to reach for the net, I felt the canoe shift under me and I knew in an instant, it was too late. The last thing I saw before I went head-first into the water, was my friend being catapulted from other end of the canoe.

As I was submerged, the only things going through my mind, besides the shear chill of the water, was how angry Dane was going to be. I thought about his new tackle and his fishing pole being dragged under by a beast from the deep. I fought through the cold and swam for the surface, not knowing what to expect. When I finally broke through I found Dane, holding on to the other end of the capsized canoe, laughing hysterically with wide eyes. We gathered all of our floating belongings into the center of the canoe, even though it was full of water. As we swam, laughed, and shivered our way into shore, I searched for the right words to convey my apology. All I said was "That old couple brought out towels."

With everybody moving around so much, it's easy to lose track of people. But with the people I truly consider friends, the years feel like minutes. We can pick up right where we left off and still have the same bond. We're held together from the past. Sometimes I find myself lost in life. I feel as if I'm walking through a blinding fog with no destination. If there is one thing that keeps me moving, it is the fact that I know my friends will be waiting for me when the fog lifts.

Hug Me!

I believe in hugs.

There are people that love to hug and there are people who loathe being touched. I love to give, receive, and even see people hugging. There is a connection in a hug that is not found in any other physical act. A hug can be used to greet, to give comfort, or to show romantic love. Hugs are the most versatile expressions of feeling in the human repertoire.

I go home to see my family and we never greet each other with handshakes, or just smiles and nods. We always hug. I hug my mom, then my dad, then my brother, and finally I hug my dog. This is a special greeting that shows a familiar, loving relationship. When my family hugs me there is a lot of emotion behind it. My mom wraps me in a hug and it feels like home. I remember all of the hugs that she has given me before. When I see family members or friends that I have not seen in a long time, I always hug them. Almost every time I see a particular sorority sister that hates being touched by most people, I hug her. She has grown accustomed to my hugs and even asks for one when I forget about our standing hug rule. Hugs as greetings are the best way to show a friend or family member that you care and want to be close to them.

A hug for comfort is one of the greatest gifts one person can give another. One of the best hugs that I have ever received came the day that my grandmother died. I was a sophomore in high school and my family came to school to get me. I did not cry and the fact that my grandmother was gone had not even registered with me yet. We drove from the school to my grandmother’s house, where my boyfriend and the rest of my family were waiting. As soon as I saw the house, I started thinking about my grandmother. I thought about being at her house every Christmas. I could smell the cookies she had waiting for me every afternoon of middle school. I could feel her hug. I made it to the door of the house and I lost it. I started crying uncontrollably. I was not sad. I was furious. I was mad at God, my family members, and myself. But worst of all, I was angry at my grandmother. I was crying and screaming and my boyfriend immediately grabbed me and forced me to hug him. I fought him for a few seconds and almost broke away from his grasp, but he held on. I finally relaxed into his tight embrace and we cried together. He knew how I felt about my grandmother. He was trying to take all of my pain and sadness away from me and into himself. I am still not sure how long we were hugging, but when I was finally calm and he slowly let go of me, I was exhausted. I still felt horrible and I definitely did not feel like doing a cartwheel, but I felt like I could relax and that he was there to take care of me.

The same man who was there to comfort me when my grandmother died gives me great romantic hugs all the time. A romantic hug is a more intimate and more telling hug than the other hugs. I can look at two people hugging and tell if it is a romantic hug or not. Body language cues show a romantic hug. The huggers embrace more tightly and it is more of a full-on hug, chest to chest and pelvis to pelvis. The full body hug reminds the huggers of the intimacy that they share. When my fiancé hugs me I feel loved and I want to be close to him. A romantic hug can be more intimate than a kiss for me.

I am a hugger as often as possible and I try to give hugs to the masses because I know that a hug was the power to heal and the power to make you smile. So look out, because I may be hugging you next.

For the Love of Learning

I remember the day I fell in love with learning. I was sitting in my History of the Far East class, I was in seventh grade. It was the mid 1970’s, and while my friends were just discovering disco, big hair and scrunchy socks, I was learning about Mao Tse Tung and a country steeped in secret culture and tradition. The teacher, a quirky little man named Mr. Sykes, would push his bad comb-over out of his eyes, pause for just a moment and then dive into his adventures at The Great Wall China or tell us about being detained on the border between North and South Korea. He relived these memories with passion and I couldn’t get enough. I would go home at night and read of long-dead dictators, countries of exotic landscapes and customs of people foreign to me. I felt with each new bit of knowledge I learned, I was growing in an unexplainable way. What I now know was that I was experiencing the thrill of becoming educated. My mind was opened by the knowledge and teaching of the instructor, instead of just being packed with dates and facts needed to prepare for the almighty end-of-grade tests. Learning, not test preparation, should be the focus for every child that enters school.

