“Di papa w!” my mother yelled dismissively at me in Haitian Creole, “Tell your father!” “Leave me alone!” I yelled. I ran into my room, slamming the door with such force that it made the room quiver. I stomped around until I finally collapsed into bed. I cried. I cried so much that I would cry myself to sleep. I was always aware of what was happening around me. I had to be; it wasn't obvious growing up that my parents didn't love each other. Although they never got into verbal arguments, the animosity was there. When they communicated, which was rare, it would be brief and followed by a petty comment behind the other's back. One of the things that would cause tension was transportation. I was always unsure who would bring me to and from school—would it be my mom, siblings, cousin, or a family friend? I never thought that it'd be my dad, as Mom made it clear that he “was busy playing dominoes with his friends” and that she would never ask him to pick me up. It was something I'd always have to do alone: be the messenger between two warring sides and I would grow up to mimic their behavior. Some of the ways they dealt with their issues with each other rubbed off on me, as I would often avoid conflict, ignoring the feelings building up within me until I would finally implode in a fit of rage and tears I couldn't explain. At school, this manifested in intense anxiety and reclusiveness, as I kept to myself and didn't share any parts of my home life with anyone. I can now say that I was heartbroken over the fact that my parents weren't getting along. I was confused as to why my parents, who were unmarried and clearly not in love, were still living together. I'd think to myself “What's keeping them here together?” and my subconscious answered back, “Me.” I began to blame myself for their hostility towards each other. I came to realize that I needed stability and affection, but I knew at that moment I wouldn't get those from my parents, so I looked towards a hobby that would help. Quilting became a way to create something meaningful and practical. This expensive hobby was made possible by a $500 grant that I earned and the rewards are invaluable. Quilting taught me how to adapt. For example, I used an old bed sheet to create the backing for my quilt, in doing so I also lessened the mental clutter I was struggling with. With every thread that connected and endured, it became something deeper than just sewing. As I would work on quilts, all of the emotions I felt overwhelmed by could be stitched into art I controlled. Quilting also became a medium to express my Haitian roots as well as be able to provide a little warmth to someone in need. As I made more quilts, my confidence began to build. At school, I no longer felt like a recluse who would walk around, hanging her head in despair. I would now hold my head up high with pride. At home, it has brought me closer to my mother, who's offered to help me sew. Now I hear “Moutre papa w” when I complete a quilt, and the tension in my home is eased knowing that she's saying “Show your father.”

Hi everyone, I'm Sraavani! I'm a highschool attending, academically overachieving, music loving writer with a huge interest in the sciences. I'm also a HUGE fan of Shakespeare and One Direction, and would love to rant for hours about either. Hit me up with a text! I'm always happy to chat 🙂

**To be read after reading the noted verses Psalm 103:6-18 God does not hold a grudge against His children. God does not treat His children the way they deserve to be treated. He does not enforce punishment according to His children's sin; Instead He forgives. He removes His children's transgressions as far as the East is from the West (this means he doesn't ruminate and dig the past up in His current/future thoughts/speech). God is a compassionate/tender FATHER toward His children. Just as God has compassion on His children's human frailty (disorders/ disabilities of the flesh); parents [spouses] are called to extend compassion to their child(ren)'s [spouse's] spiritual/physical/mental conditions. Colossians 3:12-25 Wives, be [a]subject [submit] to your husbands [out of respect for their position as protector, and their accountability to God], as is proper and [be]fitting in the Lord. Husbands, love your wives [with an affectionate, sympathetic, selfless love that always seeks the best for them] and do not be embittered or resentful toward them [because of the responsibilities of marriage, (such the sacrifice of your time, money, emotional growth/accountability)]. Children, obey your parents [as God's representatives] in all things, for this [attitude of respect and obedience] is well-pleasing [c]to the Lord [and will bring you God's promised blessings]. Fathers, do not provoke or irritate or exasperate your children [with demands that are trivial or unreasonable or humiliating or abusive; nor by favoritism or indifference; treat them tenderly with lovingkindness], so they will not lose heart and become discouraged or unmotivated [with their spirits broken]. When God tells wives to submit and be subject to her husband He is speaking a concept that suggests mutual submission and intimacy to LOVE. This concept is characterized by a husband's servant leadership (not enforcing his hand) and a wife's (voluntary) submissive cooperation. The husband's consistent obedience to adopt a servant leadership awakens the wife to develop the skills to temper her desires and cooperate with the husband's servant leadership. The Texas saying “Ladies First” when interpreted and applied by God's biblical principles doesn't mean ‘Woman! Submit first' it means ‘husbands lead by placing your wife's needs/desires before yours– in the menial things and grand things'. Father's are reminded God calls them to make their child(ren) and wife FEEL wanted. Unreasonable demands (criticism, nagging, rigidity, nit-picking) will provoke their child(ren)/spouse to anger and push them to perpetual