Nonfiction

For the first time, I was beginning to understand what life is all about. Life is like a stream of water. In the stream, there are different fish and the stream sometimes leads to different paths.

“For the first time, I was beginning to understand what life was all about.” When Covid-19 first started we had a CYO’s  tournament for basketball. We couldn't do it because it got cancelled.

Sometimes I feel that the world is going so fast that I can't keep up. And I just have to stop and think. A lot of the time when I have to rush out of the house I am going in circles and I can't get anything done.

For the first time, I was beginning to understand what life is all about. It's about spending time with people like family, friends, and people you care about. It is not all games, money and all that extra stuff. It's not all fun and games.

I didn’t particularly care about having a sister, at the ripe age of 3 it was indifferent to me and as long as I didn’t have to share my toys. I guess I didn’t know I would be getting a companion, a best friend.

I watch the inauguration live on TV in my school library. The clouds literally parted in DC right when Lady Gaga started singing. I felt my heart pounding along with the beat of the "President's own Marine Corps band".

I'm out on the water, one beautiful afternoon, just enjoying myself and my own thoughts, pondering whatever comes to mind. Ideas float by like cattail fluffs drifting along with the current of the tide.

Sometime ago on  november 14 it was my 13th birthday, I got this bunny like bag.I didn’t really know what was going to happen in the future with that bunny, but now that I look back, I'm glad it did.

A dogwood tree grows in my front garden. It is small, somewhat peaked, somewhat scrawny. It's imperfect. That tree has watched me grow up.

I want to build you a castle, even though I can barely use a screw driver.
I want to write you a song, one that would make you think of me on a whole new level,
One you could listen to when we're apart.

I look outside my window and I see a collection of trees; no not trees, a collection of memories. I see everything I love and everything I ever want to be. Sure, they’re just trees to some, but to me, they are like family.

We’ve all heard the classic saying “One person’s trash is another person’s treasure,” but what makes something trash or treasure? What makes someone categorize it as trash? Is it because it's “useless” or maybe it’s because it's worn out?