30 minutes until game time-
We, the whole team, have been at the gym for 30 minutes laughing and making jokes. It wasn’t time to concentrate then. But now we have to start thinking about the game. There are still jokes here and there but overall people are starting to think about the game and starting to get serious, so we start to put on our stuff. Since I get blisters on my feet I have to get them taped up before the game. I then start by to change into my uniform, shorts than shirt. It’s a night game and it’s cold so I put on under armour before my jersey. I then put on my sleeves for my shin guards for soccer. Next, I put on my socks, left than right, always. I then put my shin guards in the sleeves and then taped around the bottom of the shin guards so that they don’t move during the game.
20 minutes until game time-
We start to stretch inside to get muscled loose before warming up and putting on our cleats and going outside.
15 minutes until game time-
We put on our long sleeve warm-ups and then our cleats. We then stand outside the locker room and wait until everyone is ready and we are given the okay to walk on the field. We all look very professional in our matching shorts, socks, and warm-ups.
2 minutes until game time-
After we do are warm up routine we are ready to go. Everyone is pumped up for the game under the lights in front of our home friends. Everyone is on adrenaline, even the substitutes are ready for the call from the coach. Read more »
Throughout my community, state, country, and even world there are more problems then one can possibly think of. You hear on the news of the global financial crisis, extinction of species, rapid climate change, world hunger, poverty, spending cuts, etc. the list goes on and on. Every time you listen to what’s going on don’t you think to yourself, if only I could do something to contribute to the dilemmas in our world, to possibly put a stop to what’s happening? Well, what if you had the power to solve one problem of your choice? This question, although tough to answer, probes a variety of different responses. If it were up to me, I would resolve the tragedy of the child death toll around the world. As of 2011, it’s been stated that some 21,000 children die, around the world, per day. That adds up to an approximation of, some 92 million children dying within the years 2000-2010, around the earth. (globalissues.org) Much of the population doesn’t realize this problem within our world. These children are dying by causes that can be easily solved; issues that are overlooked because we are so fortunate to have such wonderful resources. Simple things, such as sanitation, hunger, lack of warmth, etc… Things we take for granted most of the time. In our towns we see healthy children running around, children that have the opportunity to live a long and happy life; if only everybody were that lucky. This ongoing adversity may be overlooked because of current pressing issues around the world, but that doesn’t mean it’s any less important than the other problems. I feel strongly about the matter of child deaths, and if I had the capability to solve one world trouble, then this would be it.
The most beautiful person in the world to me, is the imperfect person. There are so many things that are wrong with him, so many flaws, but he is the most perfect imperfection. He has wavy rich chocolate brown hair that he has let grow out. I don’t like it long, but he wants it long and he wants to dreadlock it. That’s fine with me, as long as he is who he is. His eyes are a color that he hates, but a color that I love. Like his hair, they are a rich brown that in the sun turns transparent and golden. He is not in the fittest form and he is self conscious about his weight, but no matter what he thinks there is nothing wrong with his body. He is the strongest boy that I have ever met and he sweeps me off of my feet and I feel the warmth of his strong core against me. It is a beautiful feeling. He is taller than me, and I like it that way. His hands are something that I can marvel at for ages. Don’t take this in the wrong way, but I love his hands. There is something so beautiful about his broad palms and his thick strong fingers with short-cut nails. His face is full and his nose sturdy, his lips are complete and his forehead is broad. There may be small flaws in your eyes, but not in mine. There is only complete perfection in his few pimples and thick stature. The most beautiful thing about him though, is his humble and loving heart. That is what matters the most to me, the sweetness and thoughtfulness set in with the playfulness and teasing. So no matter the mistakes that he makes, no matter his weight or the length of his hair, he is imperfection and that is the most beautiful thing in the world.
Who is the most beautiful person? What makes a person beautiful? Is it their hair, eyes, size, or clothing? No. The most beautiful people are not measured by looks or popularity; it has nothing to do with how someone looks. They are the people who have gone through the most and are the nicest. They are the people who will stand up for a complete stranger and not care if people judge them. They are the people who are always there to help, no matter what the problem is no matter who the one in need is. The most beautiful people do not have to fit into what modern societies “cookie cutter” of what is pretty or not. They are beautiful where it count, on the inside.