bitterness with the result of causing/inflicting spiritual/mental harm (that could reach the point of impairment)– not to mention the damage it does to God's kingdom when non-believers witness such strife in a home that professes their belief and love for Christ! This type of strife squelches hope regardless of one's belief in the Lord. Fathers/husbands when you experience your child(ren) or spouse exhibit increased anger, disrespect, distractibility, decrease in daily academic/occupational functioning, covert and overt disobedience, rebellion, physical & emotional withdrawal (outside the developmental norm for that child or spouse) this is a clear indication to you they don't FEEL wanted by their earthly father– it's rationale for the husband/spouse to take what may seem like an uncomfortable amount of their time to humbly consider the degree to which the strife in their home is a result of their provocation, consequently leading outside of God's will (what He says is good for you). The heart behind God's word is often only experienced when the leader of the home intentionally commits to actively pursue God to place a new spirit in your husband and replace his heart of stone with a heart of flesh (Ezekiel 36:26). Wives fervently pray this very thing over your husband daily AND believe God to grant you the desires of your heart (for your spouse) that is in God's will (Psalms 37:4, Psalms 20). 1 Peter 3 Sarah, Abraham's wife, trusted our sovereign God by giving Him time to work. There is a caveat to Sarah's example of obedience when the pattern of abuse is established as part of the marital homeostasis in the home: God does not condone abuse– physical/sexual/verbal/financial/spiritual. The ABBA father's intention for the wife's individual right to be safe is prioritized over His call for her to submit when she (or her child(ren) are experiencing spousal/parental abuse rather than servant leadership from a God fearing/obedient husband. Does this mean automatic cause for divorce? Not always. A wife and mother's pursuit to obtain a safe living environment IS within biblical principle. A wife is allowed and will be supported by Christ to live in separation from an abusive spouse- yes, this means a life of living separately if the spouse does not repent and restore his relationship with Christ, church leaders/mentors, and his family.

It was a usual rainy day. I was heading towards home after a long exhausting day. The roads were wet and vacant. It was slowly turning dark the signal turned red and I stopped my car, played my favorite song, closed my eyes and leaned with the seat to just let all the worries evaporate. Suddenly, my solitude was disturbed by the knock on window mirror. I lift my head up and pulled the mirror down. In front of me was a small lad. He was drenched in rain from head to toe. In his hand were few bouquet of flowers. I caressed his chubby cheeks and asked what he want he passed me a smile and show me his vibrant flowers .I reached for my wallet and gave him few bucks. He gave me the flowers that had almost lost their fragrance and freshness. I said him, ‘It was a gift from my side to you'. He stared at me for a while and replied, “Ummm! Sorry but I can't accept it without selling flowers ! I peered at him, gave him a big smile and demanded to hand over flowers . He asked me back, “which one will you like?” I replied, “ I would buy any that you will endow”. He explored his small basket and took out the roses and said, “ this is the most beautiful of all have this!” I offered him a ride to his home that he accepted happily and sat next to me. On the way ,we both had a little conversation He told me that his name is Hussain and he lives in a nearby slum and is the only breadwinner of his family; an enfeebled and widow mother and 2 younger siblings. He sells the flowers made by his family without using any kind of machine or tools. I appreciated his hard work and dedication towards family. I stopped the car by a local restaurant and ordered burger and fries and gave one to the little boy he devoured the food and finished within few seconds. And it was then I realized that he was hungry; he was starving. I gave him more food so that he can feed his family with this. As I drive through the link road towards his area he showed me where his house was. It was almost near to collapse. I asked, “Hussain don't you feel bad about yourself. You don't have a good house to live, sufficient food to eat, you have to work while children of your age are going to school” He smiled and replied with words that still echoed in my head, “If you had seen that smile on my family face when I return home, the spark in my sibling eyes that lightens up by me, you would have left your job and start doing what I do” His words left me speechless my jaws dropped open. He grinned, jumped out of car and thanked me for the favor. I just stayed there for while to make sure he had reached home safely and what I saw was astounding. As Hussain walked past the narrow rough path, he opened his food parcel, took out a piece of bread and fed the stray dog. It sent a shiver down my spine and I bursted into tears. On that day, I learnt that life is not about living for yourself, grabbing all for you but life is living for others , to put others first and then yourself. I found out the reason behind the distress in my life, the cause of my loneliness, the reason for lacking happiness despite having all facilities ;it was all because I wanted everything first for me and then for other folks. Obliged by the lesson young boy taught me, I went to a property dealer the other day and asked for a little furnished house that he showed me .few weeks after, I shifted Hussain's family to their new house, admitted him and his cute naughty siblings to nearby school .Every month I pay for their rent, food, fee and bills. Nothing much is left behind for me but I've found the happiness that I always longed for.

