Alfred Nakache

74D6F184-3347-4D27-969A-A9CF9D05C5B7Although facing hardships is something everyone can relate to, everyone deals with them in extremely unique ways. Lives are shaped depending on whether people fight to hold onto hope or whether they let it slip through their fingers. Throughout the course of history, the human race has demonstrated an outstanding ability to overcome adversity in even the most despairing situations. Alfred Nakache is a prime example of how strong faith and the human will can be. He started off as a Jewish swimmer, but turned into someone representing much more.

Nakache was an Olympic athlete that competed in the 1936 Berlin Olympic Games and the 1946 London Olympics. It was what took place in those 10 years that makes Nakache’s story unforgettable. He faced traumas one right after the other. In 1941, after beating a German opponent, he was no longer allowed to compete at the national level. Journalists claimed that because he was Jewish he should not be able to compete or hold any records. Then, in 1944, Nakache, his wife, and his 2 years old daughter were deported to Auschwitz. Once they arrived, his wife and daughter were murdered. He spent the next year being tortured until his release in 1945. 

Despite having become mentally and physically destroyed, Nakache did not give up hope for a better life. He pushed himself to bring training again and was soon part of a world-record setting swim team. He accomplished setting the world record less than a year after being released and also later participated in the 1946 Olympics. He survived what is perhaps the greatest tragedy in history; it is almost impossible to fathom that someone experienced so much pain and then had the strength to overcome it. His life story is full of sorrow, yet it does not fail to inspire. Alfred Nakache serves as a reminder to never give up and to hold on tightly to hope, for you can’t survive life without doing so.

The Ultimate Holiday Tree Debate

For those obsessed with the holiday season and Christmas in particular, there is an age old debate surrounding real versus fake Christmas trees that comes about annually. There seem to be ride or die believers on both sides of the argument, but in realistic terms, the best tree option has to be fake.

To start, fake Christmas trees are cost effective. Instead of spending money on a new real tree each year, families could instead purchase one fake tree and re-use it for multiple years. If the average family spends fifty dollars on their Christmas tree annually, over the course of just five years, 250 dollars could be saved. This is especially important during the holidays, when expenses are high and funds tend to be tight.

Additionally, making the decision to purchase a fake Christmas tree has the potential to be a much faster process, than a traditional real tree. After the initial purchase of the fake tree, individuals no longer need to make a trip out of their home, drive to a location, choose a tree, etc., in order to have the ideal living room center piece. The tree would already be stored away somewhere in the person’s home. If a family really wants to save on time and can get creative, they can even keep the tree pre-decorated and stored up-right, so preparing the tree the following year could be done in as little as ten minutes.

Finally, fake trees ensure cleanliness. There are no live pine needles quickly dying and dropping all over the floor. Nothing to sweep up or clean up after, during the delivery or removal process, which tend to get excessively messy each year.

Though traditionalists may argue otherwise, it is obvious that fake Christmas trees are recognizably superior to real Christmas trees. At the end of the day, they are cost effective, quick and easy to put up, and extremely clean. Fake Christmas trees have all the glory without the hassle. This is a winning situation that allows the feeling of the holiday and the aesthetic of a real tree to enter someone’s home, without creating a hassle. Fake Christmas trees are undoubtedly number one.

close up of christmas tree
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An Epidemic

Suicude on Native American reservations is a serious epidemic that often goes unknown by the outside world. Recently, I have lost a love one to suicude by a drug overdose. I didn’t really talk about it because I didn’t know how to feel about it but now I’ve realized that sucide needs to be talked about, specifically within Native American communities.

My people are suffering from generational pain and are using drugs to numb their pain. Sucide is contagious and spreads rapidly throughout communities. Although there is this whirlpool of disfunction within Native Communities there is our culture that keeps us alive. Our language and traditions are the base of our community which keeps us together throughout these hard times. Suicude should not be ignored and the only way to heal is to talk about these issues and spread awareness.

The rest of America could benefit from learning about the real struggles of Native Americans in today society who are still suffering from the events of the past. The only way to move forward and to create a better relationship with the aboriginals of this country is to properly educate our communities and accept American history as it is. In accepting American history is to realize and accept the fact that this country was built apon the backs of immigrants and slaves and the cultural genocide of Native Americans.

In all honesty the American people hasn’t even come close to realizing our country’s real history, but thats why people like me need to speak up. The ignorance within American society is real, and within our school systems. Our communities are still celebrating Columbus day and families read there children books of the first thanksgiving. While real Native Americans are struggling on reservations to stay alive and struggling from the sucide epidemic that spreads like wild fire through native communities and even to our children who are getting caught up in the harsh reality that we live in. The best way to stop this ignorance is to educate and speak up about these issues and not keep quiet. I am an advocate for my community and my culture.

