story of a girl

In a town as small as Williston Park, there is bound to be drama. Let me set the scene for all you outsiders: 20 lifeguards all work together at the town pool and occasionally, well, more like every night, they drink, heavily, and consequently bad things happen. But lucky for us, drama ensues and we all have something or someone to talk about the next day, whether it be a random hook-up or a guy on girl fist fight. When you’re out in Williston Park, one thing is for sure, you will have a good story by the time the night is through.

Let’s take relationships for example. They tend to not exist here. Instead, hook-ups among friends are much more preferable to a relationship, in most cases. If you’ve been friends with the people you’ve known since grammar school, then you’ve probably had an incestuous hook-up more than once. But hey, anything goes here. Of course feelings eventually get involved and people get hurt, but then they learn that no-strings attached is the best way to go. To be brutally honest here, a Williston Park lifeguard in the summer is like a dog in heat, he or she will gravitate towards anyone with a nice ass. But hey, that’s life at 18.

If there is one question that plagues a native “Williston Parker,” it is, ‘So, where are we drinking tonight?” Whether it be an abandoned parking lot or someone’s backyard that you don’t even know, there is always somewhere to drink. But beware, cops circulate the streets here like Harlem so be weary about drinking on the streets of WP, as I will now refer to it. But if you’re really lucky, you will be able to pull off an entire drinking race, a “boozefest” if you will, with no police involvement at all, ‘cause that’s how we do things in Williston Park, we’re renegades of the law and live by the motto, “Fuck the Po-lice” (Thank you Jay-Z for that one).

If there is one thing I want you to take away from this exposé, it’s the sweet, sweet relationship a Williston Parker shares with its town, a sort of unconditional love that you can always come home to. Williston Park is just the type of town that keeps on giving, no matter how much you ask of it.

Sir Thomas More once philosophized about a place beyond our wildest imagination: a place where society lived in harmony with its government and where war does not exist, a place which he named Utopia.  If Sir Thomas More peered through the looking glass at our world right now, he might take back everything he said about the possibility of a Utopian society.  The state of the world right now is at best, volatile.  Where terror reigns supreme in a world torn apart by hatred, one can’t help but live with a hint of fear.  Ever since the attacks of 9/11, nothing has been the same.  A color has been assigned daily to the terror alert at hand, and talks of bombings are ever present.  With wars raging over religion and ideology, is it an impossibility that mankind will ever get along?

If it is true that we as humans are all part of one race, the human race, why is there all of this fighting?  We fight because we don’t agree with one person’s belief in God, or we hate because of another person’s skin color.  All of these trivial things are killing us, killing us physically and killing our hope for a better world. 

Then comes the question, do we have a right to hate?  Has all of the unfortunate events of the past 5 years given Americans and given people abroad a reason to hate, to hate the United States for our intrusive foreign policy, and do we as Americans have a right to hate what was done to us by foreign terrorists after 9/11?  In trying to end terror, the U.S. brought on more of it, and that is what is truly unfortunate. 

Is the U.S. just misunderstood in its efforts of policing the world to restore a common order?  Maybe, just maybe, we hate because we are all a bit misunderstood.  Living in different spheres of influence causes us to have very distinct views on the world.  Sometimes these views are a bit extreme, for example, to kill or not to kill in order to protect ideology.  To some, terrorism is a way of life, but to us living in a world where it is everywhere, it is a part of life.  At the end of the day though, terrorist or not terrorist, we are all fighting to protect one thing, our beliefs.  So we may be far from utopian, but we live in a country with enough integrity to protect the rights upon which its government was built, and with that we will overcome an terrorist, or any attack that comes our way. 

Have you ever wondered, for just one second, how different your life would be if you scored 50 points lower on your SAT, grew up in a different state, socialized with different people, played a different sport in high school.  If you just think for one second how our surroundings choose who we become, you will begin to wonder, wonder if what you have is really what you really want.  There are six billion people in the world, six billion souls, and all of them are on a different path.  All of them are different, and come from different stations in life.  Some of them are working in the fields in Africa, or some of them are small children sold into slavery mining diamonds.  Others are just trying to get by on a minimum wage job, while others are taking shits on gold toilets.  There are people out there who have never held $20 in their hands, and there are people who haven't eaten for days.  For just one second, does anyone think of those people?  Probably not.  But if those people who took shits on gold toilets actually gave a shit, they would do something.  But that's the way the world works I guess.  But if you care, if you give a shit, do something about it.  There's more than ONE way to make a difference.  Visit www.one.org, and fight for a cause, fight for someone who isn't as lucky as you are.