I live less than an hour away from San Francisco, a lively city in California that is known for its cultural attractions, diverse communities, and world-class cuisine. However, the city that I actually live in is Fremont, California. Our community loves to stay in our comfort zones and children commonly follow their parents' footsteps regardless of their individual passions; Fremont is much more low-scale than San Francisco for obvious reasons. Parents love to shelter their children from the cruel dangers of the world, while the children work hard not for their own aspirations, but for what society tells them will lead to a prosperous and stable life. But I do not fit in with this common ground; I would rather invest in risks, speak with expression, and follow my own passions. But strangely enough, this exact conservative and sheltered environment around me is what sparked the courage in me to be who I am today. People often fear the unknown, but to me, unfamiliarity is simply an opportunity to confront the topic and further expand my knowledge. Most people in this community insist on staying in their comfort zones and doing only what their parents declare as satisfactory. But I also found another common quality among my peers in Fremont; they all developed a vapid personality and lacked personal motivation. After contemplating these two common traits, I finally made the connection that these students don't have their own dreams and aspirations, but simply follow a hollow path that has no connections to their true passions. Ever since that discovery, I set my own goals where I must confront obstacles and risks with courage, explore different career choices to determine my true passion, and always act on my ethics and beliefs so that I can truly live life to its fullest. My family, friends, and teachers all see that I have an aura of positivity, compassion, and empathy in me that is not present in most students of my age. I use my school's reading sessions to go to the Special Education classrooms and socialize with students diagnosed with developmental disorders. I know that deep down, each and every one of these students is astounding and beautiful, and I do the best I can to bring what they have to the surface. I will always contribute to my city in beneficial ways, from tutoring elementary school students and standing up for what is right, to helping the mentally unstable students in my school. I have an indestructible desire to improve everyone's lives, and I believe that staying informed and always wanting to learn is an essential to improvement. Valuable creations have always been captivating to me, and I am eager to investigate if I can connect my vibrant spirit of empathy and compassion and utilize science to make great differences in our world. The city of Fremont has shaped me into the motivated, mature, and compassionate leader that I am today simply from displaying what will happen to me if I do not act with independence and courage.

The LGBT in Russia are constantly threatened, murdered, and isolated. For them I became a writer. I believe in writing the way people believe in god. Literature is as banned as religion was in the Soviet Union. My first novel is set in my hometown of Saint Petersburg, Russia. When I learned of queer men being put on a hit list database in Russia, I was unnerved. Coming from a country with few human rights, I imbue my work with representation most personal to me. Writers inspired me with their wisdom. I want to inspire the younger generation of readers who have no mentor. The survival tactic for being ripped from Russia and dropped into Kindergarten in the United States: Understand the aliens around you. Figure out how you can fit in, fast. I've always been trying to understand people; I write entire books about them. I was raised travelling: Speeding through Israeli cliffs and surviving when the bus behind mine didn't. Crying when the plane bumped into Leningrad Airport and I was home in Russia for the first time since I was five years old. My experiences with diverse cultures drives everything I do. I have had lots of jobs. One of my favourites was being camp counsellor on Vancouver Island for high schoolers from the Philippines. I could pee without wiping, make smoke with my hands, and watch a mongoose skid and fall into the river in fright from our kayaking crew. Not to forget, my taste for adrenaline. The flow of typing; the skid of skis, a desperate attempt at friction, force against force. My mind's always lived in the fast lane. Though it had kickstarted my intensive writing, not a word of my journalling ended up in the novel I finished six months later.

