"So...you know what's coming up?"
"No?...shoot is it your birthday?" "I--no. It's not. Thanks, by the way." "Kidding--" "Seriously guess again...it's on the 19th..." "Um...oh. Hoco? What about it?" "Well aren't you going to ask him?" "Hahaha no. Funny joke." "What? Why not? Are you chicken?" "Yes. I am chicken." "Stop just ask him. I know you want him there." "Well, I mean yeah. Life would be so much easier if we went to the same school...then I wouldn't have to ask him." "Too bad he went to that private school." "Truth." "The guest forms are due soon." "Is it even worth it? He's going to reject me. He probably doesn't like dances." "That's why you ask him first. You'll never know if you don't ask." "How though? Should I be like: 'Oh hey go to hoco with me. Or don't.'" "Shut up. You know how you're just being difficult." "Should I ask his best friend to see if he'd be interested first?" "I mean go for it." "Okay fine." "Wow really? Dang oka--" "I'm scared. I might pee myself." "Girl, it'll be fine. I believe in you."
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Mika has been gone for a long time now. Her scent fades with every passing day. I wonder where she is and why she has not come back. She has been in my life for seven years. Usually the family leaves together over the summer, but it's been weeks. I miss her. I miss sitting on her lap while she did her homework. I even miss the way she'd react every time I stepped on her papers. I miss the snuggles and sleepovers. She liked to plop her softest blankets on me. I miss the food--especially the chicken-- she snuck under the table for me during every meal. She gave the best tummy scratches. She told me everything and I would listen. I am going to miss all the games of fetch. I am lucky to have watched her grow up. One day she's 12 years old and the next she's driving. I hope she comes home some day soon.
For about five of my sixteen years, I believed my name was “Mikaela,” pronounced “Mi-kay-la.” When I was younger, I thought it was much prettier than Mika and Mikaela, pronounced “Mika-ella.” When attendance was called, I let every teacher call me "Mikaela" because it was convenient (it also didn't help that I was shy). “Mikaela” is blue; everyone’s favorite color. “Mikaela” is like a rose, frail and delicate. Roses are common. My “name” was red and white stripes and white stars among navy blue. It was the glaring bursts of light on Independence Day. “Mikaela” got compliments, but Mika? Mika was different. “Mikaela” is never mispronounced. “Mikaela” fits in with Sarahs and Jessicas. My “name” blended and for a time, that is why I adored it so much.
Mikaela is exotic, but it’s a mouthful of letters. Mikaela tastes like soda that’s been watered down by ice cubes. It is the scattered pair of “tsinelas” that lie by the front door. Mikaela is the handcrafted, straw “walis” used to sweep the ground. Mikaela is like the repetitive crow of a rooster at dawn, unfamiliar and odd. My name is different and for a time, it was too different. But Mikaela is also the swaying palm trees that tower above the edge of the bay. It is the gathering families on karaoke night. My name is like the color yellow, the hue of sunflowers, a color that used to be everyone’s least favorite. It is a symbol of my beautiful home, the Philippines. Mikaela used to try so hard to be “Mikaela” but she appreciates her real name now. Mika is the name I like best. It’s the shortened version of Mikaela but it contains just as much beauty. Mika is easy to say. It is unique and I’m the only at school with that name (that I know of.) Mika is red and white stripes on the American flag, but it’s also the blazing sun of the Philippine flag. Mika is the murky, blueish-gray water of the Atlantic, yet it’s also the crystal, transparent water of the Pacific. My name is Mika and I wouldn't want it any other way. Faded ripples dispersed among the dark blend of teal and turquoise water. Down below, clusters of sea grass twirled at the bottom of the ocean. Clusters of foam ascended towards the Pacific Ocean’s surface. The continuous sprays of saltwater greeted the chunk of rock that was fixed to its spot until the end of time. The island, small and glorious, befriended the water surrounding it. The jagged piece of land’s dense head of tropical trees clung tightly, as if never letting go. Coated in dark shades of green, the trees concealed every inch of this piece of earth. The island, a log shielded with thick moss, harbored the creatures hidden deep within. Pushing and pulling, the waves embraced the rock with care. Boracay’s little island and the glittering water sucked the breath out of me--this was paradise.
Backstory: Boracay is one of the hundreds of islands that make up the Philippines. It is a very teeny island known for its white sand beaches and clear waters. I travel to the Philippines every summer to see family and friends. Boracay is the prettiest place I have ever been to. Some of the photos on the home page of my super cool blog were taken in Boracay over the summer. The pictures don't do it enough justice. When I am older, I hope to travel to other beautiful places like Boracay. In the rear view mirror, the cab driver noticed mobs of children in the streets. There were occasional parades here and there, but this? This did not appear to be another parade. Trying to regain focus, the driver couldn't help but wonder, "what are all of these kids doing?" He had trouble keeping his eyes on the road. He could not jeopardize his safety or the safety of others, but he had never seen anything quite like this. The hands of the children gripped colorful posters, many of them being made out of cardboard. Images of the globe decorated their signs. The students were yelling. Chants rang through the air and the glass windows of the cab were not enough to deflect the sound. The cab driver had no clue what was going on. He had seen protesters before but he had never seen such young protesters. Children in grades k-12 stormed the streets, coming together as one. He continued to drive through the crowded streets, peering over his shoulder at every stoplight to catch a glance. What were these kids skipping school for? Although he wasn't entirely sure of what was occurring, he held a deep respect for the students and their cause.
Inspired by September 20th's student climate strike |
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