Tear =(

I'm so sad that this is my last post. I really started to get into this blogging thing. I guess I have to do better this next year. lol. So much has happened this year. I have to say that I'm thankful for the people who have touched my lives. Yes, even the a**holes. You all have taught me invaluable lessons: holding my temper, asserting my opinion, say no. Before I go any further, I would like to say that my parents do not buy "thuggish" clothes.

My year has been one of happiness, one of sorrow, one of confusion, and one of growth. I have done my best recently to keep you all involved with the on-goings of my life. I've been blessed with people that have touched my heart and have encouraged me to do things that I have never thought about doing. I just want to thank you all for being a part of my year, and with God's will, I will see you all in the new year.

I also realized that I titled my blog "A Writer's Journey" and have no insight about my writing growth or ability, so be on the look-out for that.

I love you all!

Merry Christmas

This is my follow-up post for Christmas. I would have loved to write something yesterday, but things tend to get busy with the house hopping and what not. This Christmas was one of the best that I've had in a long time. Sadly, I wasn't able to hang out with my cousin who was in Arizona with her parents. But, all in all, everything was great. I got to visit family and eat some food. Greatness, right? Oh, I also got presents.

This is my thing with the presents, more specifically clothes. Now, I'm appreciative of gifts, but I am starting to get concerned about clothes that are gifts. I still feel like my parents are trying to dress me. I tend to dress differently from my brother, and it seems like the clothes that I get are for him. Let's just say that I shop at different stores than my parents. I always feel like they want me to be thug-lite, which won't happen. I don't have enough street cred to pull that off. =)

So, my grandmother perhaps made my life with opening her Christmas presents. My brother, mother, and I picked her out a night gown and a pair of warm socks with grips at the bottom of it. She opened her gown, and  her voice does what it always does when she gets something. It shoots up like two octaves and she gets excited. But when she opened her socks, she looked confused for like two seconds. The socks were bound together by that plastic thingamajig. I did not expect her to do what she did....wait for it....she put the socks around her neck. Apparently, she thought that we bought her a scarf. She was over the moon because she loves scarves, which is perhaps where I got my hankering for scarves from. I almost fell out of my chair laughing because I just knew that she was joking, but they stayed there. Then, my lovely aunt told my grandmother that her scarf had heels on them. My grandmother looked down and saw the heels; the only thing that she could do was join everyone else in their laughter.

Then, there's two of my best friends from high school. I have to say that if I had brothers in a different lifetime, these two fellas would be my partners in crime. We took Beale Street by storm a couple of nights this week, and I was introduced to something called absinthe. I was nervous before because it sounded like Terry was saying absent and Clark, acid. I was thinking that both sounded dangerous and that I should stick to water. Turns out that we had a pretty amazing night. I got offers from this one lady from Scotland that me question ever going out again. After beginning our absinthe trip, we venture down to this Irish pub or whatever (thanks to Clark) to drink a little more.

When we got there, we ran into a couple of classmates from high school that was overly excited about seeing us. Yes, one was drunk and the other...pretty much shitfaced. They ended up leaving soon after we got there. It was at this point that I started to really feel the absinthe. I see that I get giddy when I'm having fun =). But, I sobered up for a bit when security rushed a group of people outside, and Clark and I got caught up in the crowd. Where was Terry? I don't know. When we got out of the moving crowd, I found the closest sit and parked it. We ended the night at Denny's where Clark almost drowned drinking his water, and Terry was fighting his Tourette's.

Again, I can honestly say that this Christmas was one of the most interesting and exciting that I've had in a long time. I'm hoping to kick it with my boys again before I leave, but if not I can be completely satisfied and prepare for this game that they are going to start with me because of recently shared information. lol

Have a blessed, safe, and happy New Year's!

The Finale

Now, I'm sad to see this story end, but I guess all good things must. This has been a pretty interesting journey. I know that these recent posts have stemmed from my frustration with a certain PP, but I felt like this was entertaining, and I'm sure that you all have enjoyed it. In recent news, I now have pinterest and I'm lovin' it.

Well, without further ado, here's the last installment of Craziness.org. The last situation happened while I was at the desk with other people present. Now, I have witnesses that I am not crazy. Well, I was at the desk with two other RAs and a Hall Director. I was about to start my round when everything happened. I know something was about to happen because time slowed down and everyone focused on the door. I turned around to see PP standing there pecking on the door. OH NO! With one mistaken step, I opened the doors and entered the PP. She comes in and goes straight to the bathroom. Then she comes out talks to the other RAs as if they were children (at least, this is what I think. But, I could be a tad bit biased.). They were shooting nerf guns in the lobby when there were only seven people in the building. Such troublemakers, right?