Crash, slam POW
Water rushing around me
An unstoppable force
Pushing me, pulling me
I can’t lose focus in this river
For it could take my life
One distraction, one tall wave
One splash that flips me
My kayak is nothing compared to the water surrounding me
My life in its hands,
Along for the ride I sit
Nothing like life where I’m in control
I have little power here
Where when in the real world
Every choice is my decision
And the path I chose could be any
I go in one direction now,
Stopping is my only choice
And that is only if I can succeed in that with my life.
Crash, slam, POW
Water rushing around me
I feel most alive when I am stading at over 13,000 vertical feet looking over at the trail below me, and the Utah wilderness around my friends and I. Feeling the cold, crisp mountain air entering my body giving me a serge of energy with every breath. The early morning breeze blowing the freshly fallen powder around like an early moring dance sparkling in the sunlight. I feeling more alive with each click of my snowboard bindings. With the final click I feel fully awake and a smile lights up my goggled face.
As I come closer to the edge I stand up and look down the powdery slope. WOOSH! My heart skips a beat as I fly down the almost vertical, powder covered trail getting fresh tracks. A glace back reveals the trail of powder flying up from behind. The early morning sun sparkling ahead marks the path I am taking.The rush makes me feel alive. At the bottem I slow to watch my friends tackle Utah’s best behind me, taking off to catch the lift for another flawless run, in Utahs backcountry.
I feel most alive when I am sitting on top of my mountain. I drive my four-wheeler up the dimly lit trail, shadows being cast over my path, dancing, obstructing my vision. I fly over leaves, snap branches, and cut corners. I take any path less traveled staying as far away from being found as possible. I am most alive when I am most free, when I am not controlled, when I am alone. On top of the mountain over looking the quaint town of Woodstock I see civilization flying by, everything continues on, though I am not at that point being a part of the action. It goes on normally.
I am most alive sitting in the grass with nobody to control me, a place where I can live and breathe without worrying about being judged, or failing someone’s expectations. I am most alive when I am free from the harsh world that I live in.
I feel Alive when…
I hold my breath and duck under the water as a wave the height of a tree comes toppling over me. I pop up ten seconds later gasping for air and laughing hysterically. The next wave is coming and I decide to body surf this one in to shore. I start swimming looking back every few seconds as it comes I hold my breath again and let it take me back to the sandy beach. I run back up to my towel and grab my sandwich out of the cooler. My mom and aunt are sitting in their beach chairs reading and soaking up the bright sun. I look back down to the ocean and see my cousins splashing in and out of waves trying their hardest not to get knocked down. Quickly finishing my sandwich I pull out my book, lay on my towel and begin to read.
Minutes later I am woken by a bucket of water being dumped on my head. I jump up getting my towel, book and clothes soaking wet. At first I’m mad but decide to laugh it off and chase my cousins back into the water. Before we know it the sun is setting and it’s time to go home. We pack up our stuff and pile into the black station wagon that we only use at our summer house. I already can’t wait for tomorrow’s beach adventure when I can wake up and feel alive again!
I feel most alive when I'm on a rollercoaster. The speed and rush of the coaster as it flies through the air makes my stomach twist and turn. I love steep drops and everyone around me screams in horror, or in delight as we all experience the same drop.
When I'm on a rollercoaster and we are just about to go on a giant drop, my stomach starts to fly up and I love the feeling of that. When the coaster is moving from side to side, I love the feeling of fun as we roar across the sky.
My red Mini Cooper will lead me into the future. My first step toward my future will be to buy a red Mini Cooper with a white top and two white stripes down the front. It will have a black leather interior and a Bose sound system and it will be the start to the rest of my life. I will drive it to Boston College in it and my first college classes, parties and exams. Some days I will forgo it and go into the city by bus or train to eliminate the traffic and parking but I will always return. I will also drive home to my mom back in Woodstock, Vermont. Back at college after graduation I will pack up my Cooper and move into my first apartment. It will be slightly outside the city, in the suburbs. My roommate will move with me, she and I have been friends since pre-school and have yet to part.