Liliana Sapiel

A Conundrum

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Death, despite being as much of a common part of life as going to the grocery store, is such an incredibly daunting thing. It is a spectacle that many fear and that some feel utterly nonchalant about. It seems to be the unknown factor that is the most terrifying thing about dying. No one knows what happens to us after we die, except for those who have already passed (but they aren’t much help, are they?). The thought of complete nothingness, the simple act of ceasing to exist, is something we as people cannot quite comprehend. It seems to be one of the greatest commonalities among the human population to fear things that we cannot quite wrap our brains around. When we know everything about something, there is not really anything to be uneasy about. We know the outcomes, the facets, the ups and downs.

Many religions, as I see it anyway, are not only meant to give people structure and purpose in their life but also give them a concrete thing to look forward to once theirs has come to an end. Not everyone chooses to have faith as a part of their life, and it is those individuals who are simply left on their own to hypothesize about what may come at the end (if they so please).

The fear of death seems an almost unnatural one, really. It is something happens to everyone, no matter who we may be. But there’s such anxiety that circulates around the whole idea, and I believe that mainly comes from our inability to imagine anything that is not being alive, that is not experiencing the present that we are in at this moment. We cannot understand that someday we will not have thoughts, we will not cry, we will not sing, we will not be.

To Remember and To Grow

Possibly the best feeling in the world is that of pride in your heritage, in your roots and family. Talking on end about my family history and traditions gives me an elated feeling in my chest, knowing that the culture is unique and beautiful and a part of me. Every family history assignment in school sends me spinning into a complex web of ancestry, DNA, language and culture.

But, as much as I love this, I cannot ignore the darker and less prideful events my family was a part of.

Personally, I find my dad’s side of the family a bit more intriguing and unique, but both have rich and interesting histories. My mother’s family has a history in the Deep South that undoubtedly involves the transatlantic slave trade and more horrors fueled by hatred. By forgetting these events, by omitting such a crucial part of the Tindell’s past, one imposes disrespect and injustice on those whose lives were altered or tread upon by said events. To disregard a past atrocity is to allow the repetition of such. To disregard is to disrespect.

However, though I feel a special sense of connection to the Montoya family, the shadows of the past are always present. Much of my family, for instance, expresses prejudice against the Mexican people who share their streets and their towns. As a culture that takes great pride in their identity of Hispanic-but-not-quite-Latino Americans, they view Mexicans as inferior and not fitting the mold set for their identity, and, consequently, their home. This is especially ironic when one considers that the Montoya’s only arrived in Santa Fe by an expedition through Mexico spanning many decades. Santa Fe culture resembles Mexican culture far more than Spanish traditions.

So, the shadows are always present. What changes is how one chooses to address such shadows. My suggestion? Call them to the light.

12 dozen cookies

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This past weekend, my family and I started our traditional  Christmas cookie production. Each year we make between 20 and 30 dozen cookies of all different types, over the span of the two weeks before Christmas.

This past weekend was the first weekend to start it off which meant we needed to make at least 12 dozen cookies. We decided to start with our pumpkin and white chocolate cookies topped with cream cheese frosting, which is one of our favorites. The recipe makes 10 dozen cookies but, the dough takes a bit to make and it has to chill in the fridge before being put on the cookie sheets or it will be too sticky.

We made the dough and it chilled but we ran into our first problem; the dough did not chill correctly, so it was much stickier than usual. We started the line of 8 minutes on the top rack and 8 minutes in the bottom rack, letting them cool on the cooling racks, and the two frosting helpers who frosted the cookies after they had cooled down. This process lasts for a couple hours until we’ve started the next type of cookie.

We got a late start on our cookies so we were still baking and frosting cookies at 11:30 pm. We still had two other types of cookies to make so we were in a panic mode at that point. We called it quits around midnight, but this year was still a successful start to my favorite tradition with my family.

Stress

I find it ironic how the people that tell you to stop stressing out the most, in turn, cause you to stress out the most.

My parents. I know for a fact that their intentions are always good. They always tell me that I need to stress less and calm down. Cut to them frantically saying, “holy crap Nicole it’s 4:30 the bus leaves at 4:45 you’re gonna miss it!” when it was actually closer to 4:20 and it only takes me ten minutes to get to TA where the bus was waiting. Or when they say “careful Nicole there are deer out in the roads you might hit one” or “the cops are out watch your speed they’re looking to stop you” every time I leave the house. May seem like friendly reminders. In reality, I’m already aware of the dangers of driving and the constant reminder that they exist just makes driving anxiety worse. Don’t stress though.

My teachers. One of my teachers started off the year saying that all homework assignments were due at the end of each chapter on the day of the test to ease stress. