1999 Creative Writing Contest Winners
"Metamorphosis"
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Butterflies begin their lives as caterpillars, then eventually work free from their cocoons and become something different. In a similar way, tadpoles become frogs. Such a great change is called metamorphosis. Consider a significant change that you may have undergone in your life. The change can be physical, mental, spiritual, and/or imaginary. Tell about your personal metamorphosis. |
| Alex
Rousso Grades 5-6 |
Lindsey
Brengle Grade 9-10 |
Zhong-Min
Hu Grade 11-12 |
Author: Alex Rousso |
Teacher: Connie St.
Amour |
On the Wings of a Dove
My parents and my sister, Marissa, and I had returned from a vacation in Greece. It was a wonderful vacation. I got to see my Greek cousins whom I had never met before. My Dad’s entire family from California was there. As I look back on it now, what made the trip even more special was the fact that our entire family was all together. When we returned home, Marissa and I looked forward to horse show in Pebble Beach. People from all over the country came to show their ponies and horses. It’s considered one of the biggest horse shows in California. There were many new boarders at the stable where we keep our ponies. The people usually come for at least a month because the show is two and a half weeks long. Two sisters from Dallas, Texas, had come to our stable. They were here with their mom and dad. Marissa and I soon became friends with the Sechrest girls. We nicknamed them the “Sechrest girls” because their last name is Sechrest. The younger sister’s name Is Edyn and she Is the same age as my sister, Marissa, who is eleven years old. The older sister’s name is Keller and she is about two years older than I am. My mom and Edyn and Keller’s mom, Karyn, soon became good friends They had much in common. They both were only children, born and raised on the east coast, they each had two daughters who loved to ride, and they each had parents who were in a nursing home. And as if that wasn’t enough, they both worked in the medical profession. So it wasn’t surprising that they became fast friends. We enjoyed our time with the Sechrests. We rode our ponies every day together and we ate lunch together. Edyn and Keller came to my house to spend the night a couple of times. We swam at the Beach Club all together and went out to dinner together. But time passed so quickly, and before we knew it, it was time for the Sechrests to go back home to Dallas. We promised to keep in touch. This was the first time I had friends who didn’t live in California. I promised to write and call them. My mom and Karyn also promised to keep in touch. I knew that my mom and Karyn had a special friendship. The Sechrests seemed like the perfect family and I was glad that I got to know them. I kept in touch with them as I had promised. My mom and Karyn talked on the phone from time to time. My mom said that Karyn was like having a sister. I knew that the Sechrests were going to return the following summer because they had already rented a home close to my home. I was excited that we would get to see them again. They had also planned to stay the entire summer. The week before Thanksgiving, it happened. My mom got a phone call from Karyn. I was home at the time and l could see by my mom’s expression that she had become very sad. My mom called to me and Marissa and said t hat she had just heard some very sad news from Karyn. She told us that Karyn was flying into San Francisco and then my mom began to cry. I couldn’t understand what was so sad about Karyn coming to California. I was happy at the thought that I might get to see Edyn and Keller. Through her tears, my mom told us that Karyn had been diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor and she was coming to San Francisco to talk with the best neurosurgeons who knew the most about this type of tumor . My first remark was, “She’s going to be all right, isn’t she, mom?” My mom said she didn’t know but she hoped so, and she asked us to keep Karyn in our prayers every night. Karyn came and the doctors confirmed that she had a malignant tumor called a gleioblastoma. That was a big word for me to understand, but my mom told be that it is called this because it blasts or grows so quickly and that was what made it a terrible tumor. Karyn ended up having surgery, radiation therapy and chemotherapy. My mom talked with her often and said that Karyn had a lot of courage and a love for life. She was a pediatrician so I knew she loved children. I thought about how hard it was for Karyn and I was so sad for her and for KelIer and Edyn. Karyn was feeling a bit better and the family decided to come to Pebble Beach over the summer as planned. She looked good but became easily tired. We all were hopeful that she had come through the worst of it and was going to be healed. We visited and enjoyed playing with Edyn and Keller. My mom and Karyn visited often. I was happy because the Sechrests were talking about moving here from Dallas. I would love to have their family here. It was one of the best summers of my life, but it ended too quickly. The Sechrests went home and we promised to talk on AOL and call each other. My mom and I talked with the Sechrests over Thanksgiving. Karyn was feeling stronger and was looking forward to the holidays. She had just returned from a glassblowers’ trip to Oregon. She said that she had always wanted to try glassblowing and she was doubly proud because she had made the trip alone. On December 18th, the day before my sister Marissa’s birthday, we got a call saying that Karyn had passed away early that morning. Mr. Sechrest said that her tumor had doubled in size in less than two weeks. Her entire left side became paralyzed as she was decorating the Christmas tree. Karyn had willed that her ashes be spread in Big Sur and Maui. She said that she wanted her family to take a vacation to celebrate her life. This very special lady whom I had the honor of knowing taught me a lot about people and life. I was innocent, sheltered in a chrysalis, thinking that life will always be without loss. But now I realize how things can change in a moment; therefore, it’s so important that I make every day count and be thankful for what I have. I picture Karyn being carried to heaven on the wings of a snow-white dove. I will miss her, but I’m sure she’s happy there. |
| Alex Rousso Grades 5-6 |
Lindsey Brengle Grade 9-10 |
Zhong-Min Hu Grade 11-12 |
Author: Lindsey Brengle |
Teacher: Jewel Weien |
The Change Within
In an age and time where having thick, curly hair, and being a perfect size two is the only way to be, it is not hard to fathom that there are many girls around the world with their eyes closed tightly, blinded by misconceptions. They are wishing for smaller thighs, a bigger bust, and whiter teeth. Each day, they look in the mirror, hoping the freckles are gone and their eyes have miraculously turned from brown to green. I, too, used to be one of these girls, praying each night to be “pretty”.
