How I Began to Love Writing ~

Good DAY, detectives!

Once again, this blog has been as lonesome as those sorry little tumbleweeds in western movies for the past . . . couple of months?! I apologize – my schoolwork has swept me off my feet and dumped my free time into, well, a bottomless abyss.

[Now for a rather watery-eyed confession from me, Kezi, but if you love to write, you’re going to read this because you’re curious. Like all writers, you’re curious as to how other crazy people like you started out.]

THE BIG BANG – The website that started it all

Today, I decided to explore my thoughts and interests, because, guess what? I’ve had this blog for almost two years!

As a refresher – this blog was an alternative, a blog just for me, after my trials and errors with a cutesy writing website. I made it when I was 11 or 12.

I, surprisingly, learned so much about people in general and about the responsibility of pleasing my viewers. I think that website, where I showcased my writings, however childish they may seem now, had finally clicked for me. Creating unknowingly changed my life. It was something I never told my parents about. Or all of my friends, despite its rising popularity. I wanted to be completely independent and learn things myself.

And I did! Not only did I explore and pave my path to finding my voice while writing, (which has always been important to me) I actually WROTE. Almost every day. I kept editing and I spent countless hours in front of the computer revising and revising and revising because I had an active audience who expected great things from me.

With motivation, I could transform from an awkward, shy girl into something like a superhero.

I learned how to manipulate photos and use photo editors, and just more about technology in general.

Those were the days! That website really affected me, and I am just realizing this now as I am typing. It was permission to give some of myself to the world, and I received positive reactions, not flying fruits! It was glorious. That is what inspired me to pursue a career in communications, or more specifically, journalism or creative writing.

Sadly, I faded out of this phase voluntarily because I spotted that those who loved and enjoyed my site were escaping the whole “pretty-graphics-on-a-webpage” phase as well. After many years, I decided I only had two choices:

1) Never update my website & slowly fade out of existence

2) Close it down with a proper good-bye and explanation, & give my viewers a substantial reason

So I chose option 2.

Rather than continually chugging out stories and writing tips for people who knew more about writing than I did, I decided to feed and cultivate the love I had for writing even more by exploring my “talents.”

This, TA-DA! Was my product. I’m quite satisfied.

I’ve looked back at my old website I put so much effort into, and I remembered making people so happy. When I closed it down, 14 people (hey, 14 is better than none) told me they were inspired to write more because of the dedication I put into my stories. I discovered I even had a secret fan club with an intimate 5 members who visited and raved over my stories every day. I realized I CAN do it. I can probably make it in the writing business – if I can attract a couple of hard-core fans without realizing it, I could probably attract more down the road if I worked hard.

I’ll tell you a secret – that was the best feeling in the world. To know that I had made a difference by simply having an enthusiasm for something that I already had a deep-rooted love for. Although sometimes I look back at my silly and frilly pink website with a cartoon elephant saying, “Welcome” on the home page, it really meant a lot to me, and it STILL means a lot to me. And that’s saying something, since I was only 11 or 12 when I made it, and I’m just a silly teenager who’s about to be 15 right now.

Many things  have changed. If you look back to some of my previous entries on this site, which stretch back to July 2011, you’ll see that I become increasingly sarcastic over the years! I’ve unconsciously stopped using an abundance of smiley faces, and my writing has become more formal. I’ve also written about more mature subjects. For example – this is the opening of a blog I wrote in August, 2011.

Hey guys! Wow, today was such a great day! Our grade had a retreat, all day, (no classes) at the gym of the neighboring church. My goodness, it was really fun & inspiring. We made play-doh monsters, skits, lectures, FREE FOOD, piggy-back races, races with the interns & basically, when we weren’t in the middle of an activity or lecture, we were partying :) Everyone was running around, dancing on chairs & spinning around & getting dizzy. (that’s what I did ^_^)

Ahh, how refreshing is that sweet child-like innocence?! I’m still a child, of course, but I’m just a little more sure of myself now and it’s pertinent.

