Desperate Housewives

I have never been so obsessed with a TV series. Usually when I watch a show, I tend to get very bored and uninterested. I have seen numerous shows, and the only show that I have never lost an interest in is Desperate Housewives. I was addicted to watching this series. I could not put my computer down. I watched all 8 seasons in less than 3 months, an impressive record for me.

Most people assume that Desperate Housewives is a show that just talks about the lives and drama of wealthy, spoiled housewives. Desperate Housewives is commonly associated with the reality TV shows about rich housewives who live in LA or Miami. However, Desperate Housewives is the opposite of this.

Desperate Housewives focuses on the lives of a close-knit group of five women who all live on the same road, Wisteria Lane. Wisteria Lane is viewed as the seemingly perfect suburban neighborhood. Everyone aspires to live in a neighborhood like Wisteria Lane, or do they? When one of these women commits suicide, life on Wisteria Lane takes a turn for the worst. Each woman must deal with their own individual struggles, along with new mysteries, crimes, violence, murder and secrets. Throughout the series, this ideal neighborhood, becomes less and less “perfect”. Each episode brings a new mystery and even darker and more twisted events.

Before I began the show I thought that I would just be watching another reality TV show about housewives and their luxurious lives. However, after watching just 5 minutes of the first episode of the series, I realized that this show was nothing like any reality TV show I have ever seen. I could not stop watching Desperate Housewives. I couldn’t wait to see what happened next.

So, if you are looking for a new show to start, I highly recommend Desperate Housewives. Your eyes will be glued to your phone or computer screen.

Snake in My Garage

I hate snakes. As a child, I could never go into the “snake exhibit” at the zoo. I could never watch a TV show or video that had a snake in it. Looking at pictures of a snake makes me shiver. I refuse to listen to stories about snakes. I can barely talk about them. I find them to be very creepy animals. I am terrified of snakes. Between their unusual length and size, the noises the make, their texture, and the way they move, seeing or being near a snake petrifies me.  I absolutely hate snakes.

A few months ago I came home from school and my mom was practically in tears standing in the kitchen. My mom rarely cries. I asked my mom what was wrong, expecting her to tell me that a friend or family member has died or was deathly ill. My mom could hardly speak as she replied to my question saying that “there was a snake in our garage”. I was speechless. I was in shock. Like me, my mom is extremely afraid of snakes. She hates them more than I do. I hoped that she was joking, but she wasn’t.

I thought I was going to throw up. There was a snake in my garage. How does a snake even get into the garage? I didn’t even think there were snakes in Marblehead. I was ready to break down in tears. I have never been so disgusted or afraid in my life.

My family uses the garage for everything. We park our cars in the garage, keep our shoes in the garage, get in and out of the house through the garage. Obviously, I refused to use the garage. In fact, I didn’t even want to step foot outside my house. I was convinced that the snake would come back and attack me while I was outside. I was nervous that the snake somehow found its way into my house through the garage.

Even today, I still get nervous that one day I will be outside of my house, or standing in my garage and there will be a snake. I honestly don’t what I would do.

Never Fly in a Blizzard

It was December vacation, 2014. I had plans to fly down to Florida with my sister and cousin to visit our grandparents for the week. For months I had been looking forward to spending quality time with my extended family, and escaping the snow and cold water. I woke up that morning at around 10am. My flight was scheduled to take off at around 7pm. Or so I thought.

I woke up to my mom in a complete panic. She was on the phone with my grandfather and researching other flights to Florida. The news was blaring throughout the house. New England was expecting to get a huge snow storm.

My flight had not yet been cancelled, so we drove to the airport. My parents kept telling my sister, cousin and I to not get our hopes up about going to Florida, because chances were our vacation to Florida would be cancelled. The airport was extremely chaotic. Flights were being cancelled by the minute. Travelers were in a frenzy. It was a disaster.

After we checked in, said goodbye to our parents, went through security, and walked to the gate, we saw that our plane was on time. It was planned to take off in about 30 minutes. Suddenly the words “on time” on the TV screen at the gate were replaced by the word “delayed”. One of the gate attendees announced that something had to be fixed on the airplane, so we would have to wait an extra 40 minutes to board. Finally, we were able to begin the boarding process and get onto the airplane. At this point, our flight was the last flight to take off for the night due to the dangerous flying conditions.

