Sibling Rivalry

I laid on the dock with my feet in the cold, dark water. I just wasn’t in the mood to party; I wasn’t in the mood to do anything. I felt sick to my stomach. I stared up at the moon, curiosity building, I thought of Cory. I thought of how I’ll never see him again. I thought of how we’ll never share any more memories together. I thought of how guilty I felt and how it was my fault. Before I could cry into a full out sob, a face appeared in front of mine, startling my thoughts. I turned around and stood to face the stranger.

This can’t be possible. I stood in disbelief as my brother stood before me. “Cory,” I croaked, “My little Cory.”

 He didn’t say anything but just stared on instead. I reached out to touch him. He didn’t move, but as I reached my hand towards his it just fell through his transparent body.

I gasped in shock, “Oh my God, you’re a ghost! Oh my God!”

“You killed me Charlie. Of course I’m a ghost,” he bitterly replied back.

“I didn’t mean it, Cory, I swear. It was all an accident. If I could take back that night I would. You can’t blame me please, I already feel guilty enough.”

“Good, you should. You took my life away from me. I was only ten years old; I still had my whole life left. I had a future. But you decided to drive reckless, you decided to put me in danger. You killed me.”

“NO!” I screamed, “No Cory! It was the other driver’s fault, he was drunk. I would never put you in danger, I love you too much.” Guilt flowed throughout my body and ran in my veins. I didn’t mean for any of that to happen, never. I had to show my brother I was sorry.

“If you really loved me, you wouldn’t have let me die. You would have protected me like a sister should. You were a bad sister, Charlie, you never treated me right.”

Tears flowed down my face. This had to be a nightmare. I was being haunted, not just in my dreams but even when I was awake. I couldn’t handle this. My heart was pounding through my chest, my breathing grew heavier and more rapid. I must be losing my mind.

“I’m going to make you suffer,” said Cory. “If I can’t live, then neither can you.”

Before I could respond, he darted at me and I fell into the pond. Water filled my lungs, ears, mouth, everything. I couldn’t think straight; I needed air. I tried to swim towards the surface, but I couldn’t. I looked down my watched my brother tied some weeds around my legs. I started to panic and wildly moved my body trying to get untangled.

Cory’s face then appeared in front of mine. “Goodbye, Sis.” He laughed sinisterly as I helplessly tried to save myself. Slowly I started to lose consciousness and with my lasting breath I looked Cory in the eyes and mouthed I’m sorry. My hearts slowed to a stop, my eyes gently closed, and silently I sank to the bottom of the pond.

Adrenline Junkie

I fell out of my seat and hit the floor as my phone sprung to life. I reached my hand over my desk trying to find my little phone just to stop the annoying tune playing out of it. God, I need to change the ringtone. I grabbed it and peered at the caller id, "Bobby's Cell." I instantly felt a twinge of annoyance; Bobby always calls for no reason and this time he woke me up from my much needed sleep. I answered the phone angrily, “What Bobby?”

"Kris, you need to get here now. There's no time to explain."

I became worried. "Okay, where are you?"

"I'm at the hospital. Carli's been seriously hurt." He sounded upset, which wasn't good. Carli is Bobby's girlfriend and my best friend.

I rushed up and grabbed my keys. "Alright, I'll be right there." And just like that I was out the door.

Carli is an aderline-junkie. She always puts herself at risks. She says she loves feeling invincible, loves feeling as though she can do anything. Anyway, you're only young once, which is her response to everything. Personally, what I think she does for fun is more dangerous. She's landed herself in the hospital a few times, but by the sound of Bobby's voice this time was serious.

Carli was in the hospital three times this past year and eleven times in total. She's broken her arm after diving off a cliff and hitting the rocks below. She's sprained both her ankles after jumping off the boardwalk. She sprained her neck from whiplash after her bungee cord snapped. And yes, there were many more things she's done, none of them smart to say the least, but hey, that was Carli for you.

I reached the hospital, parked, and ran to the emergency room. Bobby jumped up when he saw me and rushed over.

"What happened?" I demanded.

"Carli was riding on a dirt bike and rode up a hill and tried to do a back flip. It didn't end up very well; she landed on her head with the bike on top of her." This girl has seriously lost her mind, I thought to myself.