The early years, and the scary books I wrote that freak me out now.

I started like any other person who love to write – by reading! My favorite book in Pre-K was Hippopotamus Wants to Take a Bath  and in Kindergarten, it was The Dying Cactus. Now that I think of it, I have no idea why a 4/5 year old was so intrigued by dying plants . . . but perhaps this inspired me to create my first “serious” – and rather morbid – story in 2nd grade.

But before that, my first story ever was called Flora Buttercup, a girl who lived in the Philippines. Yup. That’s it. (Don’t blame me, I was 6 when I wrote those 2 pages!)

My next one was when I was 7 – 9 years old, but I mostly remember 2nd grade. It was called The Deals and Julia. This is why it was morbid –

-Julia and her family go on a kayaking trip down a river

-What they don’t know is that river extended into a humongous waterfall

-The water fall was about 30 feet high.

-Julia, her parents, her little sister, and her baby brother fall down the waterfall.

-Her parents died because they didn’t know how to swim. I gave the reader false hope and I gave the parents a log to float on but then I made a wave, which washed it away, and therefore they drowned

-Her baby brother drowned

-Her sister hit her head on a rock on the way down, Julia saved her. But then the sister got bit by a poisonous banana spider, turned purple, and fell into the water, drowning.

. . . I don’t know about you, but I think that is pretty morbid for someone who’s hasn’t lost all their teeth yet.

My point has been made – I’ve never been afraid to push boundaries and limit myself to what is “normal” and “acceptable” writing. In fact, I find writing about twisted murders, shady characters, and post-apocalyptic worlds  highly amusing. On the other hand, sometimes I write about sappy things, like teenage love stories because, I hate to admit it, I’m a romantic.

Over the course of the years I made more stories, and I won’t get into that because there are too many to count!

Something else, other than the website that really made me love writing even more (and more cocky that I already was) was winning gold at a district competition for Ready Writing. They give you a topic and you write as much or as little as you want about it, and it’s judged subjectively by a panel of 3 judges. There were 50 kids my age and a year older then me in the competition.

That’s my writing history, because quite frankly, I haven’t been alive for too long.

Why writing is an escape for me

I’ve always thought of writing as an escape. I’ve learned that words are malleable and can be manipulated to form the most beautiful and interesting passages, and I fell in love with that. Writing is a form of self-expression that tears down barriers in my mind and leaves a gateway into creativity and beauty! It’s so spectacular how amazing good writing can make me feel  – because of the many talented writers out there, I’ve been able to explore in a completely new way. I get chills when I read good books, I become so enveloped in the story and the characters that I want to create something that will make other people feel that way, as well.

I fell in love with those moments where a word just FITS so perfectly to convey my thoughts – at those moments, I am reminded of how words can be so incredibly powerful. I love how I can be completely stuck on what I’m writing and suddenly, images and words string themselves together to help me create a perfect affirmation of  what I’m writing. It’s a beautiful and mysterious thing that I can’t seem to shake off.

As much as I’ve been told I’m a good writer, I’ve had more times where people tell me there is no career in it. Some people don’t seem to take me seriously when I tell them, because later on, they either question it or they ask me again what I want to do. My answer will not waver. 

I’ve realized over the years that writing is something I’ve always considered and never negated. Although other careers like being a sociologist or teacher have been possibilities for me, nothing can beat the elation I feel when I write. It’s tough and sometimes drives me crazy, but perhaps that’s the “consequence” of becoming more accomplished and creating something I am proud of. I also love to write because it often comes out as wild and unpredictable, and free. The freedom is so sweet.


Although I don’t write as much as I used to,  I still feel the same raw and pure joy I feel when I put something together. I also can’t go a day without reading. And when I read, I dissect the words, I dissect the characters. I dissect the meanings of the book and how the writer used certain words to produce a certain effect. For some reason, I can’t just enjoy the story, I have to understand how the writer came to carry it out. I think that means something.

