March 22

Wonderland

By Leyana Fulginiti

The week of August 19th – August 26th 2023, The week I finally went back home. The Wildwoods shore. It’s been 2 years since the last time I went. Now, this time my best friend Apollo was staying down the shore too, but in Ocean City. We were texting all week and the week before. Even when we both left to go down to the shore, we were right behind each other, texting. The day we met up it was a Wednesday. I was wearing jean shorts, a maroon crop top, covered with a gray hoodie with “Brooklyn, New York” in navy lettering.

Apollo’s mom picked me up and brought me to their house. After we picked up the rest of Apollo’s family we were on our way to the boardwalk. We stopped to get pizza at Manco & Manco, you could smell the pizza from down the street. The line was so long it took FOREVER, it went outside. While we were waiting outside, a lady came up and called me “Brooklyn”. I was very confused because that’s not my name and because of the fact that a random lady came up to me. The lady was just talking to me and I wasn’t sure what to say, until it turns out she thought I was actually from Brooklyn. She asked me if I tried the Manco & Manco pizza place in Brooklyn, I sadly said no. After the lady left, Apollo and I just looked at each other in confusion and started laughing. When we got inside and ordered the pizza, we got pepperoni and plain which was so good, you could taste the cheese melting in your mouth.

After we ate we started walking to the “Wonderland” pier, but before we reached the pier there was a string band playing so we stopped to watch. After they were done we continued walking again and when we got there. The rides were mostly for little kids but we still could go on rides. The first ride we went on was a train that drove above all the rides to give you a view of everything. It was beautiful but scary at the same time, you felt like the train was about to tip over with every turn it took. We went on the swings next which we acted like little kids on because we were screaming, like we were scared.

After we went on all the rides at the wonderland pier we started walking to the “Playland’s Castaway Cove” pier, but before we got there we got cold and bought hoodies. Even if I already had a hoodie on, I needed to stay warm. When we went to the pier we got over 200 tickets so we could go on as many rides as we could. It was such a fun night, a night I’ll never forget. It was probably around 10:40 PM when we were about to leave, but before we left we got ice cream and ate it on our way back to the car. When we got back to their beach house Apollo packed a bag, because she was coming over. To stay with me, at my place for the night.

 

 

Category: class writing | 3 Comments on Wonderland
March 22

Do You Still Think Of Me?

The cold days we once spent together left the month of love, dark and empty

At the end of the day do you wish you never met me?

Left alone the next day no where to turn

Seems like everything was just left to burn

You were the one that brought the “old” me back

Now i’m unrecognizable, not even my iphone recognizes me 

Do you think of me on the days you’re all alone?

A love that was thought to be never ending

Signs of love that were meant to be received but aren’t sending

Your presence was soft like a cloud

I would only look for you in a large crowd

From being together everyday to a complete blackout

Like the feeling as a kid being put in timeout

Do you still think of me on the days you’re all alone?

The rope tied at the end of both hearts, felt like the love from a mother

The chocolate smell in the air reminds me of each other

I woke up from what i thought was real

The love i once could feel

Ends at the end of both ropes when they burn

At the end of the day do you wish you never met me?

 

Category: Memory Writing | 5 Comments on Do You Still Think Of Me?
March 22

Minha Casa

Home. In Portuguese, minha casa. A word that more closely translates to “my house”, but my house is not where nor what home is. It’s a funny concept, “home”, one that causes moments to wash over me.

 

Home is safety. Home is the space encased by the chipped walls always needing to be repainted and the somewhat empty rooms, never fully bare, but never truly finished. Home is the familiar faces, passing me by, sometimes with a greeting.

 

Home is family. Home is the echoed laughter of my loved ones, loud but lively. Home is the shock that hits me when I watch my cousins faces slowly morph into a distorted reflection of their parents every time I visit. Home is the guilty empty promises, that I’ll return sooner, but I never do.

 

Home is comfort. Home is the sweet summer breeze brushing through my hair. Home is the morning walks to the padaria for fresh baked goods and the best açai one can find. Home is the long drives to the park, with the static music playing over the old car radio.