So as of right now, my good friend oren and myself are in my room reliving old memories while listening to justin timberlake...ah the memories.....HOWEVER we are in the midst of planning a spring break adventure to miami...hopefully things will pan out......but we'll see....last time i checked, we weren't the spontaneous type....

"It's over now," they wispered.  "She's in a better place."

How could it be, she thought, it just cannot be.  Tears began to flow from her tired eyes.

Time stopped for that one moment, and everything had changed.

"Close your eyes," they said.  "And breathe."

            She had seen many things in her life, many devastating things, but none as heart wrenching as what she saw that day at the hospital- someone she loved being beaten down slowly, and defeated by something completely and utterly out of her control.

 

She sat in the waiting room, this girl who was scared and uneasy of the sight she was about to see.  It couldn’t be any worse, she thought, than the display in the waiting room- sick people young and old in wheel chairs; gaunt, unhappy faces filled the room.  Sorrow.  That is what she felt, nothing else.  Her mother called her name, and she went, but walked slowly in fear of what she would see.  There she went through giant hospital wing doors painted a light brown color.  She was greeted by cheerful faces, but the mood was anything but that.  This wing of the hospital was dedicated solely to chemotherapy.  Each room set up the same- a big chair or a bed with a window view, it was a typical hospital room if she ever saw one.  She became nervous.  It was a feeling she knew well, a feeling that brought to her unsettling memories of the death of her grandmother, a loss that is still to this day difficult for her to talk about.  Breathe, she thought, and walk.  The hallway seemed endless, but in reality it was only a few steps.  She finally reached the room at the end of the hall, and she saw her, her gaunt face, her defeated spirit, the very image she had been dreading. 

 

Her aunt, at the age of 41, a young age at that, has been fighting cancer for some time now.  The doctors don’t know exactly what kind of cancer it is, for is has metastasized at an alarming rate, a rate that has left her in a state of, well, disbelief.  She is half the size she used to be and wears a wig, thanks to the dosages of chemo that have left her bald.  Her face and body, gaunt; her mind is in another world, a world that has been altered by drugs to numb her pain, her sorrow, her reality.

She is the mother of two young boys, one three, the other seven.  She loves them, but does not know how to say goodbye to them.  She refuses to let go just yet.  She’s a fighter.  But how does she fight something that is completely eating her inside?  She does not know, but she is trying, trying for her family.  She is not only a mother, but a sister, a wife, an aunt, a godmother, a friend.  She cannot say goodbye.  It is not an option.  There is too much of her life left to live.  She must see the day her children graduate high school, experience college, and all the growing up children do that gives happiness to mothers, and she cannot miss that. 

It seems like yesterday when she was diagnosed with this terrible sickness.  It was Easter.  And it seemed that from April to now, it has been a rollercoaster spiraling downward.  The chemo works and doesn’t work.  The cancer spreads, then shrinks.  Fate is a tricky wonder, with all its twists and turns, for it is never certain. 

 This girl, this helpless girl who looks in from the outside and tries to make sense of this discerning reality that feels like a nightmare, but cannot, what is she to do?  It pains her to see a woman she loves and admires being beaten down by something so out of her control.  She weeps.  But weeping will not alleviate the pain in her heart.  A family, once so carefree and happy, is being torn apart with grief.

It had been three years since her sick aunt had reconnected with her two other sisters.  After a falling-out, it was sickness, the very thing that tore them apart, that brought them together again.  It was as if nothing happened.  They needed each other, and that was all that seemed to matter.  No petty argument or misunderstanding was to leave one sister to abandon the others, for they are kin.  Like in combat, no soldier is left behind, in this family; no sister is left on the frontlines alone to battle this disease that plagues them. 

 

I found this picture and I thought it was HYSTERICAL, and I wanted to share it with all of you...whoever you are....

When you're a sophomore in college the one question plaguing you, or me, is "What do you want to do for the rest of your life?"  Well, right now, I cannot answer that, and it scares me.  After already investing nearly $100,000 at NYU I feel as though I am going nowhere.  I thought I wanted to do international relations...and I thought I wanted to be a journalist, but now I dont know.  But what I do know is that I enjoy French and that's about all the certainty I have right now.   I've come across a lot of people at NYU who have passion...passion for music, passion for acting, for singing, for film...you name it...it's there.  But I thought a lot about myself and my passion, and I really couldn't think of one thing that really captivates me.  Where does that leave me in the spectrum of, well, life.  People are supposed to know exactly what they want at 18 when they apply to college.   But why?  How does one know exactly what they want to do for the rest of their lives when they're only 18...they cant even buy alcohol legally....if you cant be trusted with alcohol at that age, how can you be trusted with a career choice?  It's ludicrous.  I know i'm not the only one persay that feels like this, who feels lost, but there's so much pressure to start your career NOW. 

