3. Moon Jellies

Being obsessed with Frozen was an understatement. When I was 7, I LOVED Frozen. Especially Elsa. My blankets? Frozen. My backpack? Frozen. The poster on my door? Elsa from Frozen.      “What’s that show you always watch with every meal?” Frozen. It got to the point where I could recite every line of any song from the movie. Needless to say, my memories of the show started to fade away as I grew out of my phase.  I was rummaging through old notebooks and sketchbooks of mine when I discovered a thick paperback notebook coated with so much dust that my fingers left a dark purple color behind (which was the original color of the book). The cover of the book? You guessed it, Elsa from Frozen. Elsa! All of my fond memories of watching the movie flooded back to me.           Whenever I talk to my friends who have watched Frozen, they always take a liking to Anna. Why? Whether they genuinely just liked Anna for some reason or they wanted to ar...

A love letter to...well, love. Chances are, if you’ve listened to music recently, at least one song has been about love. But not just any kind of love— romantic love. Whether its subject matter relates to falling in love or experiencing heartbreak, the concept of romance has been the focus of ballads since Neanderthals first learned to blow notes of different pitches through a piece of wood. But why? What is it about romance that seems so enticing? And what about music makes it such a perfect medium for expressing aforementioned emotions? To me, it’s always seemed that there were always more worthy topics of singing and composing about. Even within the nebulous concept of  “love” there exists an infinite number of relationships that can all fall under that umbrella…platonic, familial, even self-love. In the 1950s, nothing was more desirable than finding a spouse, having children, and buying a house with a white picket fence. That was ostensibly the American lifestyle. Over time, ...

It’s time to reinvent myself.  The plan is simple: take a trip to the Himalayas, disappear for a month, and come back better than ever before. I’m not exactly sure what the trip would do for me, but what’s clear is that when I return, I’ll have improved so much that I’ll be unrecognizable. My old self will have wandered into the mountains and never returned… as if he was dead.   Richard Siken, in his book of poems titled War of the Foxes, posed the question “how much can you change and get away with it, before you turn into someone else, before it’s some kind of murder?” I’m in the mountains, and I can feel the change happening already. I’m not as sensitive as I used to be, and I no longer keep bad company. Thankfully, I’m not alone. My friends are here too, all traversing their own paths—some of us even climbing over the same obstacles. Soon enough, we all change, leaving behind the self that started the journey. To abandon so much of oneself in the mountains, to leave s...

     From reading this year’s Padlet and Blogger comments on my posts (and real life comments, too), I have gotten the impression that you guys think I’m a “science kid”. And I won’t discredit them or try to refute that claim, because I, well, am a science kid. Science Olympiad is kind of my whole schtick (as is very evident from my first blog post). But if one were to look around my bedroom, it would seem like I’m a lot more of an artist than a scientist or an engineer. The origami creations scattered across my desk are already somewhat evident of that; so is the cabinet full of expensive art supplies. But nothing would catch one’s attention more than the drawings precariously taped to the wall—one of which is plastic-sealed and framed, with a mini plaque that reads: “Alex Francavilla. Grade 4. Second Place-2019. Ned Smith Center for Nature and Art.” "Always By Your Side", complete with my goofy signature in the bottom right corner and the mispelling of "Freemont, Calif...

                                                                            Maybe My Mother Was Right I wouldn’t exactly call myself superstitious. At least, that is what I like to tell myself. My mom has always been proudly superstitious; for as long as I can remember, she has given me a dirty look every time that I sneeze while she is talking about something important, or when we are about to leave the house (apparently, this is seen as a jinx in her eyes). This is a rather common occurrence too, because unfortunately, I am incredibly allergic. When I was little, I always used to shake my head at my mom when she got annoyed at a black cat crossing the road in front of us, or when she brought up the evil eye yet again. And yet, in spite of all of my skepti...

          Anyone who knows me well knows that I’ve dedicated a good chunk of my life to the hit web novel  Omniscient Reader’s Viewpoint (ORV) —I’ve read its 551 chapters over and over and over again, and will always find time to envelop myself with the story and characters I cherish. When the live action came out, the whole community was flabbergasted by its poor quality. Imagine someone replacing the walls of your lovely Victorian house with solid concrete, then inviting the whole neighborhood to take a house tour. It’s not even the same house—or yours anymore, for that matter! With all the celebrity castings, many of the viewers will be idol fans instead of people who genuinely admire ORV for the story. What would happen to the community I cherish when it’s filled with slop, the reputation of my beloved series ruined by those who know nothing about the nuances that make it so special??? These fake fans , these shallow consumers —they just won’t und...

