One of a Kind by Gianna Gorvan

A few months ago, our blog post was about family and so I chose to write a little bit about my mom, but I realize that I haven't gotten the chance to say much about my dad, so here goes nothing.
 
   My dad is truly a one of a kind human being. First of all I would like to bring up how much I look up to my dad. He is never home due to his constant working, but I admire that about him. He is always doing things with our best interest in mind, even if at the time it doesn't seem like it. My father is someone who, despite his hard, rigorous job, makes his family a priority. Even after a long, irritating day he comes home and smiles, never EVER letting his work anger get in the way of his relationships with my brother, my mom, or myself. Though sometimes his work comes home with him and he works in the living room for hours on end, he always makes time to just be there. I am so so SO grateful for that.
   I hate to admit it, but he and I are very similar. We were both born stubborn wise-guys who can't take "No" for an answer, which as you can guess doesn't usually end well. We laugh, we fight, we scream... a lot. Though I absolutely hate 99% of your music, I don't have nearly as many tattoos, or any for that matter, and we have entirely different ideas of what is funny, there is no denying the special bond we hold. I cherish the days you come home and yell "HIIIIIIIIII" into my bedroom at the top of your lungs, and all of the times that we get me a new piercing without telling mom. But, I also cherish our fights. They teach me that even those you love can have different views and opinions, and if you fight about it one minute, those who truly care about you will be able to bounce back from those differences and laugh about it later. Though you constantly make fun of how bad my joke ares and yell at me for telling the same "Knock Knock" joke to you a million times, not a day goes by that you don't make me smile.

Dad,
   I will forever be grateful for all you have done for me, the big things of course, but the little things as well. Thank you for supporting my wild shopping addiction that I cannot completely fund on my own yet. Thank you for talking me through a tough day, and getting me over problems I thought were impossible to let go of. Thank you for the tiny gestures, like the "Be..." necklace that I will never ever get rid of, thank you for making sure to kiss me goodnight every single night, and for saying "See you in the morning" back to me, even though I know I probably won't see you until 9:00 at night the next day. You inspire me to be a better, kinder person than I was the day before and you show me that no matter what, I will always have someone to look up to and depend on.
   You have taught me so many lessons, and I cannot even begin to think of how to repay you. You have taught me how to be strong, both at the gym and in my heart, how to be brave enough to go after what I want, even when I think it is beyond my reach, and that it's okay for me to go my own path and not trudge down those everyone else goes down. You have created me into the person I am today, shaped my ideas, made me try new things, and helped me achieve every single one of my goals. I hope to one day be half of the person you have become and get to treat my children the same, wonderful way you have treated Rocco and I. Dad, thank you for being you. I love you so much.

Love always,
Gbear

#GoldenHour

#Selfie

Most stressful hike of our lives...
#Yikes

 

We switched spots!!
#FreakyFriday

Me by Becca Lefkowitz

Smart, funny, kind,

all meaningless words, 

that essentially have no significance,

friendly, outgoing, energetic,

sure these things are great,

but they're merely adjectives,

adjectives that have no importance,

pretty, cute, adorable,

ask anybody,

 all answers have the same meaning,

just letters combined differently,

pain, fear, distress,

my struggles,

nobody knows the whole story,

possibly because of the way I act,

nobody suspects,

kind, happy, lovable

but little do you know I was once in chains,

chains that wrapped around my body,

cutting off circulation, 

no room for breath, 

no room for movement,

no room for life, 

cuts, scrapes, bruises,

my prevalent scars remind me of who I really am,

brave, courageous, strong, 

and how much I had to fight,

unstoppable, determined, constant,

fight to stay alive, 

fight to be me, 

fight to not lose myself,

and everything I stand for,

free, ambitious, powerful,

this is how I would describe myself,

words that empower me,

to keep on moving,

forward,

not looking back,

however,

never will I forget my past,

this is me.