We were sitting on the plane for about 30 minutes before the pilot made an announcement that the airplane had to be “de-iced”, because there was too much ice on the plane and it was not safe to fly. This took about 30 minutes. I, along with every other passenger on the plane began to get very frustrated and anxious. I just wanted to be in the air, on my way to Florida. The snow was coming down very hard and accumulating very quickly. After the plane was “de-iced”, the pilot made another announcement that we had to wait for the runways to be plowed. Another 40 minutes go by, and I thought that we could finally take off and in just a few hours I would be in the warm Florida weather. But, I was wrong. The plane had to be “de-iced” once more.

Finally, after waiting for about four hours we were ready to take off. I have been on an airplane many times throughout my life but, none of the flights that I have been on were as scary as the flight that night. The combination of the wind and snow made for a very bumpy and terrifying flight. I thought the plane was going to crash. Realistically, the flight should have been canceled, but I was very happy and relieved to finally be in Florida.

Chipping My Teeth

Who would have ever thought that a simple hug could turn into losing your teeth?
It was the summer of 2010 and I was away in Cape Cod with my family and our family friends. Our short vacation was coming to an end, so all of the adults decided that it would be nice to spend our last day at the beach together.

Before I knew it, the sun was setting over the ocean. It was starting to get chilly and dark outside, so my parents thought that it would be a good time to load up the car and drive back to Marblehead. Being a stubborn 10 year old, I refused to leave the beach unless my parents bought me a popsicle. As I was sucking on my cherry flavored popsicle, I began to say goodbye to my family friends. Our family friends have three kids. At the time they were 10, 8, and 3, similar to the ages of my sisters and I. Right before I got in the car, I bent over to give the three year old, Drew, a hug goodbye. However, he was unaware that my chin was right over his head. Drew jumped up to give my dad a high-five and his head smacked my chin.

I began hysterically crying.

I looked in the car mirror and saw that I had cracked my two front bottom teeth in half. While my mouth did not hurt, I could not get over the fact that I was missing half of two of my teeth. I usually tend to overreact when I get hurt or sick, so I was sobbing my eyes out for the entire 2 hour car ride back home.

The next day, I went to get my teeth fixed. My dentist told me that a chipped tooth is extremely common and that it wouldn’t take long to fix. Finally, after a long 24 hours, my teeth were finally fixed.

The 11 Year Old Seamstress

When most of us think of sewing, we rarely picture an 11 year old taking a sewing class.
One of my friends came into school one day with a late-birthday gift for me, a small change-purse. When she told me that she personally made the gift in the sewing class she takes, I was shocked. I was so impressed that my friend had the ability to make something, even as small and simple as a change purse. After a long discussion about her sewing class and the other things she had sewed in the past, I was amazed. I got the urge to want to start taking sewing lessons myself.

As a young girl, I always participated on sports teams and took dozens of art and painting lessons in my free time. I never had time in my busy schedule to start a new activity. However, after talking with my friend, I decided that I want to stop taking painting classes and begin taking sewing classes. The idea that I could hand-make my own clothing, stuffed animals, pillows, and gifts for friends and family stunned me. Sewing was such a unique and rare after school activity, especially for an 11 year old. But, I could not wait for my first sewing class.

After years of sewing lessons, I knew how to make dresses, pajama bottoms, stuffed animal dogs, bags, computer cases, raincoats, pillows, quilts, the list goes on. In fact, for my Bat Mitzvah, I sewed 36 pairs of pajama pants which I donated to the sick children at the Boston Children’s Hospital. I made countless birthday and holiday gifts for friends and family. I made myself a wardrobe of clothes including a raincoat, pants, shirts, and dresses. I had sewed so many pillows and stuffed animals that I did not know what to do with them.

What I loved the most about sewing was how peaceful and satisfying it can be. Sewing is one of the few things that has truly made me proud of myself. The feeling of finishing a project that has taken you weeks, even months is priceless. Never in my life have I been so passionate about an activity than I was with sewing. Sewing was my favorite hobby. My obsession for sewing even led me to force my parents to buy me my very own sewing machine for my 13th birthday.

Unfortunately, I was forced to stop taking sewing classes my Freshman year due to my intensive field hockey schedule and tremendous amount of school work. However, I do plan on picking up sewing again sometime soon.

Gone Girl

I have never been so interested in a book.

Reading is not something I chose to do in my free-time. I prefer to watch a TV show or a movie instead of picking up a book. However, my views and ideas on reading changed last week while I was on vacation. This past December vacation I went on a cruise, with no Wi-Fi or access to the internet. So, in order to keep myself busy, I decided that I was going to try to read a book. My mom suggested that I read the novel Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn.