She wanted to make herself special I'm assuming. There was an open question: "Does anyone know what is the only open/unlocked building on campus?" I had a my own question that again went unasked vocally: "Do I look like I care?" Then, I'm assuming an auction started because I start hearing her asking "do you know? I know. Do you?" The answer to her open question was the Fine Arts building. Moreover, she made it seem as though she had special privilege. Now, I thought that the building pretty much stayed open because of the studios that the art students used. Then again, I guess I misunderstand things (you'll see what I mean soon).

So, she comes stating that I thought we were in college and things of that nature. I wanted so badly to ask, "what are you even doing in here?", but I didn't unfortunately. I think everyone else saw that my face asked the question that my mouth so wanted to ask. Then the tangents started. After I tried to figure the purpose of her even being here, she revealed that she wanted to use our printer. We abruptly told her that it was broken. We had no paper and something was wrong with ink cartridge. Suddenly, she laughed and started telling of how a room of Russian students were part of the KGB, a Russian national security agency. I think she accused them of trying to hack the FBI, but maybe...just maybe...they were playing WOW (World of Warcraft).

After that, she begins a tangent of how she misunderstood because she's a creative spirit. Now, I'm thinking it's not her creative nature that makes people misunderstand her. I think she's understood very clearly in fact. Say it with me, CRAZY. She was talking about how she needs her creative space and that she has to be creative in finding that creative space. I'm like, dude, just walk across the freaking creek and go be creative. I was thinking...wait...you're a painter, sculptor, and photographer? Just yesterday, you were freaking writer and editor. . Then, she did something crazy. She came at me. Saying "that guy behind the desk" does not exactly bring me good thoughts. I knew I was the guy she was talking about because I was behind the desk.

I was talking to Michelle thinking, Bro, she did not just come at me. With this confused look on my face, I turned to look at PP. She continues, "yea that guy. Now he's looking like 'what? are you talking about me'." I reminded myself of Kevin Hart when he was arguing with his daughter. The good thing is that I remained calm on the outside, but calm was breaking. I looked at Michelle and asked her, "is she referring to me?" I don't care if people talk about me. I feel like I'm doing a great job at life when people do, but when I'm "that guy" or "that boy" then things can get out of hand quickly. So, after figuring out why she is even in my presence, she changed topics again. I was about to tell her that she was a non-f***ing factor, but I let it go.

Then she started talking about our Housing Director. Now, I understand how some people are comfortable with others and give them nicknames, but this was further evidence that this lady is crazy. She kept telling us that our Housing Director Dean Gentry permitted PP to violate the rules essentially. We kept saying that we would have been notified if that was the case, but no...everyone was causing her friend's crisis. To distract myself from the insanity, I tried to come up with a fake conversation with Michelle. It worked for maybe forty-five seconds. The D-bomb was dropped multiple. This lady told us that Dean Gentry told her to call her Deb. ARE YOU KIDDING ME? How do you become on a first-name basis with deans on campus? I started laughing hysterically because I knew that this lady was certifiable. After the Hall Director strongly suggesting she call Dean Gentry, Dean Gentry. She played the age card. I'm like this is enough. I tune her out because I feel as though each second I hear her my IQ drops and I shave years off of my laugh.

That was last time I talked to crazy lady. I don't know what's going on with her. I wanted to see what was wrong, but now I feel like I can't help her. I wish her the best in life (no sarcasm applied here). But with this post, I celebrate Christmas with my family and finish out my vacation. Thanks for your time! I hope you enjoyed reading this journey just as much as I had writing it.

Part 2

I originally intended to write this post this morning, but a couple of my friends and some absinthe interfered with that happening. I ran into some classmates from high school and almost got kicked out of a bar (of course, it was mistaken.). But that's a story for another time. Here's the second installment of craziness.org...

Okay...so, the second time I come into contact with this problematic person is during an attempted room mediation with my Hall Director. When we get there, everyone has taken their stances. We ask everyone to share the problems that they are having with the other roommates. I'm already prepared because as you've read in the first episode I've confronted this person before. When we ask the problematic person what was the issues with the other issues, she goes on this whole tangent about something that has nothing to do with her. So I then politely ask her to discuss the situations where she is directly involved after hesitating, she continues talking. 

