9/27 10:30 am |||Argument|||

If I had an argument to make today, it would be for gay rights. Ever since I was little, I sort of had my own moral compass. Many people believe that the homosexuals of the world do not deserve to have the same rights as straight people. I do not believe that at all. There is nothing wrong or unnatural about being gay. When I was a sophomore in high school, I wrote a speech on why gay marriage should be legalized. It is not like they hurt anyone or are trying to recruit people to join them. The right to marry and get the benefits of that marriage should be available to all who choose to accept it. One of my best friends is gay, and it would kill me to see a future in which he could not live a happy life because there are close minded people in the world preventing him from doing so. Everyone has a right to pursue the path that they see fit in order to achieve their goals, whether they be gay or straight or anyone in between.

Descriptive Detail (Erika Sam-10:30 am)

When I was younger, my godmother sent me a doll for my seventh birthday. I remember it being delivered to my house on a hot day, as the days are always hot in the middle of July in Southern California. It came in a large blue box that my grandfather signed for. I was so excited that I had gotten something in the mail. It is always exciting to get something in the mail when you are younger because it is never bad. I remember my sister, three years older than me, was jealous of the package that I had received. I eagerly waited for my grandpa to open the box. He shuffled into the kitchen and when he came back he had a machete in his hand. The thing you have to understand about my grandpa is that he is what modern people might call a thug. That machete, with its dull silver blade and black handle with little wounds of its own, had been my grandpa’s go-to gadget. But I suppose that is another story entirely.
He came into the living room where he had left me with the box and used his machete to open it, slowly and carefully slicing the tape from one end to the other. After he finished I jumped to see what new and wonderful thing was hiding away in the blue box. It was, as mentioned, a doll. It was no ordinary doll, though. Not one of those Raggedy Anne dolls or a typical Barbie. No, this was something entirely new to me.
I cannot recall who manufactured it, or even what I called her. What I do remember is what she looked like. The doll came to about the height of my shoulder. I had never before seen a doll that big. She had long, black, curly hair that flowed to the middle of her back. She had pale skin and a blue floral print dress that matched her swirling blue eyes. She was one of those dolls that closed its eyes when you laid her down and opened them again when she was upright. The special thing about her was that she was supposed to be like a real friend. She was designed for the owner, me, to hold her hand. With every step that I took, she would walk right alongside me as long as we were holding hands. I could not believe it. It was unlike anything I had ever seen before. I began to play with her right away. I was not allowed to play with her outside, so we took walks around the kitchen. She slept on the floor next to my bed. I never kept her in bed with me because I used to move around quite a bit when I slept and I did not want to hit her in my sleep.
The fun I had with my new doll would soon change though. Later in the year, towards Christmas, I stayed over at my cousin’s house. Everyone was telling scary stories, and I, trying to fit in with my older cousins stayed to listen despite being terrified. One of the stories was about a possessed doll that, in the nature of scary stories, killed people. It talked and moved and murdered. From then on, I discovered that my doll reminded me of the doll in the story because it could move. Also, there was something about its eyes that would stare as if plotting my demise. Unrealistic? Probably. But to a seven-year-old child, it was very real. Needless to say, the doll was soon banished from my household and donated. To this day, I am still slightly terrified of dolls.

9.9.10 10:30am|||Regrets|||

My latest regret is not telling one of my best friends that I was slightly in love with him. Maybe it was not real love, but I most definitely had strong feelings for him. It was my senior year of high school and by the time I realized my feelings, the end of the school year was coming and I didn’t see the point in telling him. I moved across the country for school. It seems like the right thing to do. I don’t want to look back on y life and wonder what could have been. I am seriously hoping that this does not turn into one of those situations. I’m hoping that my liking him is just a phase in my life and I get over it soon. This, I’m hoping, is not one of those “the one that got away” situations.

9/20 10:30 am

The first thing that I thought of when i read the prompt was my father. Two years ago, I discovered that he had been cheating on my mom. Never in my life had I felt more disgusted and betrayed. He skewered the dynamic of our close family with his inability to keep it in his pants. My parents are still together, but things are not the same. Obviously, he broke our trust. There is not a day that goes by in which I can't help but wonder if he's still continuing his ways.
When I first discovered this, I didn't really know what to do. I told my sister and we kind of kept it under wraps until we knew for sure. It wasn't until one day when my sister was tranferring his contacts from one phone to another that we knew for sure. I felt pangs in my heart and my stomach twisted in knots. How could he do this to us?
I wanted nothing more than to scream and kick and slap my father, but being the person that I am, none of my family saw these emotions. I feel, but tend not to show that I do. My sister came into my room crying. She's older than me, but I am the stronger one. Again, being the person I am, I knew what she wanted. She expectred me to cry, and I did. Not because I was sad, but because she needed comfort.
The feelings I had that day can be described as a mixture of pain, hatred, betrayal, and disgust. My mind raced with scenarios over the past few years in which my father went out at random hours of the day, returning hours later. Still today, I feel the pain and imagine the disgust I felt with every hug and kiss he gives me.

Show Don't Tell

Erika Sam

10:30 am

It is a bright and sunny day. If you are not from this part of the country, you would not be able to tell that it is the beginning of February. The weather is perfect for a twenty-first birthday party in the park. The grass is several shades of brilliant greens and yellows. Part of a sandy volleyball court peeks through the side of the picture, hoping to be captured as well. The background reveals and empty street with a stone wall. Even further still, hills brush across the back, reaching up the sky as they do so. Across the grass, there are many objects. A black and white striped blanket peeks in at the bottom left corner. Next to it are two different soccer balls. One, yellow and black, was used to play a small game of soccer between friends. The other, silver, white, and red, was kicked between two cousins and a wall. There is a large black guitar case; assorted drumsticks, a Frisbee, a man in a plaid shirt and jeans taking a picture, and a skateboard are strewn across the floor.

All of these things are surrounding the main focus of the picture. That is, of course, the seven people in a line. The first person on the far left with his black hair, white shirt, skinny jeans, and brown TOMS is holding a large white bass drum. The next person has short brown hair and wears a grey v-neck t-shirt and black skinny jeans against her pale skin. She holds two drumsticks in her hand. The third person wears a long-sleeved button-up shirt and a dark wash pair of straight jeans. He plays an African drum while wearing a pair of black sunglasses to shield his eyes from the brightness of daylight. The fourth member of this interesting line of people wears a purple shirt and grey pants as he plays the maracas. The fifth person had black hair and wears a purple dress. Her dress is a deeper color than her predecessor’s. It seems to be a more royal color. Perhaps it is because she is the birthday girl. The sixth member in the line, the last person in line’s cousin, is wearing a brown jacket, black skinny jeans, and black Converse. She holds an egg shaker, not seen in this image, within her hand. The seventh and last member in line is me. I am wearing my hair in a bun with a cerulean long sleeved shirt with brown shorts, black tights, and green high top Converse. In my hand is a tambourine.

This picture is of what started out as a drum circle at a friend’s birthday party. We soon tired of playing in a circle on the ground and took it around Gladstone Park. We went through the grass, by the playground where a little boy was dancing along, and the basketball court before we took it back to our little niche within the park. We paraded around like we were little kids playing back in our own homes. “I feel like a lost boy!” I exclaimed. They laughed and agreed all fans of Disney’s Peter Pan.

I have always loved music and drum circles. This picture reminds me of the random jam sessions and Sunday trips to Venice beach to join in the weekly drum circle. It also reminds me of home. It reminds me of the friends I have made and the places I have been to. In California, I feel like I never ran out of things to experience. I am reminded of the many concerts that I have always loved to attend. It did not matter whether it was a large arena, grassy fairgrounds, small bars, small venues, a house, or someone’s backyard. I love going to shows. Mostly, though, I am reminded of the people I love, and the people I left behind. They are what really matter. Moments like this were pure bliss and that bliss was captured in this picture. Faces are barely made out, but all of the emotion was there.

Where did I learn how to be female?

When I was younger I used to be a tomboy. I did not really care about the things I wore or how I looked. A normal outfit for me would be a baggy shirt, warm-ups, and a pair of Nikes. Sure, my mom would put me in dresses for special occasions, but most of the time I just wanted pants and a shirt. My dad would buy me baseball caps and basketballs and take me to the park. Mostly, I was just concerned with having fun and playing in the sand. It is kind of hard to climb a tree or play two-hand-touch when you’re nine and in a dress. Looking back on it, when I was younger, there was not really a distinction between boys and girls. Tom me, boys were friends. They were people I played tag with or raced to the cafeteria against.
I think it was not until I hit middle school that I really started to become a “girl”. Up until then, I still had a lot of fun just being one of the guys. I am still like that in many ways. I have always had more male than female friends. I would definitely pinpoint my transition into girlhood to middle school, though. I think the reasons are fairly obvious. Middle school. Changing bodies. PUBERTY. Once I hit puberty, I think I started to become more aware of myself and how I looked to the opposite sex. This can be attributed to the animalistic need to mate and reproduce. The first thing I think of in this instance is the peacock. A male peacock’s plume is designed to attract a mate by its illustrious display of feathers. I feel as though it is the same for humans. We use our subjective views of beauty to make ourselves more attractive to the opposite gender. In the case of me, the female, through this change, it was becoming more of a girl in order to attract a male counterpart. As goes the story of the human race, right?

RE: What Is It About 20-Somethings?

Personally, I can understand why it is taking so long for this generation of “20-Somethings” to grow up. I have a friend in her twenties who, like those mentioned in the article, graduated college and moved back in to her mother’s house. As of now, she has her degree in English from UC Riverside, but is unemployed and living in the room she grew up in. Her last job had nothing to do with English either. Maybe the 20-Somethings of this generation are lost in a way. Maybe they are trying to find their niche in the world and it is just taking longer than it did in previous years.


I know, for me, I am terrified to grow up. I want to stay as young as possible for as long as possible. My high school English teacher talked to us one day about how after college you really hit the real world. You are faced with bills on top of bills, paying back loans, finding a career, paying taxes, etc. I just wanted to crawl in a hole at that point and never come out. Just the thought of having to face those things in the world may very well cause a panic attack. I wish I could live off of my parents for the rest of my life like a leech. This, of course, cannot happen. Eventually there will come a day where I, like the 20-Somethings, must grow up. I just hope it does not take me too long.

Throughout high school, I feel like many of the students there were in such a hurry to grow up. They wanted to do what they thought was “grown up” or “mature”. These words are subjective. I suppose with this generation, with premarital sex being less taboo, many students at my school did engage in intercourse, but at what cost? High school, and even some junior high, students are so caught up in trying to grow up (sex, drinking, partying, etc) that they lose sight of what it really means to be an adult. They want all the perks of being an adult, without all of the responsibilities.

That is why it is taking so long for people to grow up today. Doing stupid or reckless things are fine when you are young because there is always some sort of safety net to catch you. You can be indecisive about what you want to do with your life and you can lean on your parents. In this way, I think people are staying dependent on parents for longer. It gives us a longer period of time to sort out what we really want out of our lives.