I started teaching ESL when I was eighteen years old at a private elementary and secondary school. It wasn't a decision I would have made if it wasn't for my dire need to pay rent in South America during a stay there for familial matters. Even so, after having completed the elective year, I decided that teaching was something I wanted to make into a career aside from my writing. It all stems from one source - my passion for the English language. However, I never thought for one second that teaching would be something I'd be able to pursue with my anxiety. Whenever a student's English comprehension and communicative skills would improve, I would be overwhelmed by this rewarding feeling. They were another step closer to their goal, whatever their circumstance may be, and I was closer to mine. Yet, the process was nerve-wracking for me. I would spend hours looking up material for the curriculum - no material would ever be enough for the students, as time-consuming as required for an hour class, as well-developed as my peers'. I would tremble when meeting a new student and worried about whether or not I was able to hide it from everyone. I felt alone, guilty for dreading another class in the upcoming week, loathing myself for not being happy even though, in my subconscious, I knew that I was. I just needed reassurance so I took to Google, but instead of finding a community that would support me, my emotions of paranoia intensified. Most forums were of teachers who had made the difficult decision of quitting their jobs in an effort to reach their own happiness and to find their peace of mind. Other stories told of teachers who underwent intensive therapy sessions and who were prescribed medication to help them function "normally" in the classroom. I was made vulnerable by reading these stories, my unspoken fear concretizing into my reality from the dimly lit computer screen in my room. I went into a panic, crying and immediately shutting down the computer afterward. I called my significant other as soon as I was safe under the warm confinements of my blankets and told him about how I was being forced to quit my job. His answer was simple. "If you quit your job, I will support you and help you find another one that you'll love. If you don't, I will support you in every moment of anxiety you may have." I spent the following days thinking of how to write my resignation letter to the ESL company I worked for in the evenings. I was unsuccessful in hiding my streams of nervousness from my coworkers, who can obviously sense my unease from stutters and a flushed face so it wouldn't come as a surprise to them, would it? The following week, after nights sleeping on the stress, I was numb to the worry and better able to think about my current situation. I was soon to be moving out and needed the monetary means to support myself, developing content and teaching was a trade I was familiar with, and I had already grown somewhat comfortable in the work environment I was in. I called my significant other and told him of my decision to stay and we began to have weekly at-home dates where we would sit on the bed together watching movies and comedy shows, cuddling with my dogs, and going over the material I had planned for the week, and I opened myself up to insecurities I thought too annoying and redundant to speak to him about. Gradually, I regained my confidence and my work ethic grounded into patterns that made classes easy to manage. From the early mornings I would listen to motivational speakers on YouTube, I learned how to give myself the daily affirmations I needed and soon enough, I believed them. You are stronger than your paranoia, stronger than your anxiety, or any mental incapacity that you may have. I don't use the word "may" to undermine the very real effects of this illness, but to remind everyone reading this not to make this part of their life into a monster you cannot defeat or an insurmountable mountain that you cannot conquer. The mind is a powerful thing and our bodies are quick to recognize habits. It's okay to take time for yourself and it's okay to ask others for help. Learning to construct a bridge between my anxiety and my career is one that I learned how to after months of trial and error. It's something I am still constructing now with much trial and error, but the important thing is to keep moving, especially when uncertain because either way, you will be progressing forward and answers will begin to crystallize in front of you so that you may be able to obtain equilibrium between the most important parts of your life.

Doctors, lawyers, politicians, and engineers. How did they all get to where they are today? No matter the position someone may hold in society everyone has progressed to where they are in life because they had a teacher, someone who taught them in the way they should go. Teacher as defined in the dictionary as one who instructs. To teach someone is to communicate skills and give instruction. Today I would like to tell you why I would like to become a teacher. Specifically speaking I will tell you what has led me to this decision and why I want to become a teacher. One of the best gifts teachers can give students are the experiences that open their eyes to themselves as learners. Most students don't think much about how they learn and what kind of facilities they have. I had exactly the same thought 2 years ago when i couldn't not realize that i had a brilliant opportunity to try all things that education provides me . My mind and outlook had really changed when i had an online collaborative project with the students from Morocco . The students with whom i did a project work had really surprised me when they started to introduce their school and educational system. Honestly, i was amazed by their desire to uncover the power of education and pursuit of knowledge . Despite the lack of resources and equipments they had a lot of high qualified school teachers. Moreover, i noticed the flaming fire in the eyes of those students which made me clearly see their intentions in terms of acquiring more and more knowledge. After this project i have realized that education is an indispensable part of our life and that i have to learn a lot of mint aspects of that. When i have entered to Nazarbayev Intellectual school i were provided with wide range of facilities which in turn gave me stunning benefit to enjoy learning and evoke to replenish my knowledge . The teachers here are our close friends and our genial relationships make us feel like its our second home which inspires us to make breakthrough in our study life My decision to enter education is a direct result of having wonderful teachers and education opening the door for growth and opportunity in my country. My parents always reminded me that Kazakhstan was a place where people came to follow their dreams. We all know that i the only way to achieve your dreams and aspirations is through education. As education opened many doors for me, I decided that I want to do the same for my community. I decided that through teaching I could affect the lives of many students who experienced similar challenges as I faced. To this day, I know that every student who walks through school doors deserves as excellent an education as any other student in the country does. My love of learning and helping people continues to motivate me to become a great teacher and to help nurture the value of life-long learning in others.