 

Home is like a big warm hug awaiting me with open arms, calling out to me, awaiting my eventual returns.

 

Home is safety. 

Home is family. 

Home is comfort. 

 

-but home is far.

Category: Memory Writing | 4 Comments on Minha Casa
March 22

5271 Days Old

5271 Days Old

Five thousand two hundred seventy one. That’s how many days worth of memories I have to choose from. How do I pick one that’s the most memorable? 

I mean, I could write about the time I fell between the train tracks and concrete that made my family panic? I could write about the time I stayed up till 3:30 A.M talking to my friend on a school night? The time I went to Hershey Park with my friend and went on candymonium, on which we fainted? Any late night conversations with that one friend? Lunch in Ms. Virgin’s room? Waking up at 4:00 A.M. to watch the sunset? Paddleboarding? Laughing while reading and people staring at us? Going to the bay with my friends? 

I have thousands of memories. Five thousand two hundred and seventy one to be exact, but still. There are so many good and bad memories. My favorite memory may be staying up until 3 A.M. with my closest friend, on a school night, at my dad’s house. I had to keep quiet the whole night. We were on the phone, gossiping, for about 6 hours. We talked non-stop about everything and anything. I was so tired the next day, but it was worth it. It was one of the most fun and memorable nights of my life. The floorboards in my house creaked, causing me to whisper into the phone. It was dark in my room, the only source of light was the moon peeking in through the blinds. 

Five thousand two hundred and seventy one days worth of memories. I can’t seem to remember any other memory in as much detail as  I can with that late night phone call.

Category: Memory Writing | 3 Comments on 5271 Days Old
March 22

That home.

One-thousand-three-hundred-fifty. That’s how many days ago I moved out of my childhood home. How could I pick one memory from the house? Why not all?

I walk up the driveway while my heart sinks as I realize this used to be my place but it’s not anymore. I see the mailbox I would always run to after school when my mom would ask me to get the mail. I turn and look up the street at the house that was like my second home. My best friend’s house, the place where I would spend half my time. There’s a whole new family there also. It just doesn’t feel right. I turn back and I slowly start to walk up my driveway. I get to the end of the driveway up to the walkway to my door. The big pot that’s usually filled with a bunch of beautiful flowers isn’t there anymore. I can smell the air on those days when I would help my mom plant flowers everywhere. The 2 wooden chairs that would always sit right near the front door weren’t there. Instead, there were different chairs there. I walk up to the door and realize it isn’t blue anymore like how we painted it. Before I walk into the front door I decide to walk down to the backyard. The yard where our whole group of friends would run around. The backyard where we had all our block parties. The backyard where I spend hours of my day in. The swings aren’t there anymore. Everything’s gone. It feels so off. I walk back up my yard as I remember all those days when I would run through the freshly cut up grass in my sandals and smell the scent of grass in 80 degree weather. I walked past our garden and tried planting vegetables multiple times. They would always die. I walk up the 3 steps which my little self would always sit on. I get to the door. I take the key out of my pocket and I unlock the door.

I push the door open and walk inside. I step on the hardwood floor. As I walk in, I hear the sound of my footsteps hitting the ground. The smell of the crockpot dinner I would always eat after a long day of being outside with my friends. I keep walking through the house. I open the squeaky door that leads to the office I would always do my arts and crafts in. We had a bird nest chair in there my family and I would always cuddle up on. My parents were sometimes there working and we would go in there and annoy them until they told us to go away. I walk out of the office and into the kitchen. The kitchen I would eat all my snacks in, and help my mom cook. Probably one of my favorite places in the house. I see the dining room table that always seemed so high to get up to but now I’m taller than it and it all just seems so weird. I see the laundry room where I would feed my dog and my cats. Also the place where I would get so mad when my mom would tell me to do my laundry. I walk out into the living room and then I walk right out. I go downstairs into the basement. The place my friends and I would hang out on a cold rainy day. The basement where people we go in and out of when we have block parties. I cleaned that basement probably over 200 times, it was always a mess. I walk upstairs into the kitchen again and I walk towards the front door. Over by the front door are the stairs to go upstairs. I walk up remembering all the times where I would trip and roll down the stairs. When I get to the top I turn right into my bedroom. It was my favorite room ever. All the times I would pretend I was a teacher teaching a class came rolling back to me. I feel the parts on the carpet that are crunchy because of the amount of times I would play with slime and it would go everywhere. The room that my parents came into every night to say goodnight to me. Sitting in this room brought everything back to me. I walk out of the room and feel a brush of air left behind in the room. I go to my parents room which I spent more time in than my own room. I would sleep in my moms bed 85 percent of the time. I see my moms walk in the closet. I would always steal her heels so I could do “Fashion Shows” for her. She always thought it was the funniest thing ever and still talks about it to this day.