The Things You Will Regret - Marguerite Bysshe

It was cold. Not a biting cold, but a softer, more forgiving cold that signals the beginning of fall and the end of winter. The air was almost completely still. The rotting leaves on the trees shifted only slightly when the atmosphere exhaled every few minutes or so. The sun had long since dipped behind the horizon and we were left in an awkward purgatory, the time just after dusk but right before night. The street was dark and empty, illuminated by only a single street light, perched on the side of a dark brick building. I walked closer to the street while you hugged the wall. The narrow sidewalk forced us to take our strides in sync, shoulder to shoulder. A lone siren echoed throughout the city, sweeping over the low sitting buildings and seeping into the allies like spilled milk finding a crack in the table, ready to drip frantically to the floor.

My steps were soft, my worn out Nikes hugging the pavement with every step. Yours were louder. Hard, new shoes strutting along with an uncanny sense of confidence and swagger. For a city, Paris certainly was peaceful at night. It was so quiet you could hear our breathing, almost silent as oxygen flowed in, but released in a little puff and sometimes a blunt cough. Your hand kept brushing mine and our rings would clatter together awkwardly, but neither of us took a step away or made an effort to prevent it.

The sidewalk curved and narrowed, stretching around the building and continuing onto a wider street. A fast-moving taxi brushed passed me and you grabbed my opposite shoulder protectively, pulling me in under your arm and compromising our synced up steps. My heart skipped and my muscles tensed, wary of any physical contact or signs of admiration. The vehicle passed but your arm stayed. I relaxed and the warmth of your body overtook me. Your fingertips stayed rooted to my shoulder and I could feel how cold they were through the holes in my sweater. I dropped my head and watched my feet as a small smile broke out across my face. I wasn't sure if I was embarrassed for my reaction or just genuinely happy. Either way, I was thankful for the dark street covering up my blush.

We walked along like this for what seems like hours, my body pressed up against your stiff t-shirt, our jeans brushing against each other occasionally. In reality, it was more like a few blocks, before we arrived on another small, sloping road, dotted with parked motorbikes and compact cars. You pulled away to unlock the door and without my blanket of warmth and protection, I instinctively crossed my arms and shivered, glancing around the street nervously. I had no real reason to be anxious, but the slowly diminishing low hum of the city made me apprehensive.

I followed you inside and you disappeared into the darkness, the door slamming behind me. I jumped and panic arose from my stomach. My fingers suddenly felt cold and stiff and my eyes were wide and frantic, searching for your familiar silhouette. My throat tightened and my heart beat sped up.

"Hello?"
"I'm right here, relax."

Inhale. Exhale. A soft, gentle hand on my waist. Breathe.

You flicked on your phone flashlight to guide you up the stairs. I followed with caution, flicking my eyes up and down from the stairs in front of me to the pack of cigarettes bouncing up and down in your back pocket as you climbed. The staircase spiraled and got more uneven the farther we went up. At the top, you fumbled with the keys and cursed under your breath. I watched and waited and let my eyes gloss over for a moment.

Your apartment felt small, and I liked it that way. I immediately noticed the sketches skewed across the floor, pens and markers laying miscellaneously around on your desk and bed. A single lamp irradiated the space. The window was opposite the door and propped open by a stack of books. The traffic noise floated inside, carried by the soft breeze. I brushed art supplies off your bed cautiously and sat down with a sigh. I watched you take a seat on the wobbly stool next to the window and pull out a pack of Marlboros and a black lighter. Your long legs were entangled in the rungs, ankles crossed together around one of the legs.

Butterflies blossomed in my stomach. You leaned over the window sill to look out at the pedestrians below. I couldn’t help but admire the way the cigarette was perched in between your thin, pale lips, your cutting jawline and hollow cheekbones contrasting your baby-like chocolate eyes. Wide and kind, relaxed and unalert. When you turned towards me we made direct eye contact and a warm feeling flooded my heart.

A smile spread across my face. You took another drag before putting it out on the window frame and flick the glowing ember out the window. At that moment, my life felt full. You were still here with me, keeping me company in my favorite city in the world. A smile had snuck onto your lips and I could tell you were embarrassed I noticed. Later, I would resent myself for not telling you exactly what I felt at that moment. We would have been so perfect together and I really wanted to tell you that.