Sometime has past when the doctor allowed us back to see Carli. He said she was going to be alright, however, she cannot do anything that puts her at risk for a while. She broken a few vertebras in her neck and is going to have to wear a brace for a while.

Bobby and I walked back and greeted Carli.

"Carli, what were you thinking? You've never even rode a dirt bike before."

Carli smiled. "It looked easy enough. You’re only young once. Anyways I already thought of skydiving without a parachute after I get this brace off."

I laughed to myself. Yes, that was my best friend Carli. As crazy as she was, I loved her to death.

Mark Doty

Upon arriving to the Mark Doty reading I wasn't sure what to expect. I am not a fan of poetry so sitting through a reading of it was less than enjoyable for me. However once I entered the room I thought differently. The place was packed; with all the seats taken up people had to resort to standing up against the wall or sitting on the floor. My expectations for Doty were higher than before; surely he must be good if all these people were here. And yes he was.

As I took my seat and waited for Doty to begin, my anticipation grew. As he started his reading I realized that he was different from other poets I have read. His poetry seemed to be more relatable and easier to understand which caught my attention even more. His poetry seemed to be more like little narratives, more like prose. It made it seem like he was more reading short stories than poetry which is why I think I enjoyed it more than I would have thought.

Overall I enjoyed the reading and thought that Doty is an excellent writer. He's one of my more favorite poets for sure and I'll be sure to read more of his work.
I really enjoyed his two poems, "Heaven for Paul" and "House of Beauty". In "House of Beauty" he used a lot of vivid imagery to describe the fire and the scene going on while stating the flames made the house beautiful. I thought it was beautifully written. In "Heaven for Paul" he described being on a plane and preparing to crash, while he usually paranoid friend Paul is acting all calm during the chaos. Paul seen moments and his life through his eyes making peace with everyone. He is content to die, however they do survive.

Doty also made a comment how he likes to write about animals. He likes to see things in their perspective, especially his dog. He read a poem about his dog, however he also explained that they were many more too. He also writes a poem in the perspective of a baby mammoth and how it feels and views the world. Animals are a favorite subject of is, however he is not like most animal poets; he adds his own twist.

Overall I enjoyed the reading and think Doty is an excellent writer. He's one of my favorite poets for sure and I'll be sure to look into more of his work.

Peace Rock

I frantically hang up the phone, grab my leather coat, and dash down the stairs. "I'll be back!" I scream to my parents, and just like that I'm out the door. What could they have possibly gotten themselves into this time? Why am I always the one saving their asses? I sprint down the street, hop fences, run through traffic, and enter Pennypack Woods until I finally see the unsturdy, rotting treehouse my dad has built for us so many years ago. I hear voices, but can barely make out what they are saying. Jason and Lauren are whispering; this isn't a good sign.

Jason, Lauren, and I have been friends for as long as I can remember. Both of them are loud and obnoxious, and always come up with these stupid ideas that always end up badly. Well Lauren moreso thinks up these plans, while Jason puts them into action. Two years ago Jason ended up in the hospital due to a concusion and broken ribs, whereas last year all three of us ended up in prison for night; after being generously bailed out by my parents. Wherever those two are, trouble is bound to follow in their footsteps.

I climb my way up the rope ladder and swing my body up through the hole. Both of them look at me and become silent. I stare at them; both of them are dirty, covered in mud. Lauren is sitting closer to me with tear stains down her cheek, while Jason is huddled up in a corner.

"What in the world happened to you two?"

"Kris... we fucked up... big time..." Lauren stared blankly off into space.

"Things just got out of hand, we took it to far this time. We don't know what to do."

They were starting to scare me. This clearly was more serious than I had originally expected. I didn't want to deal with this now, not tomorrow, not ever. This is why I went away for school, to stop being apart of this troublesome trio, and already I'm being dragged into this mess on my first day back.

"It's only 8:12 p.m. What could you have possibly gotten yourselves into?"

Jason stared at the rotted wood floor and kept his head down. Lauren stared at me, tears in her eyes, and choked, "Little Ji-Jimmy, he's gone. He's gone Kris."

"What do you mean he's gone..?"

As Lauren stumbled through her story of how she convinced Jason that it was a good idea to jump off Peace Rock (a twenty five foot rock covered in paint jetting out over the river) and into the icy waters of the river below. Jason was about to jump, which was sure to put him back in the hospital, when Little Jimmy, no less than 13 years old walked by and asked to jump with him too. In the end, Little Jimmy jumped, got sucked under by the current, and never resurfaced.

"So he drowned..." I said, my mind foggy at what was happening.

"I don't know. We ran in the water looking for him, but we couldn't find his body. He might have swam off somewhere, but that's being hopeful. What do we do?"

We. Yes, of course we; we were all in this together. We have always, with a little luck, gotten out of situations like these before; but this time, this time we were way over our heads. We were fucked.

A Glance to the Past

there it sits on the windowsill, untouched and covered in dust
the cover is torn and tarnished, giving the impression it survived a bear attack
the pages have begun to curl, turning more yellow as the days go by
it sits there longingly, waiting anxiously to be opened
it has been years since life has been given to this little black book.


it is filled with all my hopes and desires, my secrets and confinements
its holds my childhood self, my middle school crushes, my adventures with my barbies
along with my dream to be a dancer and to become the pink power ranger
even though it is now old and tainted with age, it is still my best friend
maybe one day I will give life and revisit my past
but for the now the broken stitching reminds me of what once was.

Cinquain

I cry.

With no control

tears form into puddles,

sadness consumes my heavy heart.

Help me.

The form I choose to write was Cinquain. I decided to use this form of poetry because while reading through the other various forms, this one jumped to me and I immediately started putting syllables together to form this poem. The poem has more of a somber tone, with the theme being heartache and helplessness, however I leave it up to the reader to decide why the person is feeling this way. There are could be multiple meanings, the interpretations are endless. This makes the poem more relate able because everyone has felt this way before, just not all for the same reason. I stuck with the form's rules with the five lines going from two syllables, to four, to six, to eight, and then back to two again. Even though the poem doesn't rhyme, the even number of syllables helps it flow a bit. This form works well with the feeling I was trying to invoke, because even though there are not many of words, there is still a strong powerful somber emotion behind it. It indirectly explains in detail about being hurt and sad, instead of directly stating it from the gecko. This form is simple and straightforward, so it wasn't as complicated to do, especially since I'm not so good at poetry. Instead of making the reader think, the ideas aren't so abstract where it gets confusing. The imagery, such as "tears form into puddles", indicates to the reader that the speaker is more than just sad; it is more intense than that. This form of poem can either directly state something or leave something up for interpretation and that is what i like about it.

David Gessner

David Gessner has a unique style of writing to go along with his quirky personality. Last semester I took English 180 which was about nature in literature, so I actually already read his book Return of the Osprey for class. I also watched numerous youtube videos on him, including the one he opened with at his reading on Monday. From learning all about him, I expected his reading to be a bit out there and for his dry, sarcastic humor to bring up some laughter from the audience. The reading turned out to be interesting and engaging, however I wasn't convinced after to buy his book and read it.

It's not that I don't like his writing or the way he speaks through the page; I believe his words to be raw and powerful as he expresses his own ideas without protecting anybody or anything. It's like he said during his reading, "To write well, you have to be an asshole." This is true for him as that he does not censor how it really feels on any certain subject.

The only thing that loses my interest is the subject that he writes on; wildness. I don't like to read about nature or the wild and our effects on it. This subject is boring to me and makes me want to put the book down and do something else with my time. I would rather read something else with more of a plot or climax, or at least something that I can relate too. I have no interest nor nothing in common with the wild so reading about it isn't my top priority or something I would do in my spare time.

Death

Because I could not stop for Death by Emily Dickinson, published in 1890
Because I could not stop for Death
He kindly stopped for me
The Carriage held but just Ourselves
And Immortality.

We slowly drove, he knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For his civility.

We passed the School, where Children strove
At recess in the ring
We passed the fields of gazing grain
We passed the setting sun.

Or rather, he passed us
The dews drew quivering and chill
For only Gossamer, my gown
My tippet only tulle.

We paused before a house that seemed
A swelling of the GROUND
The roof was scarcely visible
The cornice in the ground.

Since then 'tis centuries and yet
Feels shorter than the DAY
I first surmised the horses' heads
Were toward eternity.


Faced with two Choices by Kris Stasik

As the wheels turned on and on

And moon entered the sky

Death turned around and faced me

And stared into my eyes.

He did not need to offer

For I already knew

The complicated dilemma

He was to put me through.

I had a choice, you see

I was not fully dead

I could lie within the ground

Or ride with him instead

He needed a companion,

For his never-ending ride

 A life of immortality

With a partner by his side.

I looked up to the stars

And contemplated in my head

To ride with him to eternity

Or to be in a grave instead

I turned around to face him

Eyes piercing into his

I took a slow breath and replied

“I am not meant to live.”

Double Life

today is going to be a pain

wishing and hoping you had something to gain

tension rises, troubles erupt

making your day go corrupt

you fail your exam, you miss your class

you slip down the stairs and fall on your ass

loosing control, you break down

praying you day will just turn around

today is going to be a breeze

you take it in stride and fill it with ease

problems fade, worries disappear

you live your life without any fears

you ace your test, you're early to class

your day turns out to be a blast

you're filled with joy, and full of bliss

this is a day you will surely miss

this is your destiny

your fate written in the stars

there's no changing, no alteration

you have to except who you are

you must be a Gemini.

New Perspective

Original: I tried to move but I couldn’t. I tried to raise my arms, lift my legs, roll my ankles, wiggle my fingers, but it was impossible. I couldn’t hear, couldn’t see, couldn’t understand. I was trapped; paralyzed inside my own body with my mind as the only functioning object. Panic set in. What’s happening? Why am I like this? Where is everyone? Lifting my incredibly heavy eyelids seemed to be an improbable task, as if I were lifting a 200 ton whale instead. I wanted to scream, break the silence and try to wake up from this nightmare. But I couldn’t. This wasn’t a dream; this was reality and whether I liked it or not there was nothing I could do. Suddenly, as if someone turned on a switch, I felt something. Dozens of fingers reached under me, trailing along my back and sides like spiders scurrying around. Voices danced around my ears, but they were too distant to comprehend. Abruptly I was flung into the air, with dainty fingers supporting me, and then placed down onto a bed. I felt an endless supply of pillows beneath me, taking my shape as I laid on top. I peeled back my eyelids and a glaring light flooded my vision. Faces began to take shape, each one more different than the next, with their wide eyes staring at me, piercing into my soul. One woman smiled and put her hand on mine. I blacked out.

Revision: I watched her as she laid there. Even though she wasn't awake, nor could she move her body right now, I could tell there was was a look of pain upon her face. She must have been panicing; I know I would be. Even though I have helped assisst in these procedures many times before, each person was different. They had a different atittude, a different effect, a different process. Me being only a doctor meant I only knew the scientific aspect of the procedure, not the emotional part. I couldn't understand how this young girl felt right now or the questions she must be asking. She looks so helpless, so fragile. Along with my fellow colleagues, I reached my hands under her and helped transfer her from one bed to the other. When we put her down her eyes flew opened and looked up at all of us, wearing a look of confusion and pain. I stared at her and when she looked at me I smiled and put my hand on hers. Then she fell unconcious once again.

What's The Time?

Time.

Noun - The indefinite continued progress of existence and events in the past, present, and future regarded as a whole.

Verb – Plan, schedule, or arrange when (something) should happen or be done.

Synonyms – age, season, epoch, hour, term, date, era

Or so it is defined by Google. But time is not just simply that. Time is more. Time is the thing we love but the thing we also fear. It is what we need but not always what we want. It contorts itself, swimming all around us in our minds, in our soul. Time can end up being our greatest friend or our worst enemy.

Time is a beauty. As she wraps her delicately pressed arms around you, you become encompassed in her; suffocating yourself in all her wonder. You realize that you can’t get enough, you want more. And then not just more. You want it all. You want all the time you can possibly have, spending it as you please. Whether you need more time to work, more time with a loved one, more time in your day, you eat it all up. Time feeds your intense hunger, but never truly satisfies. You get lost in yourself, lost in time, until at the end of the day, you are just lost. Time constantly gives, but at a cost.

Time is a curse. With her powerful rage and deep fury, time can leave us at a state of perplexity. Just as she can give you time, she can also take it away. She can grab those precious moments right out of your hands, pull them back and keep them as her own. She can have you begging on your knees, degrading yourself to petty and unworthy. She can speed up time when you don’t seem to have enough, all while laughing down on you wearing her cruel smile. Time can come to haunt you, lurking around every corner unable to escape this life full of misery. Time will relentlessly ruin your life, making you forever wishing you never had an encounter with her. Time is destruction.

Time is a burden. Sometimes she gives you more than you need, more than you want. At times you wish you had less just to get to whatever is next. She can make minutes feel like hours, hours feel like days, and days feel like years. You want to get away but you can’t. You’re stuck playing this idiotic game with her, stuck withering away. And just when you thought she’s gone, she’s back again giving more time to waste. Time is an encumbrance.

Time can be a helping hand or a villain to escape. At one time or another she will be both to you. Time is always there, ever-changing and unexplainable. Time is a mysterious being; nothing is ever truly known about her. While half the world wishes they had more of her and the other wishes they didn’t, in the end what she does is her decision.  Time is much more than that simple Google definition. Time is a mythical being unlike any other, who is always with you no matter what.

Tayari Jones

I wasn't at all excited when I realized that we had to attend a mandatory book reading at Foster Auditorium. I wasn't thrilled for three reasons; first, I hate having to do things when they are mandatory, I like the freedom to make my own decision, secondly, my last experience at Foster Auditorium didn't please me, and thirdly, I had no idea who Tayari Jones was besides from a reading we had for class. At seven o'clock, I dreadfully dragged my feet to the reading expecting the worst.

As the reading started, however, I was quite surprised. Tayari Jones's voice was rich and powerful, which kept me attentive and drew me in. As she read through her novel I got lost into her world; I myself became a character. Tayari Jones spoke with such passion and intensity about her characters and the story itself, that it became clear that this was a reality to her. She was connected to her book; the setting, characters, plot. I was immersed in the story, finding myself complaining when she decided to stop. I never thought of writing to be a fun career choice; nevertheless, after attending this reason I realized that even though writing can be a struggle, it can be rewarding in the end.

During her Q&A session after I learned about the techniques and steps she goes through to write her novels, which I can now try when I write. Dialogue and the story itself is better read out loud and it's okay if I need to cut pieces out, as long as it helps my final product. Tayari Jones really showed me what it's like to be a part of what you've written and I must say that I am now so glad that I went.

She Has The Magic Touch

I stared off in disbelief. How could this be over, I asked myself, this can't be the end. But alas, it was. While my mind was busy turning over and over, running one hundred miles a minute, I tried to remember how I ever let this happen in the first place. Droplets of water fell onto the palm of my hand and I realized that tears were gently sliding down my rosy cheeks. Why did this affect me so much? Why am I losing control? And then it hit me. I won't ever be able to cast a spell again. I will never again be able to experience the thrill I got from dueling wizards or the pride I felt from taking down a mountain troll. I can never again fly away on a dragon, compete in a treacherous, thrilling competition, win the house cup, defeat the basilisk in the chamber, become a fugitive, meet some interesting people, make lifelong friends, and save the world. What am I going to do, how will I survive? I knew I was being over-dramatic, but I didn't care. I was lost in my own world, in an endless sea of emotions. I didn't know what to feel, I didn't know what to say, I didn't know what to do. I was lost.

"Kris, are you okay," my mother asked me, "you look baffled." She came across me lounging on the swing out back, staring off into space. I just looked at her, my heart filled with grief, and simply replied, "It's over." She looked down at me and smiled. "I know sweetie, but it's not the end of the world. Come on up I made your favorite for dinner." And just like that she left. I sat there for a moment and though about what she said. Yeah, I told myself, she is right. The world is not going to end, just this world for me. I quickly wiped the tears that stained my face and stood up. I knew that even though I felt lost now, I'll feel better again soon. Every ending has a new beginning and I was ready to take it on. I said goodbye to my fantasy world, the world I've known and loved forever, and made my way to the kitchen. Before I sat down to devour my meal, I silently thanked J.K Rowling for creating  Harry Potter and the magical world that she allowed me to live in.

March For A Change

"Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound..."


Voices echoed all around: high-pitched, low-pitched, off-key, with the beat. The soft hum of everyone singing sent a chill through the air. It was a dark night, with the temperature inching its way closer and closer to the below freezing mark. Yet, still they marched. The sound of dead leaves crunched under their feet, while the wind whispered gently into their ears. As the girl took a slight glance at her fellow marchers, she saw that not only were there students with her, but matured adults and young children also joined in. The candles they held lit up their faces, presenting a bit of mystery and eeriness to the scene. They were all marching for different reasons, each as diverse as every individual there.