Call me cocky or inexperienced, or call me an inefficient girl who wants to make a name for herself one day, but doesn’t have the natural talent to. Or, tell me that I’m still a sapling in comparison to the greats and I have a lot to learn. I agree, I need to experience more things to truly be labeled a “writer,” because technically, I’m not one.

But I’ll tell you this – I do have a burning passion for writing, and people always tell me if you love what you do, keep doing it.


First week of high school.. Ever!

Why hello there!

On August 2nd, last Thursday, I started my first day of high school as an incoming freshman knowing no one in my school at all.  There were only 20 new people coming into my grade.  Over those 9 days I was at school, here are some weird things that happened:

-My English teacher, dressed up in a 1970’s jumpsuit, was strangely disco dancing to “Somewhere over the Rainbow” when I walked in on the first day on Thursday

-My Advisory teacher cranked up the “Fresh Prince of Bel Air” theme song during class and we all sing along while his giant wall sized poster of Steven Tyler stared at us

-My Professional Communications teacher told us to not make her mad or else she’ll “become a stereotypical black woman”

-My crazy Australian P.E. teacher hit me on the shoulder with a Frisbee when we were running around the gym listening to “Ice ice Baby” on the speakers

-I was told I should “marry the guy next to me and have babies”

-I practiced falling down gracefully and I told my World Geography teacher’s son in my grade I “loved him”

-We went to a college on Monday, and in the middle of the presentation the speakers put on this song:

…. and asked for volunteers to dance to it.

-This awkward guy in my grade asked me to be his girlfriend

-I accidentally framed someone whom I “thought” switched and colored my lock .. when the whole time, I was trying to open the wrong locker

-Half the cafeteria fought for the pen to sign up when they figured out 3 Seniors were going to make a club for future doctors

-Someone in my class recited Geography facts really fast when our teachers asked someone to pick the greatest “talent”

… I LOVE MY SCHOOL!!  Most people are really friendly and the teachers (however crazy they may seem) know what they’re doing and they know how to make class more interesting.  I feel more intelligent already.

My first day of school went pretty smoothly as well.  In all my classes, we were pretty much just going over the rules and introducing ourselves.  We also did a bunch of group exercises so we could get to know each other.

FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL ADVICE TIP 1: Talk to everyone you see or sit next to unless like look like they want to throw you in an arena of carnivorous hungry dragons.  3/4 of the people I hang out with at school today I met on the first day of school.  You only get one of those – don’t blow it and be shy. .. you’ll regret it at lunchtime!

I got lost a couple of times (despite having gone over where my classes were beforehand, and even drawing out a map for myself) but a friendly someone escorted me to the classes that were hard to find.  

FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL TIP 2:  People “label” you within the first 7 seconds that you start talking.  This is why it’s so important to be yourself.  And remember – walk into that door on the first day with CONFIDENCE.  Nothing is more attractive than this. 

When lunch time rolled around, I sat with around 15-20 people I met that day. 

Overall, I made a lot of fun friends and I learned a lot as well.  My 8 classes are:

A days: 

  • P.E
  • English 1
  • Professional Communications (equivalent to Speech. It just has a fancy name)
  • Theater ( I LOVE theater.  There are so many crazy people.  It is literally the class I wake up thinking about.)

B days:

  • World Geography
  • Geometry Honors
  • French 1
  • Biology Honors

FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL TIP 3:  When you wake up, do something that makes you happy!!  On the first day, I listened to Disney songs and watched an Allstar interview.  I jumped up and down because .. well.. it makes you feel silly!  By the time I got to school, I was already in a good mood.  This is crucial on your first day. 

