This Isn’t The End

I didn’t expect that on my first day of high school I would ever find solace in all the chaos of competitiveness, of great expectations, and of surviving the college admissions game. Nor did I expect to sit in the wrong class for an hour, dazed and confused, before realizing that I had read the wrinkled schedule printout in my hand wrong. I remember thinking to myself in that moment, “How will I ever survive the next four years?”

Yet here I am, still dazed and confused — but not lost. These hallways, the same ones that kept me from arriving to the correct class as a freshman, slowly but surely (and without me noticing) became my home away from home.

I jumped into journalism not knowing that I would discover my niche in the world. Writing became my safe haven, my go-to when life got difficult. I threw myself into my hopes and dreams, believing wholeheartedly in my potential, in the possibility that someday I would become someone that my freshman self would have been proud of.

When I became the Harbinger’s Managing Editor, I didn’t realize how far I had come until, in the blink of an eye, it was time to pass on the torch. I started off as shy, reserved, and unsure. I’m still all of these things, and perhaps rougher on the edges, but with more certainty of who I am, what I stand for, and what I want out of life.

Nonetheless, it has been an amazing experience witnessing this year’s young staff writers, with the same excitement and uncertainty I first had, take a hold of the challenges the pink room had to offer. In no time, they made the newspaper their own, becoming seasoned writers, photographers, and reporters. I know that while I’m adjusting to life after Cambridge, the Harbinger will continue to educate, inform, and empower young minds.  

With that being said, the most valuable thing I’ve learned from my time here is that life is too short to dwell on the future or the past. I learned how to live in the present, to enjoy and appreciate all of life’s firsts: My first drive, my first music festival, my first near-death experience with friends (I swear it was funny).

Despite the stress of all the newspaper deadlines, the pressure of continuing its legacy, and my desire to leave an imprint of my own, I managed to enjoy the moments that made the stress of senior year worthwhile — Getting lost in my fits of laughter with close friends, basking in the sun during lunch, having philosophical conversations under the courtyard palm trees.

I will miss these moments, but I refuse to be sad.

In the span of four years, I’ve had moments of triumph, of bliss, and excitement as well as moments that made me question every decision I’ve ever made. Though I didn’t expect it, these hallways became the backdrop of my coming of age story, complete with a beginning and middle, but not an end.  

Okeechobee Music & Arts Festival Media Coverage

From March 3 to 5, I was granted the opportunity of attending Okeechobee Music & Arts Festival as a reporter for the Miami Herald. I wrote two pieces on the event, each with their own set of photographs. The first is very news-oriented while the second is a personal account…. Next up? Miami Ultra Music Festival! 

Source: Young fans travel from all directions to enjoy Okeechobee Music & Art Festival | Miami Herald

Source: Okeechobee Fest 2017: I’ll Be Back – OUTLOUD Multimedia

Why I Write

There is nothing that keeps me awake at night more than words. Because of them, I toss and turn ceaselessly, hoping not to disturb my mom as she snores softly beside me. I try to stop the words from flashing through my mind as they build phrases then sentences then paragraphs until, finally, I give in. The words don’t stop unless they become something I can’t wait to put on paper.

“I’ll write this in my next article,” I think to myself. “Maybe, just maybe, I can make a difference.”

And that’s what I can do with words. Every day I walk into my journalism class, though I am exhausted by the strings of words that kept me awake the night before, I choose to use them for good. Some people find freedom speeding down the highway at midnight, but I find freedom in my writing. What I cannot say, I know I can write. I use that freedom not only to express my innermost thoughts but to try and move the people in my community to make a difference in their lives and in the lives of others.

Whether I’m writing about teenage homelessness in South Florida or the endless bloodshed in Syria, I find great satisfaction in keeping the students of my school and the local community educated about issues going on in the world. Creating conversation excites me. It moves me to write even more, seeking to find local stories in the globality of my writing and, vice versa, scavenging ways to make my local stories more global.

I spend most nights sitting in front of my computer screen, fussing over comma splices and fragmented sentences because I want my message to come across eloquently; I work hard so that my readers can indulge sentence after sentence without interruption as I immerse them across seas and into the battlefields where the greatest violations of human rights occur. Then I shift them back into reality, showing them that there is something that can be done, something that they, themselves, can do.