I began reading Gone Girl on the short airplane ride from Boston to Philadelphia. I read about 50 pages in a little over an hour. I am usually a very slow reader, so I could not believe how quickly I was reading this book. I could not wait to get on the four hour flight from Philadelphia to San Juan, Puerto Rico to read more. By the time I had reached San Juan, I had read more than one-third of the book. Everyday for the next three days I refused to put the book down. I spent more time speaking to my family about Gone Girl than the vacation that we were on. While reading the novel I was anything but bored. I had never been so interested in a book before.

So, why was I so attached to Gone Girl?

Gone Girl tells the fascinating story of Nick and Amy Dunne. The seemingly perfect Amy suddenly disappears on the morning of their fifth wedding anniversary. All of the evidence gathered by the police clearly shows that Nick is to blame for the disappearance of his wife. About a month passes after Amy disappears, and the entire world has become attached to this case. Everyone believes that Nick killed his wife and is insisting that he is punished for his actions.

One evening everything takes a turn. For the better? For the worst?

Gone Girl is truly an unbelievable story, and is definitely worth the read.

You will not regret it.

Its The Little Things in Life

“Its the little things in life”, a saying that I have heard countless times throughout my life, but it wasn’t until the fall of 2012 until I learned how accurate this saying really was.  In the fall of 2012 I volunteered at Haven from Hunger, a homeless shelter located in Lynn, MA. A group of families from my community decided that it would be nice if we all spent a few hours working at the shelter. Although I was excited, I did not know what to expect from the shelter.

We arrived at Haven from Hunger at around 4 pm. When I first walked in, the shelter was nothing like I had imagined. It was very small and cluttered. Cardboard boxes, tables, chairs, soda bottles, and plastic and paper bags took over the entire shelter. It was not very clean. It was apparent that it was very unorganized and lacked strong leadership. A woman greeted our group of about 20 people and gave us our task for the night. We were supposed to make, set up, serve, and clean up dinner. It was going to be a busy and overwhelming night.

Before I knew it, dozens of homeless people living in and around Lynn began piling into the shelter. When they saw all of us kids, their frowns turned into smiles, and their faces lit up. They could not wait to talk to us, and thank us for helping them. In the moment, I did not understand how volunteering for a few hours could make someone so happy.

I specifically remember a group of four or five women who were sitting together that night. I had a few short conversations with these women about my hobbies and what sports a played. They were so intrigued and eager to learn more about who I am. Speaking to them truly warmed my heart. Even today I can still picture those women and how genuinely delighted, grateful, and excited they were because we were there helping them.

It really is just the little things in life that can have such an incredible and strong impact.

Being Blind for an Hour

Have you ever imagined what your life would be like if you were blind?

This past summer I spent five weeks backpacking around Israel. Everyday was packed with unique activities, but one activity really stood out to me. One afternoon, I went to the Holon Children Museum located in Holon, Israel. The museum was huge, with many rare exhibits, such as getting a glimpse as to what life is like when you are old, blind, or deaf. The exhibit I spent the majority of my time in was called “Dialogue in the Dark”.

I went into my tour not really knowing what I was going to be doing or what to expect. While there was a brief introduction, we were not told what we would be doing, where we would be going, or how long this tour would take. We did not know why we were even going on this tour or what the purpose of it was. The only piece of useful information relayed to us was that the tour guide was legally blind and that we could not wear or bring anything on the tour that glows in the dark.

The tour finally began. We were brought into the first room. It was pitch black. In addition to the chaos and confusion of my group members, I could hear different animal noises and the sound of rain. I began to get nervous and uncomfortable as I truly did not know what was going on. I was holding onto my friend, who was trying to navigate us around the room. She led us to a wall that happened to be covered in bamboo. After a few minutes of wandering around this room, we discovered that we were in the rainforest. Our tour guide told us that we would be proceeding into the second room. In this room I heard the sound of cars and horns. While I was trying to maneuver my way around this room, I had to prevent myself from running into trashcans, tripping over curbs, and running into the other people. The tour guide told us that we were in a noisy, pedestrian crossing zone. The third room happened to be my favorite room. When I first walked in, I heard the sound of crashing waves and seagulls. Our tour guide advised us to hold onto each other, walk in a single file line, and guide each other. In a matter of a few short seconds, I felt myself standing on a platform. I sat down in a puddle of water. This platform then started to move, and I quickly figured out that I was on a boat. After a short boat ride, we moved into the final room. Unlike the other rooms, this room was both dark and silent. I began to move around the room and I suddenly felt myself touching squishy, real-life objects. I had to use my sense of touch and smell to understand what I was actually touching, a variety of fruits and vegetables. I realized that I was in a grocery store. Before I knew it, the tour guide told us that the tour was almost over, but before we could leave we were going to have a discussion to reflect on our experience.

