Archive | Diverse RSS feed for this section

When home is not the place to be a child

27 Sep

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “When Childhood Ends.”

With him recovered (recovering?) and me having lived abroad for more than two years now, it is sometimes easy to forget (pretend to forget?) that I grew up with an alcoholic father and a depressive mother. When I see them laughing together when we skype, or hear them ask me what could I possibly not be happy about given everything they offered me, it is easy to wonder whether it had really been that bad, or whether I had simply been imagining it.

But then, holidays come around and I go back to visit home, and get to see the mark on the wall left by a glass he threw in a fit some years ago, and get to look at the cards I gathered from these foreign places we were at for Christmas and New Years Eve, where instead of dancing or being out celebrating, I was in was room, comforting my sister, as we listened to our mother cry. I also see the fridge that I still shudder to open, dreading to hear the clinking of dozens of beer bottles and am still uncomfortable going in the basement for fear of seeing cases of alcohol. Then I remember not having ever had friends over, because I never knew if he was going to be awake or not, embarrass me, or worse and recall setting up longer practice hours and more tutoring session just so I wouldn’t have a reason to come home before nighttime, when I would sneak past his room and lock myself in mine.

I remember my sister crying herself to sleep every night and me not being able to stop her; I remember the screaming matches and the fear I felt for my mother and me not being able to protect her; I remember the pain in my grandmother eyes when mother would come home from working overtime to cover for him and me not being able to ease her; I remember me, sitting on the ledge of my balcony, thinking it would end if i were to move an inch and not being able to do it because then who would sit with my sister and play piano for my mother and help in the kitchen my grandmother? And then I remember the day he raised his hand and me, an 11 year old blond, blue-eyed girl blocking it.

That girl cried herself to sleep that night but vowed to never do so again. Crying never helped anyone. It caused headaches, and puffy eyes, that would raise questions in class next day, and would make it hard to focus. No, crying would not do it; working hard in class and on the court, getting ahead of everyone else, and being accepted in a college abroad more than eight years in the future, that was the way out. That girl never cried because of him or because of home ever again. But that girl, she was not a child anymore.


Tiny little racquet or My private reserve of happiness and passion

3 May

Daily Prompt: The Little Things. Describe a little thing — one of the things you love that define your world but is often overlooked.

Today’s daily prompt is something that resonated with me, as I am one of those persons who believe that live if made out of details and little things.

Perhaps because of this belief I also found it very difficult to pinpoint only one small feature of my life. But I as was starring at the blank word document in front of me, my mind frantically trying to separate one idea from the millions that were passing through it, I noticed that I was involuntarily biting at my necklace, actually the medallion on it.

And then it hit me. My entire life is somehow summed  up in that medallion and it stands for so many of my actions, my experiences, my desires, my frustrations that I couldn’t possibly find something else of that little size but of that enormous importance to me and my daily life.

Continue reading

Note to my future roommate

24 Dec

Though I had promised myself nobody would see my college essays until I receive some admission letters, there was one that I found so entertaining that I felt I needed to share it.

Write a note to your future roommate that reveals something about you or that will help your roommate know you better. (2000 characters)

Dear future roommate,
I cannot wait to meet you since I am certain that we will get along so well. You will soon notice that I am a sociable, very friendly person who usually has no difficulty in making friends. Since we are going to be roommates, I might as well offer you some insight into what living with me is like.

Continue reading

Train to be in the mood you want to be

22 Dec

The phrase “to get out of bed on the wrong side” is quite common in many languages, but many do not realise its implications. To know you’re going to have a bad day from the moment you open your eyes in the morning and believing you can’t change it (I just got out of the wrong side of the bed) is quite tragic, considering that that exact day might be the most important in your life. And even if it isn’t, even if you don’t have an exam, an interview, a contract to sign or whatever hugely significant thing to do, why should your day be ruined?

For me as a tennis player, I simply cannot afford such awakenings. A bad mood will ruin your play on the court, your work-out in the gym or on the stadium, cause lack of motivation or a decreased self-esteem. If that day  you happen to have a match, knowing you’re not having a good day will most definitely affect your performance and can even result in a loss before you even step on the court. This is not to say, there are no bad days for me, of course there are, but, in time I learned a few tricks to at least be able not to start my day in a negative state of mind or sometimes change it, if something causes it during the day.

Continue reading

Skiing or the art of flying without wings

21 Dec

Inspired by the first  ski day this season, I’ll try and put into words my feelings about my favourite winter hobby.

First of all, I’ve been skiing since I was two and a half years old, and am pretty good at it, if I may say so in order to perfect my image of a modest person. I loved it so much since the beginning and should my country had a more developed ski tradition, school, and  better ski areas, I fear my first sport wouldn’t have been tennis but this, skiing, the sport of sliding over snow.

So, why is it so awesome, and why do I love it this much? It’s the freedom it gives me, the sense of empowerment I feel when I fly over the hills, whether on the perfectly arranged slopes or through the forest. The sense of be capable to do anything, to jump, to go as fast as you can, to make as many curves as you like (my first ski instructor used to call this “knitting”), to ski on one foot or backwards, to cut the ice; the options are limitless.


Continue reading

Daily Prompt: Just a Dream

20 Dec

»Daily Prompt: Just a Dream

via Daily Prompt: Just a Dream.

You’re having a nightmare, and have to choose between three doors. Pick one, and tell us about what you find on the other side.

Ever since I was little, I have had very vivid nightmares. Sometimes I would know I was dreaming but was unable to wake up, and sometimes, I was so caught in the action, I would scream out loud or get up in my sleep.

This part of dreaming, that you have no control over your actions or whatever is happening, is the most scary to me and so for this dream, the one in which I have to chose between three doors, I am again a spectator.

I see myself facing those doors, and I immediately feel a lump in my throat. something is not right and I want to warn that person I see, I want to warn me not to proceed. But I have no voice to scream, no body to move and stop her/myself, I only have eyes to watch me open the door from the left, (I always chose the left side, even when I’m awake), and stare at the horror behind.

Continue reading

Meeting me

10 Nov

As many other teenagers out there, I feel the need to express myself. And for me, writing is the best way to do this, as I also feel it clears my mind and truly shows who I am.

So this blog will document my journey as a tennis player, as a senior in high school waiting to leave for university, as an aspiring writer, and as a struggling teen dealing with life.

This is me, don’t you know me?Image