And so, as my mom sleeps quietly beside me, I rise from our bed and pick up my laptop. I sit in the bathtub so that the click-clack of the keys do not wake her and I turn down the harsh glare of the brightness to a soft glow. I allow my thoughts to take hold of my fingers and I type away into the night where the world unfolds before me, beckoning to be put in words.

From the Editors: You Can Count on Us

By Edysmar Diaz-Cruz & Daniela Morales

screen-shot-2016-10-14-at-9-10-50-pmAs editors of Miami Lakes Educational Center’s student paper, the Harbinger, we pride ourselves in leading a newsroom comprised of young minds, young talent, and young voices. We may be high schoolers, but we know what it takes to publish authentic news when the student body needs to hear it most. We share the stories that take place within our school, we analyze the politics in our local community, and we are well aware of the struggles facing journalists of the future.

Continue reading “From the Editors: You Can Count on Us”

The Old Man and the Sea

 

The following is a thematic essay I wrote for my AP English Literature class. For our winter break assignment we were given several options to read and I chose The Old Man and the Sea: 

In Ernest Hemingway’s short novel, the Old Man and the Sea, the main character, Santiago, is an elderly Cuban fisherman who has become salao, the worst form of unlucky. Having gone 84 days without catching fish, he set out into sea farther than ever before to prove that, despite his age, he still has what it takes to be a great fisherman. He seeks to reclaim his former title of El Campeón, a token of his long gone youth. In doing so, he endures a journey of survival ridden by great physical suffering and isolation.

In order to highlight the severity of the old man’s struggle, Hemingway uses the universal archetype of a hero in pain and suffering, Jesus Christ. The image of the old man trudging uphill with his mast across his shoulders and the way in which he falls onto bed later in the story face down, arms out and the palms of his hands up — juxtaposes with the crucifixion of Jesus Christ. In addition to his hand injuries, which are similar to Christ’s stigmata, the old man wore a straw hat in the novel: “He had pushed [it] hard down on his head before he hooked the fish and it was cutting his forehead,” an image similar to that of Jesus Christ wearing the painful woven crown of thorns.

If that’s not enough for the reader to draw parallels, Hemingway blatantly makes the connections for them: “‘Ay,’ [the old man] said aloud. There is no translation for this word and perhaps it is just a noise such a man might make, involuntarily, feeling the nail go through his hands and into wood,” he writes. Perhaps, Hemingway uses this parallel to draw sympathy for the old man whose struggle to prove his self worth as a fisherman is one that readers can relate to.  

Ultimately, the old man endures his suffering alone. In his pursuit of catching the biggest fish, he finds himself in complete isolation. He is forced to seek companionship with la mar, the sea in which he regards as a feminine entity: “The old man always thought of  [the sea] as something that gave or withheld great favours, and if she did wild or wicked things it was because she could not help them. The moon affects her as it does a woman, he thought.” The old man’s relationship with the sea and all that comes with it perhaps reminds him of his deceased wife, who is but a memory from his youth  another reason for him to prove that his golden days are indeed not over.

The sea ultimately gives the old man what he has been searching for, his greatest opponent of equal nobility and strength, an eighteen-foot Marlin. For three days, the old man battles the creature, the fishing line connecting the two as if by kinship. As the Marlin drags the boat further away into the sea, the old man finds himself searching for every ounce of strength he has left in his frail, elderly body. Throughout his struggle, one that has been established of great suffering, the old man begins to admire the Marlin and the beauty of the natural world. Somehow, he feels related to the Marlin. He says, “There are three things that are brothers: the  fish and my two hands.” He acknowledges that the Marlin is suffering as much as he. They are one and the same.

Bringing home the Marlin would be the ultimate trophy, a testament to his skills. The sharks, however, destroy what was supposed to be his moment. As the old man battles with the seas’ creatures again, he loses the Marlin. Ultimately he brings home a carcass, which pains him greatly. He feels as if he lost a part of himself. Yet, when he arrives to the shores of La Havana, the fisherman and the boy, look up to him more so than ever before. The words he had uttered whilst he was suffering alone at sea A man can be destroyed but not defeated” — ring true as he arrives defeated by nature, but not broken. Risen from the waters after several days and as if by baptism, he arrives as a new man, a man whose talents transcends age, a man who finally understands that there is as much honor in defeat than as victory.

FootNote: The purpose of sharing this essay is to help students, like myself, either draw inspiration or to help them come to their own conclusions about the short novel. Plagiarism is for losers, so don’t do it.