I decided it’s time for me to finally leave. I walk down the stairs and out the big door I walked right through 10 minutes ago. Down the path that leads to the driveway, I have a memory of everyone’s bikes just lying on their sides in the grass. My eyes start to water after everything I have remembered. All the memories, the good and the bad. Everyday I wish I could just move all my stuff back in and live there again.

       

Category: class writing, Memory Writing | 3 Comments on That home.
March 22

Boxing

I walked into the gym, and the heater hit my face almost immediately. The heavy bag hanging on the ceiling. People sparring inside the ring sweat dripping down their arms. Snake-like sounds leave the boxer’s mouth as he throws a jab ‘Shhhhh”. Coach yells for me, waking me up from my honest shock. I grab a jump rope and skip, the rope walking on the ground with a “thwip” on every skip. After 30 sec on and 30 sec off I’m put into the ring to shadow box. 

 

My Black Venum Boxing gloves hitting nothing but air. My Wrestling shoes that I hope no one notices moving around the tarp covered ring. I twist my back foot and my hips with every hook. My jab turns as I throw it. the 3 minute timer ends and I get a 40 sec break. Then I thought “This is gonna be fun”. It wasn’t.

Category: class writing | 3 Comments on Boxing
March 22

15.

By Genesis Juarez

As long as the memories keep flowing, the doors appearing are never ending. A long hallway full of dreams finally appears within them. 6408 days, since the last time I counted, worth of memories. I am in the middle of it all. So, I stop to look and gaze at the countless scribbles of color on the walls of my halls. Photographs hang in the hallway. Portraits of people and other small details to connect with memories. Frames flashing filing with pictures from my phone camera. Why so many? Why does my mind conjure more than it can handle? When I know that all I am is a speck of insignificant matter, floating in a galaxy, light years away. Yet, gravity pulls me in my sleep to force me to walk back to the foot of my memories, doors labeled. My 2nd and My 3rd and my 7th and My 9th birthdays. A door opening up to the first time I ever read a book, or the first time I met some of my earliest teachers, and everything leading up to now. Until I reached the door that was labeled, “15th Birthday!”.
I grabbed the door knob and turned it, the door flying open and pulling me in, allowing me to step into my memory.
It starts with me sitting on the floor of my bedroom, I sit and watch the clock turn 12:00 AM. I’m officially 15 and I’m too excited to go to sleep. Still I apprehensively crawl into bed and tuck myself into my sheets. Even if I know that I’ll fling them off, because why did I have to be born in August? The AC blasted on 64, so the cool chill fills my room and has me curling even more into the blanket. I’ll allow it, because I know I’ll thank myself in the morning for sleeping in the cold. So my eyes flutter shut and for the many times I’ve fallen asleep, I dream of nothing.
When I wake up it’s early. I can tell because of the coolness in my room, not just from the AC, but t. Those chilly dewey mornings we’re so used to. I sluggishly get out of bed and get ready, because I have a plan. Actually, we have a plan, my family and I. We need to get on over to Philadelphia to catch the bus that’ll take us to New York.
I check the weather and make sure the day’s nice and warm, which it always is in the summer. As my family and I pile into the car and drive to Philadelphia and as we stand outside where the buses are supposed to be. We realize we have to pay for parking. The most annoying thing about traveling, paying for stuff. So as we’re running across the city and trying to figure out where that big traveling bus managed to park, we take in the scenery. At least I do, the brisk air blowing as we walk down the streets of Philly. The sun is shining, nice and bright to illuminate our path to find the bus. Once we do, it’s like a saving grace, until we get on and realize it’s the wrong bus and we have to move onto another one. At least this one had air conditioning, I think I’d die being in a bus full of people and with nor AC. That’s a nightmare, to me at least.
The bus ride is long and I somehow manage to sleep during it, yet when I wake up, I see it. The tunnels leading into the city and how huge the skyscrapers are.
It had been years since I’d last come here to look around like a tourist. Now, I am older, not so much wiser, but definitely older. A womanly older. In my culture, turning 15 is the most significant moment of a young woman’s life, so that’s why this trip was taken so seriously. Instead of a huge lavish party, that many girls turning 15 prefer, I instead wanted a small trip with my family. (Even if I did end up having a Sweet 16 the next year, so I got the best of both worlds).
The trip was full of sightseeing and walking, lots of walking. The skyscrapers looked as if they could lean down and just eat me. The sky was so blue and the flowers were already blooming. Purple, delicate little flowers, one that I picked and kept in my backpack and still have to this day. The flowers probably dried and if I pick it up, it’ll break and disintegrate. I snapped pictures of everything and anything I could see. The weird looking building of hexagonal shapes, that made no sense architecturally, but nonetheless I snapped away.
We walked all across the city, We went from the heart of the city and found ourselves in Times Square. It looks so much better on New Year’s Eve with the huge ball drop and more anticlimactic in person. The bustling, brash, and bursting sounds from all the noise in the city. It falls faint on my ears as it turns into background noise. The honks from yellow taxis, shouts of pedestrians, and the screeching of cars coming to a halt. The hundreds of people in the streets, trying to scam any tourists in sight. My family and I included, but I was smarter than that and led us away from them. We took pictures and filmed until the storage in our phone ran out. It wasn’t the most special thing we could’ve seen, but the celebration made it even more special.
As we exhausted our feet we finally realized that we should get some lunch, just to kill time. Tacos for lunch, at least that’s what I can remember. The entrance to the restaurant was normal, yet we were led underground to sit and eat our food. It felt exclusive, special, and I thought it was because of my birthday. And the restaurant was right in Times Square, the heart of the city, how more adaptable could we get? Time seemed to fly by as we sat around and ate and chatted. The smell of scrumptious food that we devoured because of how hungry we were. Our bodies needed fuel to keep on trekking to the water to get on the boats to see Lady Liberty.
As we finished up our meal and managed to walk a couple blocks. I ended up calling it quits and begged to take a cab. It was my birthday after all, and we had already walked for so long. What would spending a couple bucks on a taxi cab hurt? We took the cab and crammed ourselves into it and made our way to the docks. We bought our tickets and waited for the boat to come to take us to Ellis Island.
The heat was starting to win in the fight with me. Time seemed to still as I was finally able to catch my breath after walking all morning. The red from my face, almost as if I were a tomato. The only thing I could hear was my breathing trying to normalize. I sat on a bench as I did so, yet the back of my thighs burned from the heat. The hot bench felt like it was burning into my skin. If I stood up I could just picture the burn marks on my legs. I started to feel like an idiot for wearing all black. The slight ache in my feet from all the walking, to the layers of sweat drenched behind my long hair. It all seemed to be so overwhelming. The heat, the sweat, and the blisters that were already forming on my feet. But, I was so glad I brought a hair tie, or two, and tied up the mane of hair that was practically sticking to my neck. I put on the little bucket hat we had bought while walking around the city, to shield me from the sun, as we sat and waited for the boat.