I never got the chance to. At that exact moment, I was blinded by a flash of light. A blinding beam that enveloped everything around me, all the drawings and walls and furniture. Your smile turned grim and the image of your fear-stricken face stayed burned into my brain. Everything around us seemed to collapse. I watched you fall in slow motion, my body frozen in shock. Longs limbs flailing, reaching towards me desperately, fingers stretched out trying to grab anything. Mouth open, an unheard scream forever trapped in your vocal chords. Glass, exploding, shattering, spraying across the collapsing floor.

Nothing compared to the noise. An aftershock of godly power, reverberating throughout my eardrums violently and physically shaking my body. It seemed to rise up all around me, wrapping itself around my head and my lungs and my heart. My brain desperately tried to reason what was happening in those few seconds, but everything seemed to be happening so fast. Quickly, yet in reduced speed, like someone had turned a fight scene in a movie on slow motion.

Falling. Darkness. Frantically grabbing anything and everything around me. Confusion and pain. My head rang and it felt like I had lost all senses. I screamed your name and could feel the harsh tugging on my vocal cords, but couldn't hear the sound I produced. I screamed it again and again as the building came crashing down around me. Bricks upon bricks tumbled down, carrying dust and filth and glass and sofas and beds with them. A symphony of chaos swirled around me and all I wanted was my second half, my protector, my breath of fresh air: you.

I cried. I cried as the dust settled and firefighters pulled me out of the rubble like a Raggedy Ann doll. My lungs screamed for air as I heaved and shook. I couldn’t get that cursed image of you, falling back onto the street below, surrounded by glass and brick, out of my head. I was taken to an ambulance and a nurse asked me something I could neither hear nor understand. Something French. I repeated your name, the feeling so familiar on my tongue, tears streaming steadily down my face. She just kept shaking her head, rubbing my shoulders, trying to calm me down. I was completely panicked, heartbroken over the idea that you might be gone.

And now look where we are. I’m here, standing facing a gravestone that was carved too early. Nothing can come close to the pain you’ve caused me. The heartbreak, the anger, the regret. So much regret. So many things we left unsaid because we feared the consequences and uncertainty of putting them out into the universe. Fear may be temporary, but regrets certainly last forever.

My Family~ By Julia McEllen

There is no such thing as a normal, standard family. Every family is unique and interesting in some way.
For me, my family is the light of my life. (Just a forewarning- this is going to be a long one)

It starts with my mom, sister, and brother. they are by far the most important people of my life.

(My mom, sister, brother, and I)

My younger brother, Ryan, is the smartest and sweetest person I know. More than half of our time together is spent playing. We are honestly eternal kids at heart. Whenever we find ourselves bored out of our minds, we have a constant need to create a new game- no matter where we are or what time it is. And honestly, because I am an older sister, I do take credit for some of the ways he turns out. And by saying that, I think I did a pretty good job guiding him as an older sibling, with my older sister of course (although it is really my mom who deserves the true credit for being the best mom I know and raising all of us kids literally perfectly). Anyway, to be honest, I actually feel so proud when I look at Ryan. He is probably the kindest, most brilliant teenage boy I have ever met.
My older sister, Madelyn, is so much more than a typical older sister. She is honestly someone I would not be able to stay sane without. Whenever I need to just relax and have a movie night or take a drive and blast some music, she is there. And she makes me laugh more than anyone else in the whole world (I promise... she might seem shy at first, but that girl is hilariously funny).

(My siblings and I)

Next is my mom, and I will spare you on repeated words by suggesting you look back on my last blog post (which was about my mom for those of you who weren't catching on). In short, my mom is my best friend. She is my number one. Just to help you wrap your head around this a little more, my mom is the one person in the world I seriously would not survive without. She is the person I confide in when having a bad day and the person who knows me better than anyone. (Okay, now you should really just go read my last blog post or else I'm going to keep writing on and on about her due to the infinite amount of words I have in my head to describe our relationship).

Now it may seem that I am making more out of my family than what is there- but everything in this blog
post is true. That is not to say that we don't get in the occasional fight... but I don't understand what is so hard to believe about family members who are each other's best friends. I think so many people just expect others to butt heads when born into the same family, but my family is closer than anything.
I'm honestly the luckiest person in the world.

Anyway, moving from my immediate family, I have my cousins. And I am going to cut right down to my
cousins (even though we skipped a few family members). But again- I have a lack of space and an
excess of words here. I mean what can I say... I love my family.