The tour guide explained that the purpose of this exhibit was to change mindsets on disability and diversity and to increase tolerance for others. Often, people get frustrated with and judge those who are disabled and have a harder time completing certain activities. However, we don't truly understand what life is like living with a disability. Even though the "Dialogue in the Dark" activity gave me a small glimpse as to what life is like being blind and introduced just some of the challenges one who is blind must face on a daily basis, I still don't completely know what living with a disability is life. However, the "Dialogue in the Dark" activity completely changed the way I view those that are disabled.

Failure

A year and a half ago was the first time I experienced failure. I ran for the class of 2018 class president for sophomore year. Freshman year I was the class Vice-President. However, I was determined to become the class president for the 2015-2016 school year. I truly believed that I was qualified for this position, and I was fairly confident that I would win. I spent a tremendous amount of time writing and practicing my speech, along with campaigning for my presidency. After weeks of waiting, election day finally came.

I had read my speech to my entire class, explaining why I wanted to become class president, and listing everything I would do for the class of 2018 if I was elected. Everyone then voted for who they wanted as their class officers. After reading my speech and listening to my opponents speech, I was convinced that I would win.
I was sitting in English class when the class officers for the 2015-2016 school year were announced for the entire school to hear. I was anxiously waiting for my name to be read, but it never was.

I had lost the election. I was shocked.

I was disappointed in myself. I was angry with my classmates. I was jealous of my classmate who won. I was embarrassed. I took my loss personally and thought that my classmates didn't like me. I had a pit in my stomach. My friends and family tried to comfort me, but I just wanted to go home and be by myself. I had failed at becoming class president.

Even today, a year and a half later, I still think about how I lost the sophomore class presidential election. While it continues to make me upset, I have tried to move on from it. Although I did not become class president, I have taken on other leadership roles in the school and community.

Losing the class election taught me that I will not be successful in everything I do. However, it is extremely important to keep trying.

My 8 Year Journey at Camp

           I just remember sweating. It was a humid June day in 2009. I was in Amherst, New Hampshire, a place I did not know existed until a few months before. I was nine years old and my mind was full with a million different emotions. I was not quite sure what I was getting myself into.

It was “drop-off day” at Camp Young Judaea (CYJ), an overnight camp located in the woods of Amherst, New Hampshire. My parents were dropping me off at camp, and would not be back to pick me up for another three and a half weeks. The longest amount of time I had ever been away from my parents was at most a week, so I was not prepared to be away from them for so long. I hated being away from my parents.

I was waiting in line for my head to be checked for lice. As I patiently waited in this line, I took a few minutes to observe the camp. I quickly realized that I would have to be on my own for the next month. Even though my best friend and numerous family members were going to camp with me, all I wanted to do was run back into my parent’s car.

I did not know how I was going to survive.

I walked into my bunk and immediately began tearing up. My first impression was how filthy my bunk was. I had never seen so much dust, dirt, spiders, or cobwebs before. I looked around and saw about ten other nine year old girls. Just like me, they looked nervous and miserable. One of my counselors greeted me. She seemed nice, but I hated the idea that she would be my “parent/guardian” for the next month.

After I unpacked my two huge duffel bags, it was time for my parents to leave. The moment that I had been dreading for months was finally here. At this point, fighting back my tears was nearly impossible. My heart was beating extremely fast, my face turned bright red, and my stomach was in a million knots. As I gave my parents hug and said my final goodbyes, my dad told me that he would see me in “the blink of an eye”. How was this possible? How was spending three and a half weeks with a bunch of strangers, in the middle of the woods in New Hampshire going to go by fast? My long journey at Camp Young Judaea had just officially began, and I was not a happy camper.

It is now the morning of August 18, 2016. I had just completed my ninth summer at camp. Just like I dreaded leaving my parents side and going to camp in 2009, nine years later in 2016, I dreaded going back home. Nine years ago when my dad told me that he would “see me in the blink of an eye”, I thought he was crazy. However, he was right. On that June afternoon in 2009, I never thought that this old, rundown camp would become one of my favorite places in the world. I certainly did not think that I would form such special friendships and make unforgettable memories. I did not expect to learn how to be an independent individual and take care of myself on my own.

Camp had become my home and my camp friends and counselors had become my family.