That’s really all there is to say for my first week!  It sounded really crazy and action packed when I listed all the weird things that happened – but in reality, they didn’t happen all at once so it wasn’t too overwhelming.  I think this school year will be good for me because I’ve almost gotten used to public speaking.  In these 9 days, I’ve spoken in front of the class 7 times.  (No joke!)  It’s getting easier by the second :)

I wish you all the best!  Here’s a really awesome song I discovered that has an epic hippie scene at the end :) 



Perhaps.. it’s AMON.  From Legend of Korra.

PS:  I just updated my About Me page.  I hope you have a lovely day full of sunshine, laughter, pot bellied pigs and Mary Poppins.

KONY 2012!

Hi everyone!! 

Today I was bawling my eyes out at school.

Our religion teacher showed us the Kony video.  If you haven’t seen it yet, it’s a vid to bring awareness to this man named Kony, who has been abducting innocent children in Africa and forcing them to mutilate people and kill their own parents.  Apparently, he has captured over 30,000 kids, and this has been going on for 20 years.

What this man has been doing is probably the worst thing I’ve ever heard.  The US just now decided to act on it, and the US sent troops to Africa to help capture Kony.  

What I don’t understand is how the US could have turned its back on these people for so long.  It was only until WE, the people, said something about it that they noticed it and decided to act on it.  

What I don’t understand is how some people are saying that the stuff Joseph Kony is doing isn’t real.  

I wish that everyone could understand that doesn’t revolve around the US, or wherever they live.  Just because we can’t necessarily see it, or feel it, or experience it, it doesn’t mean that pain isn’t there.  It doesn’t give us the right to ignore these problems just because it is happening on the other side of the world.  We all live on the same planet.  We are neighbors, we see other people every day.  We might as well get along. 

And yes, we can save.  We can heal.  We can make a difference – because everyone counts.  99 cents could become a dollar with just one penny.  I may still be young. I still can’t drive or do any of that stuff.  But I’m not going to let this world turn into a huge battlefield. 

Here’s the Kony video. Just take 30 min. of your time to watch this, then you’ll understand.  On April 20, all the people in favor of KONY 2012 will plaster every city and neighborhood with KONY 2012 posters to bring awareness.  I’m so happy that the world is finally coming together.  


Why I want to live in Neverland..

Hi everyone! First off, happy new year :) I’ve just composed a super long, serious rant, but I thought I’d just start off the new year with a still long, but not as serious lecture. (sigh…) Anyways, the title of this post is “Why I want to live in Neverland” and this is just the beginning of me complaining about how ridiculous people are these days.  Hope you’re in the mood.


I think our perception of happiness in this world is twisted. Really. Read these situations, and if you’re not nodding your head in agreement about how   wrong these things are, then I don’t know what will..

I read this ridiculous article about a women giving her little 7 year old daughter a certificate she can use when she’s 16 – one that entitles her to  -ahem – enhancement of certain body parts.. and liposuction. (well, this is awkward.) The girl says, “I can’t wait to look pretty like mommy!” You should really read this article. The mom also teaches that little girl how to .. let’s just say exotic dance. Just type in “Human Barbie” in a search bar, and that’s the 1st thing that pops up. 

I also hate how girls my age are piling on makeup, just caking it on their face until they look like a witch. I understand a bit of makeup (though I don’t wear it) but covering up every single imperfection is a bit much. And if those girls are just worried about what other people will think of them, then there’s really something wrong with the world.  Don’t get me wrong – I’m not a hater. I’ve felt the same way many times in my life, and stolen things from my mom and older sister because – yes, I thought beauty in a bottle would actually make me look better. Um, heck no. I then realized we can’t look perfect all the time, and to just get over it. 