So moving on to my cousins that are my age, I would first like to acknowledge Sophie. And yes, the
Sophie in our grade, and in our class. We are cousins. Although, I don't know why that shocks so many people considering we spend half of our time in the hallways together and about every day of our lives together. But maybe it's because we don't look very alike. Ever since we were little we used to joke thatSophie looks like my mom and I look like her mom (my aunt), but of course, we weren't switched at
birth- although that would make a very interesting story. But really, Sophie and I have considered
ourselves sisters- twins for that matter- since we were born. Interestingly enough, we were born exactlytwo weeks apart to the day. We would spend literally every day together during our childhood,
and practically lived together- we were very close. And we still are. Sophie is probably one of the only people who truly knows what I'm thinking and feeling at all times- even when we aren't in the same room. Now again- I have so many words and not enough space so I'm going to move on. But to sum it

up, Sophie is one of the funniest people to be around and knows me like a sister. She is so easy to talk to and laugh with and we always have the best time together. I feel so lucky to have her in my family.

(Sophie and I)

(Sophie and I as babies. To be honest... I'm not totally sure what is going on here or why I look so mad but- your welcome)

Now, a lot of people are truly surprised when Luke Simmons and I tell them we are cousins, and truthfully, we are not blood related. But our moms have known each other for a very long time and are best friends. So ever since I was born, his parents have been my aunt and uncle, and are also my
Godparents. this subsequently makes Luke my God-brother, but it is easier to say cousin, so we do.
But just because we are not related by blood, doesn't mean we are not as close as true relatives.
Honestly, Luke are I as close as most of my blood related family members. Anyway, Luke has always
felt like my brother. We have a family tradition (one of my favorite traditions) to have both our families
eat dinner together on Sundays, and it is by far my favorite night of the whole week. I love being able to
sit around a table, talk, and be myself in front of people who truly care about me. Luke's sister and my
brother are also in the same grade as each other and are only two years younger than us, so we all get
along so well. Even my sister, who is three years older, is as close to Luke and his sister. it is always so
fun when we are all together, especially now that my sister is on college. But to be honest, I don't know
anyone who is more genuine, sweet, and funny as Luke. I feel so lucky to have grown up beside him.

(Luke, his sister Ella, Ryan, Madelyn, and I)

(Luke and I when we were little)

So you can clearly tell that I am super close to my cousins and family members. I feel so grateful to

have been born into a family who supports me no matter what, and loves me unconditionally. And I am
forever grateful to have had the opportunity to have grown up with so many best friends by my side.
Family is truly one of the greatest things in the whole world, and something I would never give up in a
million years.

How Does One Write About Family? -- Jenna Marie

To be honest, I don't know what to write. I mean it really is easy to write about family, to express your love for them, to say just how grateful you are for having them. But to be able to write this in a manner that isn't cliche, in a manner that's completely sincere. That's something that I'm finding especially difficult in the moment. Every time I think about my family I get caught in some kind of word block, for how is it possible to express such feelings through words. No one has ever really done the feeling of love justice before, and I don't think anyone ever will, because this feeling is something that we don't understand, let alone write about. So there is my dilemma. How can I write about my family without being sappy and fake? What course should I take to circumvent the impossible topic of love? Don't get me wrong, I do love them very much, I'd do pretty much anything for them and I know they'd do the same for me, but to write about it? That's something I can't fathom. I hope I don't sound ungrateful... in fact my only fear of writing about my family is to do how indebted I am to them, how grateful I am for them always having my back... to do wrong by that.

