March 25

Feeling of Victory

It was February 12 of 2026, the end of the swim season for the slower swimmers of the Blue Demons swim team. I was one of those swimmers. 

 

I had the 200 free and the 100 back lined up for the JV Invitational meet, but I only really cared about the 200. I needed to go under 2:10 in it and my PR was a 2:10.9. My friend Jason would be in the lane next to me, his PR being a 2:13. He had one more meet left after this one, the meet I wanted to qualify for, Scott Elliott. After wearing my “good luck” cap, a hot pink cap from the KJAY team during warm-ups, I was ready to put on a show.

 

Everyone else in the event had a seed time at least 10 seconds slower than Jason’s. We were in the middle lanes, 4 and 5, and I dapped Jason up and wished him good luck. The first heat finished and we got up on the starting blocks. Then came the “take your mark” from the starter, something I’d heard hundreds of times before. Following that was the loud beep of the starting device.

 

 I was off with a beautiful start that led straight into a few underwater kicks to bring me forward to the surface, where I bounced out with the first stroke, called a breakout stroke. My plan for this race was to sprint (go fast) for the whole thing. The first 50 (two laps) was 29 seconds, about a second slower than my best, which was good. Jason was (and still is) a good swimmer, and kept up with me through the second 50 too, but only because I barely hit the wall for a push off on my turn after the third lap. The second 50 is a lot slower because you don’t have the boost from the block, so me and Jason both went around a 33. The third 50 was where I started pulling ahead because Jason started getting tired. I was demoralized after the missed turn, but I kept going with nothing to lose. The third 50 was 33 seconds again, and now it was the last 50, the one where the winner and the fate of my season was decided. 

 

The winner seemed pretty likely to be me at this point. There was nobody in my field of view as I hit a perfect turn to start the last lap. I poured everything I had left into that lap, the lap that would determine if I felt like the season was good or not. I sprinted as hard as I could toward the wall that was both tormenting and motivating me. I got over the halfway mark of the pool, every muscle in my body burning with tiny knives in them. I was inside the flags now. A couple feet to go. I hit the last stroke and glided into the wall, looking and feeling like a dead fish. 

 

I looked at the board as I heard my coaches celebrate on the deck. 2:09.58. I had done it. Jason came in at a 2:12, looked at the board, then back at me and we fist-bumped. We smoked everybody else, the next person finishing in a 2:24. 

 

2:10. A goal I set at the beginning of the season. 2:10. A time that seemed just out of reach after a 2:10.9 and a 2:11. 2:10. Something I thought there was no way I was beating. 2:10. The time I went under to beat everyone else by at least 2.5 seconds. 2:10. The barrier I smashed through and came out smiling.

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March 25

Rolling off the tongue

Elijah. That is what people call me. Early in my life, I heard “Eli”, as many times, if not more, than “Elijah”. And I was fine with it for some time. But I eventually got tired of it. When somebody said it, it didn’t feel like it rolled off of the tongue right. It didn’t feel complete. It wasn’t my actual government name given to me at birth and the first third of what’s on my birth certificate, but a nickname. A nickname that seemed pointless. But when I started to strictly want to be called “Elijah”, things changed. It sounded better, more full and meaningful. It rolled off the tongue sweetly, when I said it and when others said. It was the complete, historical name. I had learned in that period that it was derived from a Hebrew word known as “Eliyahu”, and originally meant “Yahweh is my God”, so it was nice to know that my name had a historical and biblical connection. 

         To this day, when somebody asks me whether I prefer to be called by the common nickname or the full name, I always say the latter. And I always hear the latter. But the remaining pieces of “Eli” still exist. At some times, when I hear that, my head perks up, and I have an urge to communicate, as I may think they’re talking to me, or about me. But that communication never comes out, because almost every time, I come to find out that they are not talking to me. It shows that anything that you are once called, in one way or another, remains. Even if it isn’t now in the present, your body remembers that old feeling, and it continues to just barely stick, even if that sticky substance has become far less viscous, and is hanging by a thread.
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March 25

Unfurling Vastness

A hot day in the middle of July, and the pavement steamed—evaporating the morning rain like a pot of boiling water. When we reached the edge of the canyon, I stopped mid-step, awed by the vastness unfurling in front of us. Below, a dusty trail wound back and forth, disappearing into the distance. The hikers ahead looked like tiny ants scattered along the slope. At the bottom, a bright blue stream split the craggy rocks in a long, jagged line.

We’re going down there? I wondered—caught between awe and hesitation.

But before I could spiral too far into self-doubt, I set one boot in front of the other and began my descent.

At first, a cool breeze played with the wisps of hair that had fallen from my braid and dried the sweat on my neck. The walk felt easy, almost fun, as we meandered slowly, passing a bottle of water between us and sharing small talk. But before long, the trail dipped below the reach of the wind, and the sun turned my dark hair molten. We began to scurry from one patch of shade to the next as the path switchbacked deeper into the canyon. Still, the sweeping vista and the thrill of taking it all in kept us moving happily downward. Whenever we wondered aloud when to turn back, the answer was always the same: after the next bend, after the next corner, after just one more look.

Eventually, we did turn around—and it became instantly clear the hike back up would be nothing like the walk down. Our breathing grew labored, our legs sluggish, and our packs felt like boulders pulling us toward the dusty earth. Conversation fell away, and our focus narrowed to a single point: the distant trailhead. So we kept going, one dusty boot in front of the other, until, tired and trail-wearied, we returned to where we had started.