I think that sometimes people are really afraid to just be themselves. They’d be scrutinized. I went to the mall the other day, and practically every teenage girl looked the same. Long silky straightened hair. A sweatshirt from whatever sport they like, or team they like, those stupid Nike shorts with built in underwear, and UGG boots. (Boots and shorts doesn’t even make sense. It’s either one or the other. It’s winter, not summer.) If someone was the first person to wear stuff like that, then kudos to them. But if they’re just doing it because everyone else is, then that girl is crazy in the head. Girls today look like clones. I thought I kept seeing the same girls over and over again, but it they all just looked alike. It’s scary. I rarely see people now that act the way they want to, even with my classmates. I’ve known some of mine for 10 years now, and they all used to be their own person. Now it’s all about hair flipping, being sarcastic to impress everyone, and talking behind people’s backs. That stuff is not cool at all. That’s why when I see someone that’s their own person, I befriend them.

So some advice – don’t be sucked into reality. Create your own reality and live it like there’s no tomorrow. You are who you meet, and I honestly don’t want to be sucked into a mass of barbie dolls.

Now I’m really getting to the point of this whole article – (sorry!) don’t try to grow up too fast. That’s my goal in life, to cherish everything, to enjoy being a kid. Because I already know it’s going to get much harder later, and who wants to add extra drama to their life and speed up the inevitable? 

I have my whole life ahead of me – plenty of time to settle down, and wear expensive clothes, and walk in four inch long heels – but for right now, I just want to be a kid. One who’s aware that ignorance is bliss, one who isn’t embarrassed  by watching movies suited to younger kids, and one who isn’t afraid to run through the mall, arm in arm with their best friend, singing songs from the Wizard of Oz. One who wants their mind to stay in a place like Neverland for as long as possible.

9-11 Tribute


It was Cailyn’s birthday, though I had to start off the day as I normally would. Drop off Cailyn at my sister’s apartment, take the subway from Queens to lower Manhattan and then grab a quick coffee before heading to the office.

“But daddy, it’s my birthday,” she had said with her big green eyes when we were in front of Vicky’s apartment complex. It was a beautiful day, moderate in weather & the leaves on the leaves were turning colors, slowly.

“I know, sweetheart, I’m sorry but I couldn’t get off from work today.” I wanted nothing more than to spend the day with my 2 year old daughter but I had a presentation to do and I knew she would be in good hands at Vicky’s.

Cailyn just looked at her new pink shoes and frowned. “But what about Mommy?”

“Mommy’s coming home today, remember? When I pick you up from Aunt Vicky’s she’ll be with me, I promise. Isn’t that exciting?” She smiled and threw her arms around my leg. “I love you, Daddy.”

“I love you too, Cailyn.”

Cailyn was adopted. She came into Sharon and I’s life when she was only a few months old. And let me tell you, Cailyn was the light of our lives. She had always been a happy baby and I loved my daughter more than anything I could ever imagine. It pulled at my heartstrings to know that today her mother wouldn’t be here to celebrate the day and I wouldn’t either.

Sharon was flying in from Colorado. Her flight was scheduled to arrive at the airport at 9 in the evening. We both agreed to pick up Cailyn a bit later than usual so she could see her mother right away.

I was turning into the subway station, about to take the route I always toke to work. But I realized immediately something was wrong. The air was full of tension. Several people were in tears, and other had just stopped whatever they were doing and prayed. Reluctantly I boarded the subway – I couldn’t think of anything but of the fact that I was late for work. I was called in at 8:00 but now it was almost 9. I had spent the hour taking Cailyn for a small birthday breakfast before dropping her off at Vicky’s.

As the subway started to move, I noticed several people were on their phones and many people were swiping at their eyes. I leaned over the man beside me, who was wearing a sleek black business suit but despite his professional, no-nonsense demeanor, his eyes were puffy.

“Excuse me sir, but could you please tell me what’s going on?”

He looked at me with eyes so filled with heartbreak that I prepared myself for the worst.
“Son, did you not hear? The North tower of the World Trade Center was hit, and as we speak, thousands of people are dying.”

But although I prepared myself for the worst, nothing could’ve prepared me for this.

“Hit? Hit by what?”

“Hit by a plane. It hit the all the top floors. The people were probably never able to escape, with their offices so high.”

“Thank you sir, I appreciate it.”