The girl who seemed on top of the world often gasped for air, thrown and battered by the waves of an angry sea. If you asked her what was wrong; if you asked her how she felt; if you asked her to explain everything awry she'd hold her tongue, smile, and say “nothing.” Looking back though, I know she was depressed. I know she was anorexic or quickly on her way to being so. I know she was falling apart at the seams. Kids would steal her food the one day she had it just to throw it away before her eyes; tears would swell and pour out while she sat alone in the dark corner of class; body, mind, and heart would ache ferociously till she yearned for her eyelids to close and fall in an unwakeable slumber. When her head felt too heavy to lift, when she felt herself breaking and anxiety creeping up this girl woke up everyday and kept waking up everyday for one reason and one reason only: rehearsal. “All I have to do is get through today, just one more day. 15 more hours. . . 10 more hours. . . 5 more hours. . . 1 more hour.” I look back now, transported through this window of a skinny, smiling girl in costume holding a bouquet of flowers standing next to her family. Her hair shines gold, her eyes glimmer blue, her flowers beam pink. I still have my hair and my eyes and those flowers are still my favorite, but everything past the frozen frame feels beyond seas. On the first day of rehearsals this girl stood in the choir room doing something she never dared do, sing. Sing so people, if they listened, could hear her. As time moved on this girl learned new choreography and danced in the lobby, danced like no one was watching. This girl put everything out on stage like she didn't have a care in the world. She would sing and she would dance and she would act and she would let herself go free. This girl smiled everyday from 3:15 to 5:00. Smiled till her cheeks hurt and she thought she couldn't bare it anymore. The time after school in the lobby dancing, in the auditorium blocking, in the choir room singing, was her escape. Her portal to a fairytale land where she would do anything to keep returning. Once, while she ran in gym, the room began to spin and her guts threatened to pour out on the floor. The teacher sent her to the nurse's office and the nurse tried to send her home, but she refused to leave school. She had rehearsal and she needed it to get through the day. If she went home she'd have to go through a strenuous 12 hours without any help; without any escape. She needed to keep coming back to that mystic land, but closing night was quickly approaching and the fairytale reaching its ending. With her bullet, she grasped for the last wire ropes, something to anchor herself for the few coming months till the leaves fell off the trees and the cold brewed in and the next story would begin. The ropes fell fast and the anchor proved faulty. The ever changing world proved too much for this porcelain girl. To a stranger, this frozen moment encapsulates a girl having the time of her life, and in that one moment they'd be right, but soon after the waves smothered her, and this time she didn't have a reason to get out of bed. Weeks passed by since that photo was taken and she thought herself ready to say goodbye. A loss of hope, a note in her head, a plan in place, she dragged her body around school for what might be the last time. Walking to the class which knew her tears well, she froze. Stared. A poster hung on the wall “audition for the fall play” she read. Her blue eyes glimmered after being dark for so long. She knew she could do it, she knew she could get through the day, and she did, and everyday since. Years have passed by since that photo was taken on opening night, and now, though I no longer drown, rehearsal still gets me out of bed on the worst of days. I walk new halls that aren't so familiar with my tears, I see new classmates now young adults, I sit in new rooms in the center of a lit class. I have a new self-confidence, a new self-worth, new ways to cope if I feel my past begin to haunt. I am no longer a porcelain girl, I am an adaptable young woman with only one true constant: theatre. I will never give up my constant, for it remains my anchor if the sea begins to churn.