Upon entering ninth grade, I felt bombarded by the ideas of physical perfection. High school was already scary, but it was even more frightening when I knew that my body did not belong. I was not size 4, or for that matter, size 10. My hair was fine, like a baby’s, and when all the rage was cocoa brown eyes, mine were a grayish-blue. I fell in and out of love with boys easily, as if loving them would make up for the fact that I couldn’t and didn’t love myself. I was, ultimately, depressed.
So, I went on a “diet”. My diet consisted of a breakfast drink in the morning, carrots for lunch, and a small bit of whatever my mother cooked in the evening. I was physically and mentally weak, but I loved the compliments. I loved hearing people say with adoring voices, “Oh, Lindsey, you look so good,” or “Lindsey, you’re so pretty,” for these were words I had never heard. But these words only fueled my fire. If I were to stay pretty, I would have to continue to eat less and less.
I looked great, but things were slowly going wrong, and people started to notice. One day, after a grueling two hours of water polo practice in which I had not been able to keep up with the rest of the team, one of my good friends approached me. As we looked on at one of our strong, lean, and gorgeous teammates, my friend whispered in my ear, “We don’t all have to look like that. You’re fine the way you are.” She walked away after that, not realizing what she had done for me. Inside, I broke down, knowing that I could not continue this way. I was pretty no matter what I weighed, no matter what my hair style, and no matter what anyone else said.
It didn’t happen overnight, but slowly, my self-image changed, and I no longer held myself hostage in a mirror. I started to enjoy life more, to the point that I drank from the cups of excitement and joy daily; I started to gain weight once I started eating properly again, but that was all right. The fat on my body was almost nonexistent in my mind, because I knew that I was strong, and that my weight would not, and could not, stop me from doing anything. I felt good inside, where it counted.
My school work began to change. Before, I had hidden and stifled my opinions, afraid that no one would care. Now, instead, I was bold, loud, and ready to share my thoughts with almost anyone who would listen. I tried harder than ever in classes that I had never even bothered with in the past. Teachers that I despised became people that I respected as I learned to respect myself more. When the grades were passed out at the final semester, my GPA was at its highest of that year. Seeing myself through loving eyes has made me realize that I can do anything. I do not have to be skinny and tan to be intelligent.
By overcoming my fear and self-loathing, the bonds I shared with my family and friends were strengthened. No longer was I focusing all my attention on my body; I had time now to devote to people that cared about me, skinny or not. I did not stifle them with my companionship because now I was comfortable enough with myself to spend time alone, which made us cherish the time we did have together. They helped me to realize, too, that I did not have to face the world and my problems alone. They were by my side for every step of the bumpy, rocky way.
And even as remarkable as it seems, my “love life” got better, even as my weight crept back to its original number. My self-confidence got higher, and I began to exude happiness. The opposite sex noticed a woman who was sexy, not because she was a stick-thin, Kate Moss look-alike, but because she was strong, intelligent, funny, and had a million-dollar smile that she wasn’t afraid to use. Most of all, though, I understood what it took to love someone else, as now I loved myself.
My metamorphosis wasn’t physical, really. It wasn’t something others could see just by looking at me, but it was something that changed my life so completely. Self-acceptance has given me the courage to be who I want to be, the strength I need to live with that person, and the love I need to enjoy who I am. My hair is the same baby-fine texture; I still don’t fit into a size 10, and my eyes are always going to be grayish-blue. The difference is that now I like the person I see reflecting back into my “unfashionable” eyes when I look into a mirror.
| Alex Rousso Grades 5-6 |
Lindsey Brengle Grade 9-10 |
Zhong-Min Hu Grade 11-12 |
Author: Zhong-Min Hu |
Teacher: Joan Williams |
A Perfect Cartoon World
In a grassy, Pennsylvanian field a few blocks from the apartment complex where I lived, people usually flew kites and played Frisbee, but I was doing something different.
I looked down at my legs. They were steady and calm like those of a hardened soldier going into battle. Instead of battle, I was entering a pole vault. I looked at the gleaming, six-foot metal pole I had found on the ground and held it with dry hands. I knew I had to slam the rod into the baseball-shaped hole in front of me to leap into the air.