I put my head in my hands, not sure what to do. I was shocked and confused. My office was on the 83rd floor. I thought of all the people I knew that worked there – my friends, my co workers, my boss. The man that pushed the buttons on the elevator. The secretary, the front desk clerk. The janitor, the interns – heck – there could’ve been children in the building. Children visiting their fathers or their mothers. Children just going to visit their parents, not even knowing…  My mind switched back to my daughter. If I had gone to work at my regular time today, Cailyn would not have a father.

The subway halted at my stop, and as I walked out, the business man I had talked to said, “God bless you.”

I gave him a polite nod and braced myself to see what disaster lay ahead of me. Immediately thick smoke slithered into my lungs and crowded my vision.

Once my eyes focused, what I saw made everything go fuzzy and it seems as though everything happened in slow motion. Both towers, now, were engulfed in flames, one with a plane jutting from the top of the building. Papers, documents and clothing fell from the sky as if it were raining. Broken glass, wood, shoes and countless other things littered the streets of Manhattan. But despite the shouts of the firemen yelling orders, or the alarms blaring in the distance or the crackling of the flames nearby, the loudest sound of all were the people. Hundreds of people were wailing or crying, all at once like a big, depressing symphony.

My ears were muting everything slightly – as if they were filled with water. It was only until later that I heard shouting, directed to me this time.

“WALKMAN!” Screamed a voice.


I swiveled around at the sound of my last name. I was relieved to see Ted Kingsley, one of my co-workers who worked on the 15th floor, was limping towards me, sweat dripping everywhere, clothes tattered and blood mixed with soot on his forehead.

He choked out the four words that changed my life.

“I have a message.”

“From whom?”

But he didn’t answer. Instead, he fished his hand into his pocket and pulled out a partly scorched folded up piece of paper. While eyeing him fearfully, I unfolded the piece of paper. It was a note filled with my wife’s curly but skinny cursive handwriting.


I took a flight home early to see you. I wanted to be there for Cailyn’s birthday. I missed you & her so much while I was gone. This note is just to inform you that I went up to see Harvey’s wife b/c I brought something back. Come up to see me when you arrive, will you? Remem – “

What is it?! What did you want me to remember?! Inside I was screaming. My world had been taken away from me. All I could focus on was Sharon. Sharon, who had came home early to surprise Cailyn. Sharon, who visited Diane, who worked on the top floor. And the planes. The planes that crashed into the towers.

It seemed that in this whole mess, people were only trying to get away from the towers, and I was the only one trying to go towards it. Gingerly I folded the note safely into my pocket. No way was I going to lose her. I ran, faster than a 37 year old man should have been able to run, to the north tower.

I didn’t care about the people who were shouting at me, or the firemen who were trying to stop me. I wanted to go into that building and climb to the top floor and see my wife. I wanted to take her home and pick up Cailyn and go out to eat, just like we used to. I wanted everything to be ok. The firemen around me were struggling to hold me back.

Then I felt a blow to my face. A firewoman in full uniform took me by the shoulders and looked me straight in the eye.

“Sir. You cannot go into that building. I’m sorry if someone you know was killed,” at the next part her voice broke. “Go home, go home to safety. Go to your kids.”

And I did. I went home. I walked all the way back to Vicky’s house, just for the fact that there was nothing else I could do.

Standing on the doorsteps, waiting for Vicky to answer the door and thinking about how to break the news to my child – was probably the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do in my entire life.

Vicky opened the door, and I handed Sharon’s note to her. She broke down in tears and sat collapsed on the couch.

Cailyn wobbled over to me, and I picked her up. “Daddy! Daddy, you’re home.”

The world went fuzzy again. “Yes, yes, sweetheart. I’m home. I’m here.”

“But where’s Mommy?”

“Mommy . . . isn’t here right now.”

“Where is she?” She stuck her thumb in her mouth.