I don't say much, but it was this conversation when I realized that the woman is crazy. Then the argument happened. The Hall Director and I wanted to draw up a contract, but she was hellbent against it until the other director came back. So, I ended up writing an agreement that just said that any comments made towards the living situation were prohibited until they could be properly and thoroughly discussed. When I finished writing, things blew up. She was arguing that I was putting a negative spin on things. My response was that this was the language that you all just used. I think a dialogue would work better...

Problematic Person: I'm not signing that.

Me: Why not?

PP: You're putting a negative spin on things.

Me: This was the language you all just used. You just said this.

PP: How do you know, Harold? You weren't there.

Me: Are you kidding? I think you're criminally insane. I was just standing right there when you all said this.

PP: I am a writer and editor, Harold.

Me: That's awesome! I'm not changing this. Ok, how would you have me word this?

PP: "That includes all further comments" should be sufficient.

Me: That's vague, though. I'm simply using the language that you all used.

PP: Well...I'm not signing it.

Me: Ok.

I look at the Hall Director who approved what I wrote, and she simply wrote that the person refused to sign. Moving forward. I was so heated that I was laughing and shaking. I was thinking that I really got into with someone of words, LITERALLY! I'm not a rhetorical snob unless someone makes me like that. Oh but wait....there's more.

Stay tuned for the last installment of Craziness.org.

Craziness.org

So, I've had an interesting three days. As you know by now, that I have a knack for venting about the crazy. No, the title isn't a link to an organization's website (at least, not that I know of) or anything of that nature, but it should be the link to one person. I shall not reveal that person's name, but I RRRRRREEEEEEEEAAAAAAALLLLLLLLYYYYYYY want to. Pop some popcorn, sit back, and enjoy the story...

This is a three part, so be ready for more.

First part:

Okay, the first incident happened while I was doing laundry, or at least attempting to. Normally, I don't handle situations unless I'm on-call or duty (lol, yes, Allison. I said duty.). But, I thought to myself, 'this shouldn't be too bad. I can handle this one.' Truth is I could handle it, but I wasn't prepared for what happened. When I stepped off the elevator, there was a resident using the our main computer at the front desk. I thought this was simply a misunderstanding, so I simply informed this problematic person that specific computer was not for public use. Apparently, there was some information that I was missing because said person told me that a dear friend of mine was expecting an email from her. She went further to say that she was wrapping up the last sentence. I'm a reasonable guy, so I tell her it's fine if she wraps up that sentence.

I drop off one load of clothes, and go get another. Yes, I use all of the washers, but there was no one up nor was anyone there. As I go to the elevator, I see that's she still there typing. I didn't really give it a second thought until I come back downstairs with my second load of clothes. I get off the elevator again, and who do I see? Yes, the same problematic person. I have to laugh to myself because I thought it was funny that she was trying to play me for a fool. Not to sound arrogant, but me of all people? So, after dropping off my clothes in the laundry I come back to the desk, and this is when the battle ensues...

I think before commenting that this has to be one of the longest sentences in history. I politely ask her to wrap any business she has on the computer. All of a sudden, it's an emergency email that has to be sent to a couple of the deans down on campus. I'm thinking that it's interesting that this is the same email that was supposed to be sent to one of my closest friends. All of a sudden, she wants to keep using the computer by threatening with deans' names. I adamantly tell her that the computer is still isn't for public use. I guess I should really learn different languages because I feel like people say that speak and understand English but they really don't. And for some reason, she thought her scare tactics would scare, but with that much A.M. I couldn't do handle crap that much (or at all, really).

Her final tactic was asking for my name as if she's going to report me. I tell her with the same amount of 'tude that she deals me. In my head, I told her that I would even email them on her behalf. As she leaves, she's telling me that she'll make sure that the deans will receive the information on me. I was a little snarky in my response, I admit. I told her that she should feel free too. I then wished her a nice day. Then...part 2 happened which will be coming soon.

Friendship

I just have to say that I'm glad to be back. I actually have time to write on here since school is out for the break. After writing as many papers as I did this semester, I am surprised that I even found the courage and energy to write now. =)

This week I had a test of friendship. Let's just call this a venting session. I won't use names because I don't want them to get any backlash from others. But, if you're reading this and thinking, "hmmm, I think he's referring to me," then you're probably right. I'm still pissed off and that bugs the crap out of me that I'm letting you get to me this much. I guess I'm taking this a tad hard because I thought you were a friend, but I guess there was some information that I was missing. For all of you who don't know here's what happened...

I went out Friday night (12/16) with a couple of my friends (so they claim to be). Before we went out, they wanted to go shopping. I had my "me" day the day before, so I didn't need to go shopping that night. While they were shopping, you could feel the energy coming from them. They were pumped about Friday night. They went to a couple of stores to prepare for that night. Everyone decides to get dressed after we come back from shopping, and we decide to meet my friend's apartment. Let's call him Jacob (lol!). We all go back to our rooms to get dressed for the night. After meeting back at Jacob's apartment, we leave. 

We get to the club early, so they let us in for free (awesomeness, I know.). It's dead, too, on account of it being so early, which we were all use to. We walk through the rooms and it's all the same music. We sit down to pass time, but nothing really happens. Again, we're used to this. Then, I hear "I think I'm about to go." ARE YOU SERIOUS?! We've barely been here an hour. Jacob asks me if my other friend is coming tonight. Let's call this friend...Brandon (he's going to hate me when/if he reads this). I go call Brandon to see if he's still coming, and then I go back to the table with Jacob and friend 2 whom I will name Jasmine.

Jasmine then says that she's leaving, too. ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME?! Why would you get all dressed up and excited and stay only for an hour? I told them that Brandon said that he was coming. They both started to rise from the table to leave and saw the clear, vengeful look in my eyes. Then, Jacob asked me, "Are you mad?" Of course not, I'm okay. I'm ecstatic. ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME?! Then, they start to rationalize why I shouldn't be mad. They actually called it payback for not wanting to on a weekend trip with them, but that's a blog post for another time. I stormed off quickly before I made a fool out of myself and the other two.

In my anger, I called one of my besties and talked through the anger. While on the phone with her, I started to feel fainty. But, I kept talking to Holley (that's her real name). I can feel my blood pressure rising. I was not to be messed with at this point. I even said (Mom, forgive me), "When I get back, shit is about to get real." She said that she had to go call some people but she'd be back. I went to go sit down. This is where I realized that  no matter how much Lacoste cologne I had on, the only thing that emanated from me was this stench of bitch (Mom, forgive me again).

I had another spell where I almost passed out. I started to think what was going on with me. Am I going to die? Then, i started thinking, "what did I eat?" My conclusion...absolutely nothing. I had three drinks (strong ones, I might add) and nothing to absorb it. Luckily, Brandon had made it in time. I told him that I wasn't feeling good, but I wanted to stay a little longer, so that he would have a good time for awhile. Bad move, I could barely move when I was ready to go. It was a good thing he was on his way to come check on me. When we left, we went to IHOP, and I kid you not...this guy sat there and made me eat. I'm not seven, but I did feel like a kid. It was like having a parent stare at you while you're eating to make sure you eat everything.

He even made sure I made it to my room without passing out.

I really went through this week. All I know is that I'm still hurt that my so-called friends left when I could have passed out. It's a scary thought to pass out when you're alone and know no one around you. There's no telling what could have happened. I'm hurt and came close to crying over this. Am I being dramatic? Probably. But, I don't care. It's my blog and I can cry if I want to.

Just know that things will be different. Just know that I will be different.

Wow!

It feels like I haven't actually been able to write for my own mental well-being in ages. This is the place where I share my feelings with the world, and I haven't gotten the chance to really do that as of late. BUT, I have an announcement...MY BIRTHDAY IS FRIDAY! I have mixed feelings about it. I'm torn between staying with friends or going home to bond with my mommy.

There's just so much going on right now that I don't know how to celebrate this occasion. I am thinking about what graduate schools; what programs that I am interested in studying; then, I've taken on this task of being the information designer for the Green Team under UALR's Student Housing. I love it so much; and then, there are these pesky little things called classes. I know that I'm doing a fairly decent job, but I had a horrible week last. It was like every little thing sent me over the top. But, I'm glad to say that I'm over it.

I'm going to log off now and get some rest.

Today was a good day!

Well, what can I say. Today was a pretty good day for me. I have to start off saying that I love my job this summer. We had a "fundatory" meeting at Playtime Pizza. The first half of my day was spent devouring pizza, chugging soda, tasting ice cream, shooting lasers, and sitting on the toilet (yes, I had to share that lol). Anyway, I got a chance to hang out with my coworkers in a very comfortable environment. I even got a chance to see some competitive spirit in some coworkers, which surprised me. Before our first game, the staff member challenged us to score at least 800 points. If we had achieved that goal, we would be granted a free game. Well guess what? Three of us scored over 800 with yours truly scoring 912 points. I was pretty happy with that one. The second game wasn't as amazing, but still pretty good.