My family is perfect I suppose, and I'm very lucky to have them. So many times I've heard friends complain about problems at home, and every time I'm reminded just how lucky I am. How lucky I am to have a mother who backs me in everything I do. How lucky I am to have a sister close in age that I get along relatively well with, who at times can be my best friend. How lucky I am to have a father who cares enough to spend his extra time teaching me sports, workshop, and other random survival skills. I'm so lucky for my family, and I think one of my biggest inner demons is just that. I'm so lucky... so why isn't everyone else? Why do I get the perfect family, when so many others are struggling? I've done nothing for it. I feel guilty. Then I feel guilty about feeling guilty. It's a vicious cycle, but I can't help it. Every time I think about how lucky I am, I'm reminded of those who are not. And every time I feel guilty about that, I think I'm doing injustice to how grateful I am for my family.
It's stupid really. First world problems I know. I'll get over it eventually. It's just hard to know that someone doesn't enjoy the same support that I receive every day, because I know for a fact that I wouldn't be as successful as I am today without my family. So to wrap things up, I suppose I should say that I hope all of you find a family-- even if you find it in your friends-- that's always supportive. Even when you get that bad mark. Even when miss your PR. Even when you fail. Because that's what families should be for. To back you in the toughest of times. To be there for you when you need them. I hope that you all find that, because everyone deserves that.

My Mom, my Best Friend. By Gianna Gorvan

   In my life, I have been blessed with a mom who is also my best friend. I know, this is such a cliche that every teenage girl says, but I truly mean it. Now, my mom had me very young and that is something I am extremely grateful for. Having my mom as a mother is like having a sister who is just slightly older than me, sure this has its downfalls but the good always outweighs the bad.
   Like any set of best friends, we go shopping, more often than most and than I am sure Dad would like us to-- but that doesn't stop us, we go out to eat, take 9000 selfies every day, we even dress alike. I have a lot of friends who I consider "best friends," but, no offense friends, my mom tops all of you. I know that no matter what I go through, who I talk to, she will always be there. She always has been there, through all of my spurts of anger and tears of joy, which is one trait that I aspire to inherit from her. She is the kindest person I have ever met. We fight like crazy, only because we are basically the same exact person, but at the end of the day we always end our disagreements with her showing me some act of kindness towards me. I can only hope to have the willpower to show people nothing but love, even when I want to scream in their faces.
   I spend more time with my mom than I spend with anyone else. Not just because we live together, but because I enjoy spending time with her. She is a fun person to be around, she makes me laugh and smile when I think that all I want to do is cry, and she knows just how to comfort me. I cannot say thank you enough times for everything, for letting me play my 'awful' music every time I step foot in the car, for letting me steal all of her clothes literally everyday, for not freaking out when I scream at the top of my lungs, and for funding and fully supporting my shopping addiction, because we all know that it is very real. I am a handful, I know, but for some reason my mother treats me like gold, which makes my heart so happy and me realize just how lucky I am.
  My mother has given me the world since I was born. She has put me first in every single situation and I am so eternally lucky to be able to say that, as I know there are some children who do not have the luxury of having a relationship with their moms. Yes, my mom has told me "No," I am not a spoiled rotten brat, but I have to admit that I am spoiled. My mother doesn't ask a lot of me, not even for me to clean my own room, except on the occasion that we have company over. All she asks is that I "continue to get good grades" and that I be kind and respectful to those around me, and myself. I am appreciative for this because she pushes me and makes me want to do my best so that I can continue living the life I am, but also continue to make her proud. I know that she doesn't just take me to get my nails done or drive me to the mall and chauffeur my friends around because she feels like it, because I know there are millions of other things she could be doing, but whatever her reasoning for giving me all of these luxuries is, I want to show her that I notice it and appreciate it.

    Mom, if you see this I hope you realize I think the world of you. You are the reason for majority of my smiles, my laughs, and a small percentage of my tears, whoopsie daisy. You push me to be a better version of myself and radiate the light inside of me to all those around me. I wish everyone were like you, I truly do. You are my biggest inspiration and role model, but most importantly you are my very best friend. I know this might have made you cry, which I apologize for, but thank you for all you do, from the bottom of my heart. I could not imagine any other mother doing the things you do for me or making me, and the rest of the family, so happy 24/7. You are the best in not only my eyes, but many others' too. You are someone special, and I will be more than grateful to inherit any quality you hold. 

Thank you for everything, Mamma, I love you with all of my heart. 


Some pieces from our selfie collection:

#carselfie

#snowselfie

#goldenhour

We Were Here by Liv Przydzial

We Were Here

by Liv Przydzial

Sad songs flowed from my guitar,
the same words I sang after fights with my parents,
after losing my dogs,
after leaving friends, sometimes for just a few hours, sometimes forever.