“She’s gone, sweetheart.” After saying those words, I felt as if someone shot me in the heart. It sounded too official, too quick and too odd in my mouth to be real. Sharon had not died quickly. She was trapped inside a building with no way out with smoke and fire and fumes everywhere. My wife was dead. It sounded too horrible to be true.

“But you promised Daddy! You promised she be home!”

I set her down on the couch, and put my face in my hands. I felt Cailyn’s little hand slip into mine.

“It’s ok, Daddy. Don’t cry.”

At that moment, looking at my beautiful daughter, with her soft green dress, blonde, wispy hair in pigtails, and big emerald eyes – I realized maybe everything will be ok. Maybe everything will be fine after all.

 10 years later

“Cailyn, you’re up next,” said my teacher, Ms. Francy.

Normally I would be nervous, speaking in front of the whole class, but today I wasn’t, not even a drop of anxiety in me at all.

I pulled out my essay and started reading.

“What is a hero, really? A hero is someone that is loyal, someone that is brave, and someone that grows up to be an amazing person. Today we commemorate the hundreds of thousands of lives lost in the tragedy of 9-11.

Hundreds of lives were lost, and although we see their deaths all as one, we must look at them individually because the death of every person who was lost that day affected many, many people. These heroes that died never got a chance to live out their lives fully, and many of them never got to say goodbye. Maybe their last words were spoken over the phone, or by email, or passed along by a note.  But the tragedy of this situation was that most of those last words were not tailored to say goodbye. Most of them were probably, “Pick up the mail,” or “Go to bed early,” or even, “I hate you.”

Any one of these people could’ve been the President of the US, or a teacher, or a fireman or woman, or part of the police force. Any one of them could’ve dedicated their lives to serving other people. Any one of them could have been a mother, or a father. It saddens me to know that innocent people were killed and that their parents, children, friends, and family are all still mourning because of their deaths.  But today, as we mourn over this ordeal, each and every one of us should know that these people are heroes.

My hat goes off to those who sacrificed their lives for others, and for those that risked theirs to save this country.

Ten years ago today my mother sacrificed herself to see me on my 2nd birthday. Although I only knew her for two years, she is the bravest person I know.

Ten years ago today everything changed, but our nation grew closer. On that day everybody became one, and they only had one mindset – terrorists had attacked our country. On that day enemies became allies. We all worked together, as a nation, to rebuild the ruins of our country and put them back together. Today, we are stronger than ever. Through the darkness we pinpointed light. And I have to say that I am very proud of our country. I am very proud of the heroes lost, but most of all, I am proud of my father and mother.”


Hi everyone :) I hope you enjoyed my 9-11 tribute. I thought the least I could do today was to commemorate the lives lost ten years ago by writing a short story. I hope we can all pause a moment and think about all the lives lost this day, 10 years ago.

I actually have a story of my own. My cousin Erika used to work at the Twin Towers, and she was scheduled in for work that day. Thankfully, her alarm clock didn’t go off and she didn’t wake up until after the planes crashed into the towers. Things like that don’t happen coincidentally – I’m glad God decided to spare her life that day! I hope this short story will help you see how important this was. That’s all for now! Thank you for reading and may God bless you!


She was wearing neon colored leg warmers and cowboy boots, with a super high pony tail tied up in a flower elastic headband. She was wearing a long owl necklace with a bright yellow clock face where the tummy was supposed to be, and a electric blue vest over an orange long sleeve sweater. She had some dirt smudged on her face and candy pink lips that were always curled into a smile. I fell in love with her instantly.

(hint, hint! the girl above may be a future character for Film!)


To tone it down a bit, here’s Jack Johnson’s Banana Pancakes!! :) My friend ‘Churro’ (lol) and I love Jack Johnson! She’s crazy about him :) This was the very first song I heard from him, and I really liked it because of the title (PANCAKES ARE MY LOVE) and it’s a great song too! Hope you enjoy it! :)

PS – Please visit my tumblr :)