At my first job I will have an assistant, who resented my slightly for getting the job she wanted but we work hard and soon we are partners and we become the agents for the rich and wealthy Bostonians. We will become so popular that we will both be hired by the most respected PR place in Boston and will soon become partners. Our fees are large but our work is unopposed. My Mini Cooper will take me to a new apartment in the heart of the city. I will start a friendship with e doorman, baking him cookies often. My roommate will also move into the city and live only a few blocks away, we will frequently meet at the coffee shop between our two places; she is now an up-and-coming lawyer. One day I will go to meet her at the coffee shop and I will him. He will so be ‘the one.’ Read more »
It is Saturday morning…no one is home… you have some cash… and you want something… sweet… what would you do?
I slip out the back door, leaving it unlocked in anticipation of my return, and walk swiftly down the street. I jog across the parking lot of the local grocery store, looking out for the occasional angry tourist in a minivan or jeep. I quickly enter the store and walk furtively toward the candy section. Once there I open one of the neat little containers of candy, grab a bag and start to shovel the cadies inside. This, in itself, is a workout as the candies as the candies have somewhat melted together in this summer heat wave. Once I am done digging into the bowls of the container I walk down the aisle, avoiding temper tantrum throwing babies and their strung-out mothers, to the checkout counter.
Once I reach the counter and wait impatiently as a city person complains about the prices of organic good-for-you food it is finally my turn. I fork over the crumpled bills in my hand and tell the exhausted employee to keep the change. I walk slowly towards home as I slip the candies into my mouth, one by one, I savor the taste. I find the last of my energy and run across the yard, go through the door, bound up the stairs and fling myself onto my bed. I kick off my flip flops and put on an old sitcom that requires none of my attention. I sigh, finally content. This is Perfection.
“Hurry up; I wanna get to the lake before sundown!” Nicole shouted to Linda behind her, struggling to keep up.
“You’re kidding right? Its noon we’ll get there in plenty of time!” Linda panted back.
“Just come on!”
The two girls hiked up the overgrown trail. It was a hot day but the tall trees above shaded them form the burning sun. They had been hiking in over grown weeds and for hours and were growing tired. Linda was falling further and further behind and Nicole had to wait for her to catch up.
“Linda I think there is a short cut up here, I used to take it all the time with my dad.”
“Do you know where it is?”
“Um I think it is right up here.” Nicole hesitated as she looked along the edge of the trail for the familiar marking, “I think this is it. The trail is wider then I remember. Let’s go!”
The girls fallowed the winding path up the side of a mountain. Linda was worried “Where in the world is this lake?”
“At the top, silly,” Nicole replied confidently, the girls spotted a bright light at the end of the path, “It must be up there.” The long path ending at the edge of a large, unkempt field, spreading as far as they could see in both directions.
“Umm Nicole you never mentioned anything about a field.”
“That’s because there wasn’t one, I have no clue where we are.” Nicole was scared.
Spotting an old farm house in the distance they ran to it to ask for help, but the closer they got the sketcher it looked. The farm house’s paint was pealing off the side, birds flew out of broken windows, and the front door was open.
“I don’t know about this.”
“Stop it, Linda, don’t be such a worry wart. Let’s explore!” Read more »
The lonely house on the corner; who lived there, what happened to them? I can imagine the sad story. The family was a divorced mother and her two daughters. She was a hard-working woman who was in her early fifties with a sixteen and a fourteen year old. They used to all live together in the father’ house, one he was given by the company that he worked for. He made little money, but he supported the family. She had a job of her own, which she used as an escape from the screaming and fighting that she entered when she got home.
She would come home late at night after work and then attending to the small driving range that she owned. Her daughters would stay up on the weekends just to say goodnight. “I’ll be home at one,” she’d say. Next, “just a couple more minutes and I’ll have everything put away.” By five in the morning she would come home and her daughters would be asleep on the couch, the TV still playing CBS or A&E shows. She would help them up to bed, and then start to clean and watch her soap operas.
Finally the entire family got sick of the late hours and the fighting. She found an apartment and moved out with the kids. She was finally a little happier. The divorce papers went through, and she went to court. The daughters went to stay with their father for a few nights every week, so that he would not be all alone. Mother had a new job which she loved. She worked in a golf store, which was her specialty. She would come home at a reasonable time and watch a movie and make dinner for the girls. Everything got better. The apartment was big. There were actually two floors, three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a den, and a reck’ room. There were happy memories made in the rooms of the pretty house. Read more »
The world that surrounds the family speeds by, with new innovations, technologies, and theories to fix the problems and debt that fill and consume the world. The family? Caught up in the universe, keeping up with the necessities, but not taking part in the forward thinking of the world. The family wishes to conserve. To stay and live the way their ancestors live in the generations before them.