Once the boat arrived and we took our seats. That’s when the rocking began. I personally don’t have seasickness, but some of the people I was with, did. It was awful almost seeing them shake with fear and their faces greening from the rock of the boat. The subtle shake that boat got from the waves. I never understood seasickness, but I could feel the slow rock of the boat and if you looked overboard. You’d feel sick too. The terrifying height of the boat from the water and how dusky it was. If you fell in, what would be in the water to greet you?
I shook those thoughts from my mind as I felt the sudden stop of the boat. It approached the dock and everyone started to trickle out. As I stepped out the atmosphere shifted, the cool sea breeze of being on Ellis Island. I walked around with my family and we stumbled upon a small store. We all stopped and got ice cream and lemonade to cool off. The air helped, the way it brushed against me and made my hair flow in the wind. The sweetness of the lemonade and the slight tang from the physical lemons in the cup. Yet, the sweetness trumped it all, once I started to eat my chocolate ice cream cone. It felt like an ice cube on my tongue, cooling off the warmth of my insides.
My family and I walked around as we finished our lemonade and ice creams. Until we realized in all that relaxing, we had a boat to catch. We all made sure to race back before we’d be stranded on an island for the rest of the day. The sun shining down on us wouldn’t have been too good. As we managed to get back on the boat, the rocking sensation came back. It felt as if I were to take one wrong step, I’d fall off the boat entirely! The shaky ship sailed back to shore and we made it back in one piece.
Once we were back on land we took a taxi back to the center of town and continued to walk around. At this point my legs were basically killing me. We all made the trudge back to where the buses would meet us. The sun was setting and the skies began to darken on the walk back. We stopped at a little vendor’s cart and got water to quench our thirst. The cold water hitting my tongue was like finding a single drop in a dessert. I savored that water and finished the entire thing, before going back to get another. As we made it back to where the buses dropped us off, we found a little bench to rest on. I laid down and rested my head on someone’s lap, my shoes kicked off from all the walking I did, but I didn’t care.
As soon as we noticed the buses pull up, I sprinted with what little might I had to get to the good seats. Sitting down was such a relief, I can’t even remember the bus ride. I’m sure I fell asleep and then when I woke up, we were back in Philadelphia. The car ride back home was uneventful, until we stopped at Giant and rushed inside to get a cake before they closed.
Once we were finally home and settled in. We sat around the dining room table and unboxed the cake. It was my favorite and I couldn’t wait to sink my teeth into the first slice. We sang happy birthday in both English and Spanish and then I got to cut the cake. Huge slices distributed to everyone around the table. Once I took a bite, I was in heaven. The chocolatey sweetness of the cake. How soft it felt to bite into.
The perfect way to end the perfect dream of a day. Even if it wasn’t as lavish as a huge poofy dress and a room full of people celebrating, this day was the next best thing.
As I made my way upstairs, I made sure to take a shower. My hair was wet after taking a rejuvenating shower, and comfy pajamas to settle into bed with. Alongside the AC on being on full blast. Yet, I could still feel the ache in my feet as I crawled back into bed. I knew this would be a memory I would never forget. I drifted off to sleep and went back to the long hallway with doors that opened to my memories.
If only I could’ve cherished this birthday even more, if I had known what was to come. Never will I forget my 15th Birthday.