Education is about finding joy in learning. From the time a child learns to say the word why, life becomes about learning. Children enter kindergarten with a hunger to discover knowledge. Everything from identifying colors to finding their own way to the bathroom is an accomplishment and adventure. The more this is nurtured and rewarded, the more they seek. Some of my best memories when I was young were being read to in school. There was always something I didn’t know and I was anxious to go home and share with my parents my new-found information. Before long I learned to read myself, and the learning carried on at breakneck speed. I waited excitedly upon the arrival of third grade where I would get to learn how to write in cursive and do multiplication. Each grade brought a promise of new things. All my friends agreed with me that sixth grade would be the best because we got to play the Oregon Trail that year – even though we weren’t sure just what that was.

And we learned. We could do long division, we could write a basic essay, we knew our presidents and we could find France on a map. We knew we had to learn this because we were expected to know it. Our parents spoke of these things matter-of-factly and the same would be expected of us when we grew up. We learned because knowing was the purpose of our education. We didn’t worry about our success depending on bubble sheets we had to complete at a proficient rating of 75% or better. Teachers were allowed to tell us stories, create complex models with apples, straws and pipe cleaners. They provided us with more than just dates, facts and formulas. They educated us.

I believe the educational system has lost focus on what it means to truly educated. Accountability through test scores, while providing great data on paper, is doing little to inspire the minds of children. Let our teachers teach. Let them tell us about the wonders of the Great Barrier Reef or the romping adventures of The Odyssey. Every teacher should have the chance to inspire a mind as Mr. Sykes did for me so many years ago. That is the reward of education that benefits us all.

The Power Of The Written Word

Some people are talkers. E-mailers. Listeners. Musicians. Anti-socialists. It’s all about how one expresses oneself. I am a writer. It is through writing that I process everything that occurs in my life. Each event that brings me to anger, every feeling that gives me goose bumps. I am a mess without my words. My words calm me down. My words are what I wake up to each morning. I believe in the power of the written word.

I learned to write when everyone else did but it wasn’t until high school that I began writing for enjoyment. My older sister, Ashley, encouraged me to write to escape the chaos that surrounded by parents’ divorce. There were so many things I didn’t understand. A confusion deep inside wouldn’t allow me to isolate myself from the problems my family faced. I began writing to confront those feelings, the fears that nothing in my life would ever go back to normal.

In my writing, I get to be the voice of reason. I get to be selfish without affecting anyone else. I can indulge in the things I’m passionate about and obliterate the things that make me mad. That’s hardly ever the way it goes though. Through writing, I gain a level head. If I sit down angry at the world, I can write out those frustrations, read through them—I almost always find something else there. Perhaps it’s the realization that life is not fair, that nothing will ever make complete sense. Maybe it’s that, for once, I actually I am right and it cannot be denied. In my writing, I get to blow these moments out of proportion. In the same regard, I’m allowed to mourn, to whine about the failures, the struggles. Writing brings a sense of fairness to my life that the real world deprives me of.

For my nonfiction class, I have been researching the physical and mental state of my grandfather. After having experienced three strokes, the magic man of my youth has disintegrated into an unstable recluse—his ability to communicate all but hanging by a thread, like a sliver of saliva dangling from his chin. Though this experience, I’ve been able to crawl inside his world and recognize the day to day suffering he faces, rather than respond to his absentmindedness with frustration. My words bring on compassion, understanding. Writing him onto paper has helped to push flaws aside and bring to light the wonderful person he is still capable of being. My words teach me, challenge me to question the things I don’t understand.

I celebrate their existence. I yell about them, whisper too quietly, spit when I toast the changes they have wrought. Words are all-powerful. You may erase them but they cannot be erased because words define who you are. Words are thoughts. Words are secrets silenced forever. Words are that ever-present voice: spray-painted onto sky-scrapers, whispered in passing, scribbled in love notes on the back of crumpled napkins.

Exercise is the Key

I slip on my blue and gray Mizuno sneakers, making sure to tie my laces tightly. I shake out my leg muscles while setting my watch to zero. Taking a deep breath, I exhale as my feet hit the pavement. As I run, sweat starts dripping down my face and my breathing becomes heavier. An hour later, I turn back to my street and sprint the rest of the way. My heart is racing; my shirt is drenched with sweat but I’ve never felt better. Running is my escape from life. I believe exercise is physically and mentally essential in everyone’s life.

Exercise provides a way out from my daily routine. My days can be stressful with homework, family, and problems with work. When I exercise I can release all my stress. Going for a run or a bike ride clears my mind and helps me to release the pressure that has increased through the day. I can exercise as fast and hard as I want to. If I am angry at anyone or the world, all the anger and frustration gets taken out on the road. Exercising gives me a chance to let go of my pent up emotions. After exercising, I feel mentally stronger for I have accomplished something. Pushing and challenging myself during exercise helps me to feel successful outside of my school and work life. If I had failed a test or had a horrible day at work, I go for a run and bring my confidence back up.