We had gone down with wonder and ease; we came back up with grit and resolve. We had chased the view without thinking of the climb; we hiked back carrying everything we hadn’t considered. And somewhere between the descent and the return, I understood: the path that pulls you forward is never the same as the one that asks you to come back.

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March 23

Unfamiliar symbols

I’ve never liked my name. The pronunciation a meaningless mix of sounds, the printed letters disjunct from me, an impersonal label. I hated the way it sounded when my dad would shout it up the stairs, his voice angrily booming “Sam”, demanding an instant response. My worst friends called me “Sammy”, giggling because they thought me hating that name was funny. Samantha sounds like a basic, boring person, everything I don’t want to be. I associate every version of my name with something bad. I’ve never liked my name.

My name looks like disjunct, formal symbols that don’t belong to me. Like a meaningless, generic bar code. Samantha. The one thing I do love about my name, and always have, is how it looks in cursive, looped and swirling across the page. I especially like that I’m one of the few people whose name can start with a dollar sign. $amantha. I abused that sign when I was younger, using it over and over because it was the only cool thing about my name.

Now that I’m older, I think I’ve grown into my name a little bit. I still don’t like it, but I don’t really care. Mostly because I’m not the one who has to say it the majority of the time. But when I do, the taste of missed opportunity for a better name burns my tongue like lemon juice on a cut. Stinging and burning. I’ve never liked my name.

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March 23

Creased

My life is like a paper crane

I used to know exactly what folds to make

How to perfectly crease the paper

I used to know how beautiful it would look in the end

 

My hands knew precisely what to do

I used to be able to do it without mistake

I made use of what I had, whatever paper was available

I used to be able to make it work no matter what I started with

 

Sometime between the folds

My hands forgot which way to move

Forgot the crisp feeling of the creases

Forgot the whistle of paper as it rubbed

Forgot the way the pale parchment folded so effortlessly

 

Forgot how beautiful it could be in the end

 

My life is like a paper crane 

I can’t remember which folds to make

How to bend it without breaking 

I can’t remember what it was like to live life so perfectly

 

My life is like a paper crane

It’s been creased in the wrong places

Ripped on the edges

It’s been made sloppily with thin paper

 

Too easy to break

Too easy to mess up

 

My life is like a paper crane

I used to know what choices to make

How to prepare for my future

I used to know how beautiful it would look in the end

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March 23

Will I Survive the Driver’s Seat

The day I first drove alone was the scariest day of my life. It started off with my mom saying we needed to take my dad and her cars to get an oil change. She said “ Hey, do you wanna come with us to drop off our cars, but you need to take yours so you can take us back home.” I said ok I grab my keys and open my car door I grip my sterling wheel hard being anxious because it was my first time alone. My dad goes first to let us know where the place is, then I go. My mom stays behind because if not I get scared that a car might think I’m too slow for them. As I’m driving I heard sirens coming from behind. My first thought was oh I’m getting pulled over. I look in the mirrors and see its firetrucks and ambulances. I was getting a big headache so I took ibuprofen and drank the drink I had sitting in there from 5 days ago. It was a celsius, it tasted so bad and semi-cold. We arrived at the place and my parents got in my car. My mom said that my car smelled so nice as if I had just changed the car freshener. I said thanks I put a new scent which was vanilla, which is the best scent ever. We were leaving home and  asked my dad to sit in the back because I know he has too much to say when I drive when he’s the one who taught me how. My mom says wow you drove so good for driving alone that was when I knew it wasn’t so bad and could’ve gone worse. That day had changed. I could feel it in the environment. I felt it in myself. I hear it in the breeze when the windows are down.

 

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March 23

The Sting of Foam

POP!!

Thats whats heard when it hits you.

The feel of blue foam attacking your body.

The slight, quickly-fading ache on your arm, your leg, or your chest.

Sometimes, you’ll get hit in the stomach; forcing you to breathe in the clean, cold, sharp air of a park in late Fall.

The taste of mint lingering in your mouth from the ride to the park.

The day has just begun.

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June 4

Nba Youngboy Blackout Writing

Nba Youngboy interested me because I like a some of his songs. I want to study it because of the versatility of his music with the angrier rapping and the melodic more relaxed songs. Nba Youngboy is an artist that has been making music since 2017  

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https://docs.google.com/presentation/d/1hbvOciSp55_zcQsf0-xCJEcBzn8IMCGrnG-ewjQjAMA/edit?usp=sharing

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June 4

Kanye’s Lyrical Genius on Graduation

Kanye’s Lyrical Genius on Graduation

The reason I choose Kanye and his songs on his album Graduation is simply because I like every song hes made on that album. Kanye’s lyrics sound good, make sense as he uses references to explain things, and sometimes he adds a little comedy in his song lyrics or puts skits in between songs. The production is amazing and Kanye’s instrumentals make you feel as if you’re floating. Graduation to me is better then any album I’ve every heard having kept me engaged throughout every song. Kanye has done such an amazing job on Graduation and I hope to show you why it’s my favorite album.

 

Golden Shovel Poem

Can’t Tell Me Nothing

To Whom Much Is Given Much Is Tested

I look forward, but what To?

I watch and wait but for Whom?

I’m not asking for Much

Just a sign, a voice, anything of something that Is

I reach for something that’s not yet been Given

Maybe I am asking for too Much

But I still pray for a reason to believe what is, Is

Something to keep my faith from being Tested

 

Click https://docs.google.com/presentation/d/1TkzR2cyBm83RVTb9IJuNa3_I0CH6FUE4vAaK2ZuUqFg/edit?usp=sharing to access full.

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