Category: class writing | 3 Comments on 15.
March 22

The 13th

The 13th

February 13, the date I stood outside letting the cold sharp air hit my skin as I waited in line.  I can hear upbeat music playing and the chatter of people.  Laughs surround me, side conversations, and the occasional drunk goers.  The smell of fried food and popcorn hit my nose as I passed security.  My mouth watered at the thought of food in my empty stomach – my nerves kept me from eating all day.

We walk around the entire Wells Fargo Center looking for sections to find our seats.  Once we found it, we entered, and my jaw flew to the ground.  The sound of cheers, the darkness compared to outside, and the number of people in one place.  That sonder feeling hit me over and over again.  Was this happening?  Was I in the same room as THE Billie Eilish?  

After waiting for what felt like a century, the lights turned off.  The suspense of it all made me jump with excitement.  Gleaming white strobe lights flash before the room goes dark again.  The first song starts to play, making the entire stadium shake.  Billie Eilish appears and the entire night goes by in a blur as I enter another dimension filled with laughter, tears, rage, and thousands of blurry videos.

  Never in my life would I have thought hearing someone sing would make me cry.  It wasn’t like it was my first time listening to this song but her angelic voice wraps me like a hug that I desperately needed.  “Halley’s Comet”, the song that brought warm tears down my face and so much comfort.  If only she knew how much it meant to me.  

Walking out, I didn’t care how cold it was.  I didn’t care that my feet were sore from standing in shoes that were not broken in.  I didn’t care that my voice was raspy.  Or, the fact that I had school the next day.  I did care that I was able to check off  “Go To Concert” on my life bucket list.  I did care that a core memory was made on a single date that I would look back to, time and time again.  February 13th was the date I went to my first concert and on the same day, I lost my voice from screaming too long.  

Category: Memory Writing | 3 Comments on The 13th
March 22

The Year Of Covid

Covid the year of…. 

Driving Dad’s lawn mower around the backyard until it ran out of gas

Riding bikes from sunrise to sunset with my best friends 

Laying in the middle of the night watching the stars

Back when we went to the creek to swim with our meals packed in our backpacks 

Manhunt at 11 on a Monday night 

No stressors or responsibilities except trying to not log out of class early

Playing dress up at the age of 13 because there was nothing better to do

Rib sticking down the biggest hill in the neighborhood with bruises all over our legs and arms

The Neighborhood friend group that got close because we only had each other 

Screaming music on the trampoline and talking about the world ending

All different age gaps but just as immature as everyone else

Movies on the projector in the backyard on a starry night 

Matching your mask to your outfit when we finally got back into school

Sanitizing groceries after going to the grocery store in the driveway

Old people having to wear masks in their own cars

Learning tik tok dances from Charlie Dmelo hours on end

Sleeping in till 11 

Careless eating without gaining any weight

Shorts and T-shirts everywhere we go 

Online shopping for clothes

Sneaking out to the hay fields to take pictures

Sleepover streaks and pulling all-nighters nights on end

Buying a Jeep just to drive around 

Hikes with family for miles down a back road

Watching church on the tv

Streaks on Snapchat being the connection with school friends

Drive by birthdays with posters handing out the windows 

Beaten up bikes as only transportation 

Logging off Zoom class early to go outside

Special days doing school with friends

Outdoor dinners with grandparents on the back porch with masks 

Category: Memory Writing | 3 Comments on The Year Of Covid
March 22

Where Do We Go Now?

On a bright and exciting day in 2023 –the very day in fact, I saw my favorite artist in concert. 

Ella arrives at my house. We get ready together then head to Philadelphia for the concert. There was traffic getting into the city but we still made it in time. We wait in line eating pizza, killing time as we wait to get inside the theater. The line finally starts moving and we finally make it in. We run trying to get as close as possible to the front of the stage. We took pictures and talked while waiting for her to come on stage. Finally – there she was. Gracie Abrams. My favorite artist. 

I never thought she was actually real. She started singing and we were screaming, singing, dancing, and clapping. We sang so loud and danced so much ,we lost our voices the next day and could barely get out of bed. Being there knowing that I’ve been able to relate to Gracie Abrams ever since she released her first song made it feel like even more of a staggering experience. Her music, her voice, and her lyrics are very special to me and I was so happy I got to experience it all in person with one of the only people I look up to and have been through everything with – Ella. At that moment, I felt so safe. 

Then she walked off the stage and we walked out of the venue, so slow. We made an excuse to wait in line for merch even though we knew they were sold out, trying to stay in that room as long as possible. We eventually got outside. We just stood there. In the middle of the street. Staring at the sign that says “Gracie Abrams”, hoping I will never lose the sense of calmness and joy she brings me. Not wanting to leave, I asked “Where do we go now?”

Category: Memory Writing | 3 Comments on Where Do We Go Now?