Exercise does not just help me mentally, it is physically rewarding as well. Part of being healthy is moving your body. Exercise makes your heart stronger, lowers your cholesterol and blood pressure, strengthens your lungs, and builds up your immune system. It also helps preserve bone density and muscle strength. Every time I go to to the hospital for a physical or check-up, the doctor is amazed at my health. Two weeks ago, I went in to get a physical from the UNCW Health Center. After I was checked, the doctor informed me that I was the healthiest person they have seen in months. It's not thatI do anything out of the ordinary because I don't. I just exercise.

I believe that everyone should exercise in some way. Exercise keeps you in shape and maintains a healthy weight while allowing you to mentally feel accomplished and successful. Everyone needs to be able to escape from their everyday life and release the stress that they have; exercise provides that outlet. I could not imagine my life without running or any form of exercise. It keeps me sane. So go grab your running shoes—the road is waiting.

Why Status is Everything

Status is everything. It is something more powerful than life itself. Without status, without prestige, without composure, you are nothing. Have you ever looked up to someone who didn’t have high status? Personally I can’t respect someone unless they are better than me at something or have an equal or stronger character. Status is something that can be achieved or ascribed. You can be born into a high-status family, one with high social standing be it success, financial wealth or a ways of living that reflects character and rich morals. One’s sex and age can determine status as well as race but these things are not earned just like having good looks is not earned.

My grandfather, Miguel, had high status. Everywhere he went he radiated power and strength like the roots of a towering redwood tree. He was calm, unaffected and decisive. He greeted people like a friend but didn’t need their approval. He would open a conversation with a joke that was cornier than an episode of I Dream of Jeannie but everyone laughed because he was earnest and devoid of any arrogance. He had high status because he didn’t rely on material things for approval from others. He didn’t buy fancy things despite the money he earned over the years to feel good. What made him high status was that he made people feel good about themselves for who they were. He never judged them. Everyone was a friend and an opportunity for a great conversation. When he was with his family he took on the role of the protector and moral guide. He didn’t give any speeches or say any cheap philosophies. He lived his beliefs and lead by example. He was a true leader. He never preached.

High status should not rob people of their dignity and will but inspire them to achieve more in their life. A personal guide for this must speak to you personally, directly and shake you to the core. I believe that without positive, high status you are nothing and will be looked down upon because you cannot be an effective leader just as you cannot lead yourself. My grandfather was my personal guide. Survival and being able to produce strong offspring depends on status and the stronger the status, the stronger the genes. He survived by moving to this country in the late 1950s with nothing. I believe one of the sole reasons he survived was because of his positive outlook on life. That showed that he was a true man and capable of anything. It showed he was brave because he came here with nothing but his family. He had no money, no belongings and not even a suitcase. He left a good job as a pharmacist and started over from square one. He is an example of the American dream.

Underground

Their voices travel higher and farther than all others, but they can't be heard. Their shadows eclipse the sun, but they can't be seen. To select just one would be unfair to all the others. A single parent who works two jobs to provide the best possible life for their child, also provides inspiration to everyone. Any person who improves their own situation without impeding the efforts of others sets a grand example for those fortunate enough to be around them. In my life, there is no great hero. Instead, my life has been filled with hundreds of people who I would consider heroic.

The unknown and unsung have shaped my world. It's the people who work and sacrifice day in and day out. And they're everywhere. Whether they're cooking on a submarine, hundreds of meters below the surface of the Atlantic, or repairing a satellite in the vastness of space, there are no obstacles that they can't overcome. They come in all different shapes and sizes.

I worked with a woman in New York; her name was Cindy. Cindy was a single mom in her mid-twenties. We were toll collectors. When she wasn't working at the tolls, she was working one of her other two jobs. Her daughter was the light of her life, and probably still is to this day. Anytime I saw Cindy, her face was heavy. Though she smiled and laughed continuously, she was tired. She never wanted anyone to know how hard her life was. She spent every waking second worrying about her daughter and never had time for herself or relationships.

A few years ago, on Christmas eve, I arrived late to work only to find Cindy outside, smoking a cigarette, and quietly sobbing. “What’s wrong,” I asked her. She told me that she had never been away from her daughter on any holiday. She was scheduled to be at work at 8 A.M. on Christmas morning. Her daughter would be spending Christmas morning with Cindy’s parents. Cindy wasn’t a girl to complain. In fact, I don’t think I ever heard her complain about anything, not even her ex-husband, who had emptied her accounts and ran off to Boston with another woman. It is difficult for me to be emotional, but I nearly lost when Cindy poured her heart out to me. I told Cindy that I would work her shift so that she could spend Christmas with her daughter.

I worked that Christmas without regret. I spent the day talking to the patrons and watching them drive off to their assorted jobs. With everyone who passed through my lane that day, I couldn’t help but wonder about their families. I could see the sadness in their eyes. These people are the ones that I consider my heroes. I’ve met people in many different states and it’s always the people who are making sacrifices for the good of their loved ones, who I truly respect and consider heroes.