     Just a week ago, my two cats turned 13 years old (happy belated birthday Scole and Tigress!). Across these 13 lovely years, I’ve learned all of their behaviors and mannerisms. Tigress is pretty friendly to new visitors on the caveat that she gets to sniff their hand for an indeterminate amount of time, likes to roll around on the carpet to ask for attention and pets, and eats relatively little unless it's canned tuna. Scole tends to be a lot more reclusive but becomes friendly if I force him out of the cat bed, holds meow conversations with me in the morning to beg for more food, and eats way more than he probably should be.  Scole (inside bed) and Tigress (on top of bed)      In addition to having learned their mannerisms, I have also… “learned” their mannerisms. In my conversations with my two cats, we use a wide variety of vocal communication, like meows and trills (did you know that cats have over 20 distinct kinds of vocalizations they use f...

Like Mother, Like Daughter It is officially September. Yes, that’s right, get excited because it’s that time of the year when the air is crisper, when people flock to Starbucks for their new fall menu of pumpkin-themed drinks, and best of all, when it’s Gilmore Girls rewatch season. Every year at the start of fall, I find myself back in the small, cozy town of Stars Hollow, bundled up in my favorite sherpa blanket while sipping my orange and spice herbal tea, because nothing says fall more than Stars Hollow’s town meetings and festive events. But what truly makes Gilmore Girls more than just a cozy seasonal show is the way that it represents the generational influence of family on identity—specifically, how the three Gilmore women discover their own identities in relation to each other. The show is not just about witty banter and endless cups of coffee (but rest assured, there is no shortage of that); the part that keeps me coming back every September is the joy of watching these thr...

     In the days of my youth, I was always fond of collecting little trinkets and jewelry. My all-time favorites were the handmade bracelets, shiny and vibrant plastics laced through transparent string. Even though my parents urged me that these items were nearly worthless, they held a special place in my heart. I remember storing my goodies in a large pink box, embroidered with pink on top of pink flowers and glitter. It even had its own lock and opened up like a book, revealing all of my precious findings. I always gazed at them pridefully like a fisherman looking at his caught fish for the day. Even until very recently, I still had possession of that pink box until it was unfortunately taken away against my will. Looking back, I wondered: Why were the items I collected so valuable to me at that moment, and why did I keep them for such a long time? A nearly identical image of the pink box      I wholeheartedly believe in the fact that childhood habits an...

The iconic windmills of La Mancha, Spain, where Don Quixote is set To what extent can you craft your identity? Of course, there are certain parts of you that are, for the most part, unchangeable—the shape of your face, for example, or the color of your eyes. But the most important stuff, the stuff that constitutes the soul, can’t be seen. The novel Don Quixote by Miguel de Cervantes features a protagonist (whose real name we never learn, by the way) who has quite literally gone mad. He read too many books and was consequently driven mad by the fantastical adventures its heroes experience. One day, he decides to live the stories written in the pages in his library, and invents a new name for himself—Don Quixote of La Mancha.  Don Quixote is, ostensibly, a bad knight errant. He’s delusional and exacerbates problems instead of solving them, yet he doesn’t even notice. Even his loyal squire, Sancho, tries to dissuade him from engaging in battle with windmills (Quixote thinks they’r...

     Very rarely do I dwell on song lyrics. I absolutely appreciate lyricism as it goes by, but more often than not I focus largely on the sound of a song rather than its meaning. Recently, however, a line in The Strokes’ First Impressions of Earth struck a particular chord, one that reminded me of a friend: “ your eyeballs won’t change, it’s the muscles around your eyes. ” the eyes can be beautiful, but they aren't everything.      Years ago, I met a girl who was optimistic about everything. Contrasting my relative pessimism, she would have a positive remark or quip on hand at every imaginable situation: if you fail a test, failure helps you grow, and whenever you do something you don’t enjoy, it makes that which you do enjoy all the sweeter. I have always had immense respect for anybody who lives with such a positive mindset; nevertheless, I wondered how someone could be so persistent amidst stress both in and outside of school. It seemed almost unreal. ...

          Just thinking about the future is exhausting…rehearsal one day and a presentation the next; don’t forget about the unit test on Friday! Having this stress keeps me on my toes, but not when I internally sigh while pondering about future events that I still have so much time to prepare for. One day when I was complaining about a sudden influx of assignments to my alumni friend DragonT, he told me one thing.           “Just don’t stress ez.”                     Thanks a lot man.           Wait, he’s not wrong though...?           I’ve honestly never thought about it that way, so I was a bit shocked. It’s not like I haven’t considered shutting down my thoughts, but when it’s by my own accord, there’s always something in the back of my mind going like, “but your test is in two weeks?! If it doesn’t occupy...