They feel above the “new generation” wanting to have a family that keeps close. Wanting to be away from those families that fall apart, the crime, and the dishonesty.
The house was a small cottage through the woods 3 miles off the main road in North Carolina. It had once white bricks that had faded to a more a yellow and a shingled roof. Once, when the small house was occupied it had a large garden, but now it’s gone, taken over by weeds. The family that lived there? Nobody really knows what happened to them, they were so consumed with each other that nobody knew them perhaps when they all died, the world continued on, not knowing the truth. Or perhaps the went crazy, and ran off into the mountains, upset with what the world had become.
The house now missing shingles, with the large paned windows cracked and dirty. The door is broken in from hoodlums committing their misdeeds. The walkway made of stones slowly being lost in the tall grass.
As I walked up to the old house, I imagined the family that had once lived in the broken down building. The people who had called it home. The cobwebs covered the doors and windows and trees had grown over the little stone path. A battered welcome sign still hung over the entrance.
I put my hand on the door knob to go inside. It creaked as I swung it open and stepped into the small room. The family came to life in the house. The mother making dinner, the children playing and doing homework and the father walking in from work, though only a figment of my imagination, felt real. As I watched them go about there evening routine, I felt like an intruder; like I was interrupting some great family moment.
I shook my head to rid myself of the thought and quickly closed the door behind me. In the kitchen, the family sat around a little table eating their dinner. I quickly moved into the living room where they appeared again, this time sitting around the fire telling stories. In the bedroom the mother tucked her child into bed.
The house was beautiful. Not one thing was out of place and it was decorated as if no one had ever lived there. Fresh flowers greeted me in very room and the sun shone through the open windows.
All of a sudden my imagination stopped. There I was in an old, broken down house. Dust and cobwebs covered everything and it was obvious no one had lived there for quite some time. I looked around, shocked that my imagination had deceived me.
I ran out of the house and back down the overgrown path, wondering how I had ever imagined that house could be anything but scary. It was filled with dark corners and spaces. I never wanted to go back again. Today I can’t help thinking of that sweet family in that beautiful house from time to time.
I smell bacon, pancakes, and warm maple syrup, the warm morning sun beats down on my face, through my sheets. I open my eyes and see the breath taking Utah mountains and take a deep breath, ahhh heven. Wait a second, “What is going on?”
“You’re rich and famous for the day.” replies a tall butler in the corner, “What would you like to do today?”
This is crazy, madness, and absultly amazing! Seeming I was looking at the “Greatest Snow on Earth” I would start off my day by going kat skiing in the backcountry. After an amazing day of fresh powder, I would head off on a shopping spree, have a fancy dinner at a five star resterant, and finish the day by going to a marvelous ball with everyone who’s anyone, in Hollywood. Of couse I would fly from Utah to Hollywood in my very own privite jet. I would finish the night by walking up the streets of Califonia signing autographs to anyone who asked, smiling and waving at my fans. If I ran out of hours in the day I would simply pay to make the day even longer. A day famous would be the busiest, most exciting day ever.
The curtain falls on an empty stage
I think of this story that we made
It feels as if there are no options left
All I have, is to forget.
We smiled and we danced
It was the perfect play, a romance
And in the rain we did kiss
But all I have is an umbrella that makes me you miss.
Wishful thinking in my black dress
It makes me a sad widow, nothing less
And before the day you fell away
I thought that you and I would forever stay.
Now quietly I fall
When after the curtain call
My life might as well be over
For you were nothing short of my lucky clover.
But in the days that are to come
I drink myself sick with rum
For nothing left to guard my life
Thus, umbrella let me fall to strife.
Becoming famous would be really exciting for me. I would do many things the day I became famous. First I would call my mom and tell her that I became famous. I would then go do things I wanted. I would first buy a sports car and drive around in it. Then I would take my mom out to lunch with me at a 5 star restaurant. I would then go to work at the movie that I am starring in. After work I would go and hang out with some other famous people. Then I would go to the beach and relax there. After that it will probably be dinner time so I would go take my mom and dad out to dinner with me. After dinner I will have some free time so I will probably get interviewed by a newsperson. After the interview I would call my friends and let them hang out at my new place and we would have a great time. Dealing with the attention would not be a problem because I would embrace the attention and get as many pictures with famous people as I could. That is what I would do if I became famous one day.
Today I woke up famous. No explanation, no reason why. I turned on the news and pictures of me taken by paparazzi covered the screen. Confused doesn’t even begin to explain how I felt, or still do feel now. I called my best friend and asked her what was going on, but all she did was scream with excitement. I hung up before my eardrums burst. Then I called my mother. She went on and on about how proud she was that I had to hang up on her too because I couldn’t get a word in edge wise. No answers. Deciding to let it go for a little while, I went to go get dressed and eat breakfast.
As I ate the last bight of toast I looked out the window down onto the busy street. Paparazzi crowded the sidewalk trying to take pictures at me through the windows. I jumped up and closed the shades as quickly as possible hoping they couldn’t steel a shot. Then all of a sudden it hit me. Why was I hiding inside when there was a world of people outside who loved me (or at least I hoped that was why I was famous)? It was time for me to go out, go shopping, go to a museum, go anywhere and test my new “celebritiness”.
I looked in the mirror as I walked out the door and then headed down the two flights of stairs to the street. As soon as my foot hit the pavement I was surrounded. Flashes blinded me, microphones were jabbed in my face and what seemed like millions of pedestrians were screaming, pointing, smiling, genuinely excited.
I spent the rest of the day shopping at the hottest stores, eating out at the newest restaurants and meeting so many new people. I wasn’t sure if this would last through tomorrow but I sure like the attention. At the end of the day, after wading through crowds outside my apartment building I finally made it upstairs.
Today was a great day, and even if my famousness doesn’t last, I got a taste of a different life that I would have never known.
There once was a woman who lived in Nantucket
When she happened upon a small silver bucket,
In which, a red umbrella was stuck-it
So she plucked it from,
Discovered ‘twas worth a sum
And questioned, “Should I keep it, or chuck it?”
Tucked at the end of my street’s small cul-de-sac is a small cottage, covered with vines. Unless you were looking for it, you wouldn’t know it was there. The mailbox is rusted, and the driveways cracked, grown over with daisies. Just like the people who used to live there, the house blends in. They were happy people, an old couple, never knew their names though. There son grew up and grew out, then just left .Then the town started to change, the tourists came in, and the couple grew unhappy, the son never came back. Time passed, houses popped up, and the little cottage started to fade. One day the couple left, out of the blue, just walked out, leaving everything they had behind. We searched, but never found them. Later, the son came back, pulled right up to the cottage, and got out of the car. He stared at the little house, almost unrecognizable now, then kneeled on the walkway and started to sob. He disappeared that day too. Tucked at the end of my street’s small cul-de-sac is a small cottage, covered with vines. Unless you were looking for it, you wouldn’t know it was there.
Inside the water runs through pipes, down sinks, in the skin of the people
But outside? The water runs through the streets, the rivers, through the soles of every person’s sneakers.
When you step outside to the drenched, spherical world you can do nothing to avoid the water’s touch
It is everywhere, though sometimes it doesn’t seem that way
When you step outside to go for a romantic walk with a lover, the rain drizzling down around you,
You take an umbrella, to shield you, to protect you from something that seems harmless, but really is a powerful force
When you’re on that walk that umbrella is what unites you, you and your lover, you and the rain
But when you step outside with your umbrella, and the sun is shining, the air crisp and dry, you are alone
No water pouring from the sky, no hand to interlace your fingers with
You step inside and fall to your knees, loosing all control of yourself, hurt and with nobody around to keep you company
“Nice shot Vinny, keep it up!” head soccer coach Hernandez said.
I had just scored the winning goal in our scrimmage during varsity soccer tryouts. I am a senior at San Marcos High School in Santa Barbara, California. I was born in Napoli, Italy, hence my name Vincenzo Moretti, and my parents and I moved to Santa Barbara when I was in middle school. My parents are origionally from Cote D'Ivoire and moved to Italy when they got married so I am of African-Italian accent. My dream is to become a professional soccer player and play for the Italian National team in the World Cup, but first I have to get through this season and college. Read more »
I glanced over at the mall food court. The bright florescent lights spotlighted each of the chain fast food booths. My stomach growled like a lion as I neared the Subway counter.
“Can I please have a turkey BLT with provolone cheese on white bread?”
“Sure,” the man said, fumbling around in his apron to find a glove.