"You can't separate peace from freedom because no one can be at peace unless he has freedom."


These words, along with others, shone brightly on signs and posters. The girl felt a burning sense of pride as she read them. She was marching for a purpose; she was marching for a change; she was marching for MLK. As they followed a path through the campus, others watched them in awe.  While the crowd made stops to recite and immense themselves of the words of Martin Luther King Jr. and Malcolm X, a sense of purpose grew. While everyone was marching for a different reason, they all had the same goal: to start a movement, to be heard, to come together, to spread peace, to be an influence, and to honor Martin Luther King Jr.


http://www.collegian.psu.edu/archive/2012/01/18/MLK_peace_march_.aspx

The Pink Polka Dotted Nightgown

From early childhood to my grandmother's death in eighth grade, my pink polka dotted nightgown has stayed by my side.

It is light pink with white polka dots. Ruffles lay gently across my shoulders, while more dance along the ground. When I was younger it was over-sized, swallowing my small frame in its countless miles of material. Now, however, it can barely fit around my torso. Even though it is more of a summery nightgown, I wear it on the coldest of winter nights. There are a few small holes at the bottom of my gown, as well as one huge one that gives the impression that I either went through battle in it or that something dramatic had to have happened. Whatever the case may be, I love this nightgown anyways. There is a small tear by the collar that grew each time I wore it, indirectly telling me that I wasn't a little girl anymore, and that I was indeed growing up. After it became impossible to wear, I still kept it. I couldn't dare throw it in the trash, not yet anyway. This nightgown has grown up with me and has left an impact on my life that I never thought to be possible by a piece of clothing.

It came to me as a gift from my mother. She loved to dress me up when I was younger; she placed bows in my hair and put me in frilly dresses. As the years went on, though, I become more involved in sports and became "one of the guys". I was about seven when she gave me this gown, and I feel that it was her way of trying to keep that bit of girlishness in me. I loved it the minute I saw it. I was light pink, the color of flushed cheeks, which happened to be my favorite color at the time. I wore it always. Even when I got to old too wear it, I did anyways. I had this special connection with this nightgown; it has been with me through the good times and the bad. 

I grew up having to wear a back brace: twenty hours a day for seven years. I couldn't wear what I wanted. I had to always wear baggy clothes; sweats, jeans two sizes bigger, over-sized shirts, and hoodies. My brace was always restricting me in some shape or form and I don't think most people knew how limited I felt. I never felt pretty in my brace, which leads to some self conscious issues I have today. However, whenever I put on my nightgown all that changed. My gown stretched around my brace but didn't hug my body too tight where the brace became visible. It was hidden perfectly, like a chest of buried treasure. I felt like a princess in that dress, I felt pretty. I would just stare at myself in the mirror and imagine myself as this beautiful girl that everyone admired. My nightgown made me feel better about myself and at the end of the day made me feel like the princess I knew I always was.

I was a frequent visitor at my grandmom's house, and so was my polka dotted nightgown. Most of the times I slept over I was always wearing it. Together we would play board games, watch movies, and have a late night snack; my grandmother, my siblings, and I in my nightgown. The holes that developed at the bottom of the gown were from wrestling with my brother and sister, while the bigger hole was formed from it getting caught in the railing as I ran up the stairs. The holes grew and grew as my foot kept awkwardly stepping through them, ripping the weak material even more. As years went on, I didn't sleep at my grandmother's as much; nevertheless, whenever I looked at my pink polka dotted nightgown my mind instantly flashes to the times I spent there and I relive the moments all over again.

In eighth grade my grandmother unexpectedly passed away. It became one of the hardest times of my life. At night I would hold my nightgown close and remember the good times I spent with her, instead of how difficult it was to lose her. I even tried my nightgown back on and slept in it the day I found out she died, although after an uncomfortable night's sleep I just held onto it instead. Losing my grandmom was much harder than I could have ever imagined, but I believe that having my nightgown and reminding me of the memories we shared helped me through it.

My pink polka dotted nightgown is much more than a piece of clothing. It is a lifesaver, a safe place, a friend. Even though I don't have it anymore, I will always remember the impact it left on my life and how it has helped me grow as a person.