Although I had a pretty amazing time with my coworkers, my day was made when I hung out with my former AP literature teacher. Yes, I hung out with my English teacher.

She wanted to take both me and my former roommate to dinner. It was amazing. She treated us to a dinner at Red Lobster. But, before we even left the building she gave both of us a check for $100 each. The reason behind my misty eyes is that I currently have a phone bill very, VERY late. Pretty much, the check will pay for my phone bill, and I can text again (Yes, every college student's dream.). When we got to dinner, she explained that it was okay to bring out our alter-ego, the broke college student, because she would be taking care of dinner. She's awesome like that.

Talking to her made me realize how much I've grown, not only personally but intellectually as well. We talked about the good ol' days where I sat in her class dumbfounded on how to start my next paper or how to cope with crap of a paper that I produced. It all seemed like yesterday, but we both (my roommate and I) knew that significant time had passed. Here we are three years later talking to the lady who opened our minds with a spark of elegance, wisdom, class, and scholarship.

I have to say from eating pizza with coworkers to eating shrimp scampi with a fellow scholar and our mentor, today was a good day!

Music and Writing

I guess I should use this distraction to distract me from cleaning my room. Really, it's just my kitchen I have to clean: my archnemesis. I despise it really. The stack of dishes that have conspired against. Half of them seem clean; the other half dirty. While I listen to my iTunes cleaning playlist, I see this story about a young boy battling caked grease and left over food with his superpowers: soap, hot water, and lemon juice.

This isn't the first time that this has happened. I create stories to the rhythm of the songs. I've noticed this coorelation between writing and music; well, I've noticed it in my writing. Growing up, I've been told that nothing else should be going on while writing in school. With many of the things that they taught me, I've grown to appreciate this foundation. I consider myself a musical writer, only because I use music to help my writing.

I always loved music. It always provided some kind of emotional escape or emotional evocation that is involved with writing. Especially for personal usage, writing can be a very therapeutic. If we are writing about our emotions and feelings, why not truly tap into those feelings with music of the same emotional appeal. I don't think any of this made sense until my senior year of high school. In an earlier post, I mentioned my AP literature teacher. She first introduced me to the concept of being a musical writer. When my mentor died, she wanted us to pour our emotions into whatever we writing. Because we were facing a great loss, the atmosphere (music she played) was extremely depressed. Now, I think I understand why decided to use that method. In our society today, music seems to be everywhere. You hear music while shopping, eating, even television shows have music to them. My question is why not writing?

I like to believe that being in band for six years and having a mother who was in band herself has helped me easily access the "pathos" taught as one of the appeals in argument, or in this case, writing. Yes, writing your own feelings is a great thing, but to write while living in the emotion has got to be something powerful. For me, I found that while I'm listening I'm allowed to explore this stream of consciousness. Whatever, I'm feeling falls onto the paper. There's no need to mess with raw creativity at this stage, at least not for me. When the revising stage occurs, there is so much to shape and mold into eloquent, powerful rhetoric. What more can I ask for?

Wisdom

As part of my thirty challenge, I wanted to read books that would make me think about the human condition. While perusing through my personal collection of books that house philosophical revelations and fictional adventures, I stumbled upon a book that has possess my interest and time like a child playing with a new toy way after his bedtime. For anyone who wants social justice and freedom in the world, especially in our nation, I urge you to read Can You Hear Me Now? by Michael Eric Dyson. He discusses many problems with our nation mainly dealing with the attitudes towards the underpriviliged and the discriminated. He talks about faith and spirit, love and relationships, homosexuality and homophobia, literature, learning, and literature, and wisdom.

One of the things that I find uplifting and quite inspirational is Dyson's backstory. Dyson received a Bachelor's degree in Philosophy from Carson-Newman College. He graduated magna cum laude and went on to receive both his Master's and Doctorate degree in religion from Princeton.