“I try to avoid white bread. I hear it makes you fat,” a girl said eyeing my purchase. Her long bleach-blond hair was straightened; her make-up applied perfectly, and her clothes looked like they had just walked off the runway. She looked like the “in” crowd, someone who always had the cutest clothes, the hottest guys, the most popular friends, and went to the coolest parties.
This is the group I wanted to be in. At my old school I had been the quiet, artsy sort, but as my mom said this would be a new start, a chance to reinvent myself as someone who was “popular.” Getting to know her might insure me a seat at the cool table my first day of high school, which seemed much better than sitting awkwardly at a table with nerds or even worse, the chess team.
“That will be $3.75,” the cashier said, holding out my tray. I stuffed my hand in my pocket looking for my money. I counted out $2.00 in quarters; I was short $1.75. I stood there; I could feel my face getting red and my forehead beading with sweat. I knew I didn’t have enough money.
“Here take this.” The girl handed the cashier $5.00. Read more »
What are you looking at? I don’t stare at you all day long, withholding food, tapping on your world! What makes me your so called, “pet?” I know I am shiny, gold, and down right beautiful, but I have rights too. What do I get out of this particular arrangement? No rights and nowhere to spread my fins. All I get is this clear thing to swim around in. It only takes less than me 30 seconds to swim around, wait…. What was I was saying?
If I were to change one thing about Vermont, I would enlist imaginative writers for the Young Writer’s Project. The prompts themselves are cliché and unimaginative. Given thousands of monkeys and infinite time, the works of Shakespeare could be recreated; however, honestly, for these prompts I give it one monkey and ten minutes. One of the prompts is, “Write a poem about the color green.” It’s a color, there is very little one can attribute to that specific visual. Who in their right mind is nostalgic about a color? Also, who came up with the brilliant idea of, “If you were to look into a fishbowl, and the fish were to look out, what would it see?” A fish, good sir, a fish. They have almost a second long attention span, and that’s the relative Einstein of the fish community. So, the one thing that desperately needs to be changed in our state is the creativity and effort put into these prompts. I am disappointed good sir, disappointed.
A fish looks out of its home and sees the only world it has known. Of course, it all depends on what fish it is. It may be scolding us when we look at it, but from the way that a fish presents itself one tells how it feels. If it hides behind a rock, it is obviously frightened. If it stares right back at you it probably does not care what is happening or it is used to it. In the event that a fish is jittery and frolicking around it is probably anxious, perhaps for feeding time. Whatever a fish’s behavior maybe, it most certainly mimics a human’s…
Just as humans experience great curiosity of life under water when they push their noses against the fishbowl and look in, fish experience that same curiosity of life in the open air. The human wonders, how do they breathe? I wish I could swim all day. The fish wonders, how do they walk on two feet? Can they swim?
With their little fish eyes, they stare up at us in awe and amazement. They observe how we stand tall and walk gracefully across the floor. They hear a dull roar of voices coming from the other side of the glass and wonder what is being said.
They envy our mobility. They are confined to a little round bowl and spend life constantly swimming in circle. When they look out at us they see creatures that can travel, people who don’t stay in one place all the time and who have the ability and freedom to move about where they like.
The fish may begin to think their life is just unfair. What did they do to deserve life in such a small confined space? Are there other fish that get the freedom to swim where they like? It gets especially bad when they see pictures of oceans, rivers and lakes. They try as hard as they can to jump out of their bowl and find a new environment.
So the next time you look into the fishbowl, remember how lucky you are to have freedom and the choice to move around. We are lucky that we don’t have to constantly swim in circles.
The Internet affects the human society in many good and bad ways. The internet can completely take over our lives. We can become so into the computer that it can make us forget about what we are supposed to e doing. Because of the Internet it can cause students not to do so well in school because people can get distracted with Facebook and Twitter and other websites. The Internet affects our minds because we can see things on there that can be frightening and we may not want to see. The Internet can affect relationships in many different ways. It affects our family relationships because we can now send emails and texts and messages to people but it seems that writing a letter or meeting the person face has rapidly decreased. People because of the Internet have become lazy. It can affect relationships with friends and girlfriends and boyfriends. It affects these relationships because people use the Internet to do many things for them. For relationships it can cause breakups because of what they see online and it can be offending. That is how the Internet has affected many people’s lives.