I was alone in this world now,
trapped in this cold, bitter loneliness,
while around me was just the opposite.

I had no one, so it seemed.
My mom and dad were far, far away,
my sister was long gone at some school in some town,
my dogs in the sky, out of reach,
my friends across the wall but not here, not with me in the present.

I was lonely. Quite lonely.

Perhaps a walk?
I stood from my nest of blankets on the shaky legs of a newborn fawn,
a nest of blankets I would normally have shared with Bentley and Sylvia,
her tired body lying across the length of the bed,
me in the corner,
and Bentley stretched out over us.
Those were the days in which, among the chaotic tornado of life,
I had forgotten to appreciate the cramps in my neck the next day from not sleeping comfortably.
Physically, maybe I hadn't, but at least I slept in peace, in security, in love.

'Twas too warm for shoes.
Why should I care what people think if I am still alone in their midst?
I clambered down the hot pavement, my feet burning only a little step by step.
What a day!
The fresh breeze brushed through my messy hair just as my mom once did,
and my ankles brushed the soft wildflowers that we used to braid into crowns together.
I gently plucked one from the root, just as mom had taught me,
and breathed in a memory.

Down the street, I skipped,
the symphonic chirps and chatters of the birds bringing music to my ears.
I whistled back, just as I did to my parakeets,
now long gone, but here in memory.
They were here!

Into the woods, I bounded,
just as I did with my sister every day after school.
A race, was it? Some sort of competition?
The memories had blurred in my mind,
but the feelings wage the same waves in my heart.
My sister is here. This is Sylvia.
We are here together, skipping into the woods,
jumping on rocks, leaping across streams, climbing trees.
We are here, at last.

Down the path I frolicked, the leaves leaving a patchwork of ever-changing shadows across my face.
I came to the point in the path in which I found mom.
She was here, in this archway of vines.
She was here, in the birds' nests softly embedded in the twigs.
She was here, in the berries she told us were 'gold for the soul',
when everyone else told us they were poisonous and that we shouldn't even touch them.
She was here, in the bright morning glories that she'd wake us up early to see.
She was here, with me,
here.

And from my enchantment, I burst into the open sun,
just as I did when we went on bike rides with my dad,
my tiny feet pedaling as fast as they could to get up the hill first,
my dad letting me win, of course.
There were the benches from which we watched the sun fade into the night in a dazzling watercolor display.
This was us. We were here.

Bentley used to race down the path to swim here,
used to soar into the water with one giant leap.
He was never happier. I was never happier.
As I stood here, a smile came upon my face.
He was here, one big furry ball of love and happiness,
so why shouldn't I be happy too?

And as I crossed, barefoot,
the pointy, sharp rocks dividing the bank of the water,
I came to the realization that this bank, this here bank of this pond,
was just like my family, metaphorically.
Most of the bank was beautiful, soft, caressing,
but these sharp, stabbing rocks,
where the scary spiders of my childhood lived,
represented our struggles.
Our family had never been perfect, but in that imperfection were the best lessons learned.
The bad must also be appreciated.

Once I crossed the prickly rocks, I bolted across the grass, kissed by the sun,
down this hill and right up the next, just as I would with Sylvia.
I came to the picnic table, where other families had sat and eaten together.
I used to watch them from the other side of the pond,
hidden from view on a tree arched over the water.
I had envied them,
envied them so so deeply.
But those were their stories, not mine.
In a way, though, those families were my families, just the same.
I was a part of their tradition. I was here with them.

As I ran, I passed the raspberry bushes.
Oh, grandma. All raspberry bushes remind me of her.
I used to race to her garden first thing every time we visited.
She had fields of raspberry bushes, so it seemed, and I would stand on my tippy toes just to reach the sweetest, juiciest ones at the top.
I'd always come back with red juice all over my face, scratches from the thorns down my arms and legs, and a full belly of berries.
And right here, she was with me.
We were here,
together.

Still further down the path, I came to the spot in which my grandpa tried to teach me to fish.
It was not really here, in this spot,
but in my mind, he was here.
This was us,
this was our spot.
We were here.
Are, here.