What is, perhaps, the most inspirational to me is his struggle with faith. Through readings of the french existentialist philosopher Jean Satre, Dyson followed a path of atheism. He talked his feelings through with his pastor. His pastor's advice: let it run its course. One year of living drove Dyson back into his Christian beliefs deeper than before. This background made me thirsty to read his views on wisdom. With reading the prior chapters, I was hungry for what the influential intellectual had to say. This book is filled with quotes; some have even made my facebook status and several comments. But, here are the two quotes:

1) "Mature men temper strength with wisdom and know how to share power."
2) "One of the reasons we suffer is because we ignore the wisdom of our women."

I feel wisdom is something that comes from an experience. Many people associate gaining wisdom only by means of growing older. Well, I have come across some old people where wisdom has not even touched the tip of their mind. I mean if wisdom only comes from old people then how do you explain young people displaying wise advice. For example, Tupac never reached thirty but had others thinking about his poems and lyrics. He discussed a wisdom that only came from living through his experience. He talked about gangsters finding God but dealing the drugs in the streets. I wonder are these things mutually exclusive? Can a gangster inadvertently find God by dealing drugs in the streets where at a moment's notice a drug deal can go wrong? Maybe, but I don't have the knowledge or wisdom to know.

But, the second statement really resonates the most. Women are such a vital aspect of our society in order for us to thrive. Think about it; countries where the women are uneducated suffer more economically. Women live through so many things. I feel like there's a connection that women are able to tap into. It's powerful. I'm not saying all women are wise, but most have a tendency to have some pretty sound advice. It boils down to respect though. If we respect others' experiences, we could tap into a connection that could bring our society to a better place. I implore you to implore to know wisdom. Can you be mature enough to temper strength and wisdom? Will you not ignore the sage wisdom of our women?

Take the steps to be a better person in order to create miles filled with better people!

Complete and Utter Bull

I have recently had to tell myself this. The way that I have lived has been complete and utter bull. I'll admit; I have been lazy with almost every facet of my life. I wanted to change. I believe the key to my change was a challenge. I have taken it upon a thirty day challenge. I wanted to take these thirty days and simply reflect upon who I am as a person. I have special skills that I wanted to develop and hone; my writing is one. As a writing consultant, I often find myself telling people that writing isn't something that is only good when inspired, yet I only write when I feel a burst of creativity fill my veins.

I decided that I would find something to write about as often as I can. There is so much to write about in the world: my life, experiences, and feelings. If I am going to reach that dream of becoming a professional writer, I should probably get in the groove of writing regularly.

Part of growing up is letting go of childish behaviors. I was never a chronically disobient child, but I had a tendency to procastinate (in my case, it was not doing at all). This revelation hit me at the end of May when I had a conversation with my mom. Why is it that they always have a way of making you see things clearly (LOVE YA, MOM)? This time last summer, I didn't have a job nor was I trying to find one. My excuse, "I'm tired." "I just went through a year of school; I'm taking a break." A break is always nice, but I don't have the luxury of sitting around. I can do that at some point when I'm rich.

So as I go through this shedding process, I say that old life was complete and utter bull. At the end of my challenge, I will be more proactive and possess what my mom heard many times when she was young "some get it up and go about myself."

Here's to willpower!

The Beginning

Writing never seemed like something I would want to do. In high school, I took honor English courses, but I was never thrilled about writing, especially when you only hear and see the things you're doing wrong. At that time, I was still trying to find my voice in the world. I didn't know how to do that exactly. I grew up in an environment where my concern was taking care of those around me and not necessarily myself. My living situation wasn't ideal for me, but I definitely had it better than most. I faced some personal demons, and I had no way to overcome them.

It wasn't until my senior year of high school where I started to better my writing. I was in Advanced Placement (AP) literature with Mrs. Minnis who acquired the moniker Minnis the Menace. She was the type of teacher that made you hate her class when you were taking it, but gain so much appreciation for it afterwards. She always pushed me to be better than I was the day before. I reached a very critical point of my senior year where I got stressed with finals and AP exams approaching. In the midst of this crisis, my mentor of three years passed away. I sat in the class full of so many emotions and no way to express them aside from crying. She played sad, droopy music where it evoked a deeper cleansing. Yes, we cried heavily and snot flowed from our noses. We had lost a great educator, mentor, and person.

This loss caused me to push my writing further because I had to deliver a speech at his ceremony. In doing so, I found a passion for writing that I never felt before. Three years later, I found myself entering my senior year. I am excited I'm finishing up both of my degree programs. I will be graduation soon with a Bachelor degree in Professional & Technical Writing and also a Bachelor degree in English with a minor in Secondary Education.