Honestly right now, I'm 19 years old, I want to have fun with my friends before I have to dive headfirst into I-dont-know-what yet.  Life always throws curveballs your way and hopefully one will come in my direction.  I need a sign, or something, to help me decide what I want to do.  I truely believe dumb-luck plays a part in success.  Sometimnes people hit the jackpot because they were in the right place at the right time.  For example, although it may be a bad one, I was watching "When Supermodels Ruled the World" on VH1 and most of these women were scouted when they were boarding a plane or in a McDonalds eating a BigMac, and they became the biggest supermodels to to walk the runway. They reached superstardom on a fluke, on complete and utter DUMB-ASS LUCK! If only I could be so lucky, however, life is not that easy.  Maybe my hard work will pay off, and one of these days I will find something that interests me....but until them....I'm just chillen.

-X  

Coney Island-- the mecca of greasy foods, trash, and the very rickety, not-in-service, but still very famous, cyclone.  If we look beyond the trashy folk that attend this playgroud of glory, we can truely appreciate its history.  Coney Island was frequented for well, the beach, however dirty it may be, it's still a beach.  Desperate Manhattanites looking to get out of the sweltering concrete hell each and every summer see Coney Island as a cheap getaway, being only a four dollar subway ride, roundtrip.  Today, being one of those hot summer days, was a perfect chance for me to experience this very new york pilgrimage to Coney Island.  Being an impatient new yorker, the 30 minute subway ride to the Coney Island stop was eccruciating.  I was mocked by my friends as being a small child on a long car ride because I kept taunting them with the phrase, "Are we there yet?"  But as we got closer and closer to the water, I began to get anxious.  As we turned the corner a few stops later, there it was- the cyclone, and a smile lit up on my face.  "There it is guys!" I said in an excited tone.  When the subway had come to a complete stop, the doors opened and I hopped off of the subway and made my way to this magical playland. 

After playing a few rounds of skee-ball and using my tickets to purchase a cheesy tatoo, I decided it was time to eat.  In Coney Island, the Nathan's is the place to go.  The who's who of the Coney Islanders attend this famous establishment.  After standing on line for fifteen minutes to purchase my glorious super cheeseburger meal, and yes that it what it was called, I devoured it.

The remainder of this beautiful day was spent on the beach.  Although the water was rather dirty, it added to the charm of Coney Island that I have come to know and love.  So in conclusion my friends, Coney Island is an attraction for all the ages and its so-perfectly-trashy appeal will keep us coming for years to come.

    Battle of the bulge- known as a famous battle during World War II as well as the battle each insecure, weight-conscious person faces every day.  The pressure to be thin in today's society is omnipresent.  It's all over the news, making the covers of magazines, and glorified in billboards we see everyday in Times Square.  When Lindsay Lohan began losing weight she started to shock the public when she became deemed "Surprisingly Thin" on the cover of US Weekly magazine.  But when have we made the distinction of how thin is too thin? Have we as a culture taken our obsession with weight and beauty too far?

    Well let's look a little deeper into this cultural epidemic.  Where does all of this pressure stem from?  Well, for starters, we are surrounded by pretty faces and thin bodies in magazines and fashion ads.  Skinny is beautiful.  But have we all fallen into this stigma that equates super thin bodies with beauty?  For example, I see girls all the time who read Vogue magazine cover to cover and glorify the models that grace each glossy page.  I've looked at all of the girls in those magazines with envy, but I think all girls go through that phase where they wish they could have the "perfect" body, whatever that means.  With Gisele as the center of the publics attention, as the "It-est it girl" in the fashion world , I began to think, is Gisele really happy?  Are models in general happy with their lifestyle?  Most of them don't eat and deprive themselves.  Most of them have eating disorders which in any circumstance are not worth the payoff of being a model, specifically the wealth one may accumulate.  Eating disorders and depravity are not on my top 10 list of a glamorous lifestyle.  So why do we idolize them?  Why has society glorified the skinny girl as the ideal body type?  During the Renaissance, bigger girls were considered beautiful, and were chosen as the subject of many famous painting still around today.  If we look at the Renaissance as a period of rebirth, then why can't we as a culture have our own renaissance?  They do say that history has a tendency to repeat itself.