The woods opened up from here into a small clearing in which a stout little house stood.
A perfect little house, flowers of every color one could imagine covering the porch,
their radiant gardens overflowing with beauty.
The old grandma and grandpa had shared this garden with me,
teaching me how to smell the rainbow and showing me that snakes weren't all that bad.
They were my family too, in this sense.
They had shaped, molded, me.
They were part of my history, and now part of my present.
As I stood in their garden, looking at the dead flowerbeds and remembering what once was,
I watched the gardens immediately come to life in my mind.
We were here.

And as the path continued back into the woods,
I came to a place in which I found a piece of myself.
A turtle was it? Yes, there was a turtle on the path,
a few little boys my age there, tossing the poor guy around.
I stood, frozen, formulating a plan in my mind.
But it was quite too late. I was already in the middle of their circle.
Not a single of us spoke as I snatched the turtle from one boy's hands and ran to the bank of the pond,
gently setting him down and allowing him to waddle back in, unharmed.
This spot right here, those boys, and, for god's sake, even that turtle - were my family.
And they were here. We were here.

And finally, I arrived at a little rock.
'Just a big hop over from the edge of the water!' I would encourage Bentley.
I finally got him to jump over, and from that moment on, this was our place.
Standing on this tiny, tiny rock I realized that we were here,
just as we had all been in all these places around the pond,
just as we were back then.
I sat down, criss-cross applesauce, just as I did when I was a kid, and watched the fish in the water below as the realization washed over me:
Everyone was here with me. Maybe not physically, but they were here in mind and in heart. In memory, we were here.
And that is all that I could ever need, all that I could ever ask for.

My Favorite Place On Earth By Chloe Clancy

  Our topic this month was to write about something important to us. It took me three tries to choose a topic of what to write about, and finally I decided that I would write about the island that has a special place in my heart. This summer I went to Savannah, Georgia, for four days. One of those days, we decided to visit Tybee Island, which is a small island off the coast of Georgia. After my visit, it earned the title of 'Chloe's Favorite Place On Earth,' that's how good it was. I had no idea if I would like it or not, and I knew nothing about the small city. That morning, I set foot on the sand for the first time, and I knew, I want to spend my whole life here. The water was a beautiful gray, the sand was a pale beige, and the buildings and shops around it were every color imaginable. It was my version of paradise. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore was heavenly, the cool breeze against my hot back was stellar, and the taste of the salt from the water was memorable. This place instantly put me in a great mood. Everywhere I went, I had a huge smile on my face. My mom recalls that this is one of the only places that made me genuinely happy. After swimming in the ocean for about an hour, I decided to take a walk around the city. I stopped in every shop, probably because they were air conditioned, but each shop managed to have a special place in my heart, whether it being a small little jewelry store or a high end sushi shop. There was a mural inside a cute little snack shop that I went into, that had an unforgettable quote. It read, "We were all humans until race divided us, religion separated us, politics divided us, and wealth classified us." I wish I was joking, but I literally made the boy sitting at the table in front of it move so I could take a picture. Not my proudest moment, but it was worth it. 

        So what makes Tybee different from all the other beaches that I've been to? Three things. The atmosphere, the people, and the view. Tybee is the type of place that makes you want to sing your heart out to every song that's playing. The vibes on the island are all positive and happy, and there's no possible way to be in a bad mood. I know that "Everyone's nicer in the South," is a popular stereotype, but from what I experienced, everyone fit that stereotype. Everyone greeted you with a contagious smile, and offered to help with everything humanly possible. Now the view, oh wow. It made my heart stop. You could see for miles, and it seemed like the beach and the water, and everything around you never ended, it was like a separate world. The day we went, there were no clouds, and the sky was a beautiful, vibrant blue, with just the hot sun beating down on your back. It was perfect, and if I was able to, I would've stared at the sky and sun for hours. 

Now, six months later, I'm still longing to go back. Every time I'm asked where I want to vacation next, I suggest we go back to Tybee. Sure, I've been to tons of other cities around the world that were amazing, but for some reason Tybee had a special feeling. I'd highly recommend this as a vacation spot. Even though I was only there for a day, the ocean, the town, and the breeze, all contribute to the island that I will never forget. 

The mural in the snack shop

The boardwalk to get on the beach

The beach