My best friend, Vabul, watched me with interest. I had many friends, but none like Vabul, who was from India His curly, black hair and deep, penetrating eyes added power to his wiry frame and made him look like Medusa on stilts. I loved his mischievous, audacious nature. Sometimes we would stay outside late at night under a shining moon exploring hallways and trails, which severely distressed my overprotective Chinese parents. Vabul yelled, “Do it! Go for it!”
I really felt like doing it and going for it. As I began my pole vault, I knew some force protected me. Nothing bad had ever happened to me, and nothing would, I thought. Rushing forward with all the speed a seven-year old boy could muster, I stabbed the pole, my elongated friend, into the ground. The ground obeyed the law of physics that states that every action has an equal and opposite reaction. In reaction to my downward motion, an upward thrust lifted my tiny, seventy-pound body into the air. But I had forgotten about the other law, the one that states that what goes up must come down. One moment I was flying, doing a perfect pole vault and soaring like a bird. I was an eagle! Then I became a rock, the prisoner of gravity, crashing to the ground. I reached for the heavens and fell to the earth. The weight of my body pressed against my arm, which pressed against the uncompromising earth, creating a torturing broken bone sandwich. My fragile arm split in two with a crack.
“Aaaaaaaaaah!” I shouted before breaking into sobs. I had never felt so much pain in my life. This must be how Wile E. Coyote feels when an anvil falls on his head. I felt warmth unlike the kind one feels when sitting in front of a fireplace with family and friends. The warmth that enveloped me was oppressive and caustic. I looked in the direction of Vabul, but I could not see him clearly because my tears blurred his image. “Are you all right?” Vabul asked tentatively, feeling uneasy around a crying boy.
“No,” I managed to mutter meekly. After the initial shock, a series of scary thoughts attacked my brain. What if my parents get mad at me? They’ll say I got what I deserved. They won’t want to fix my arm. I know they’ll get mad. I know it.
As Vabul escorted me back to my apartment, I felt some invisible force limit the range of motion of my arm. Whenever I tried to bend it, a jolt of pain would make me wince. As he came near my doorstep, Vabul sincerely remarked, “I hope you don’t get into any trouble. Please don’t tell my mom. She’ll think I caused all this trouble. Bye.”
After Vabul scurried off, I stood in indecision for about one minute. Should I knock on this door so that my parents can blame me? Maybe I can run away so that they won’t get mad. Ultimately, my arm made the decision for me. A jolt of pain from my right arm urged my left arm to knock for help.
The door creaked open, widening inches every second. My stomach did somersaults, and my throat was as dry as a camel’s tongue. I took a deep breath as the door swung open.
“What happened to you?” shrieked my mom as her eyes fell upon my twisted arm.
After her initial outburst, Mom settled down. Maybe she isn’t going to yell at me after all. Maybe I have a chance. “Mm. Nothing. I hurt my arm a little bit.”’
“Let me see it.” She examined my arm closely. “Are you okay?
“Pretty much. Are you mad?” I asked meekly.
“No, of course not,” she replied sweetly before calling my dad. “Senqi!”
“What?” replied my dad as he pulled himself away from the television.
“Come here!” called my mom.
He’s going to yell at me for sure, I thought. If one parent doesn’t yell at me, the other will. My dad is going to get really angry. I know it. Why does everything have to be so unfair? All he said was, “Don’t worry, son. Don’t worry.”
Encouraged by my dad’s gentle words, I leaned calmly against the door as my mom rushed to her closet, where she found a silk scarf to wrap around my ailing arm. With my temporary sling in place, my parents rushed me to the hospital, where I received medical attention, love, and all the rest, which was nice except my arm still hurt.
Up to that moment, I had lived in a cartoon world, a world in which nobody felt pain. It was a world where people bounced back from injuries undeterred and ready to live again. The time I broke my arm was the first time I felt pain.
A few weeks after my injury, while Vabul and I were watching a Roadrunner and Coyote cartoon, Vabul broke into laughter when one of Wile E. Coyote’s plans backfired and a stick of dynamite exploded in his hand.
“Wasn’t that funny?” Vabul asked.
All I could say was, “That must have hurt.”
Since that day, I have always despised the Roadrunner, Tweety Bird, and Bugs Bunny. At the same time, I have felt sorry for the Coyote, Sylvester the Cat, and Elmer Fudd.
Now I know why. It is impossible for one to understand another’s pain if one does not experience that pain. With my new perspective, I gradually began to see that the world is not a perfect place. People argue with one another everyday. People injure themselves everyday. People die everyday. The world we live in is not a magical land where all dreams come true. The day I broke my arm was the day my childhood started to end, and it was the day that the world began.
| Alex Rousso Grades 5-6 |
Lindsey Brengle Grade 9-10 |
Zhong-Min Hu Grade 11-12 |
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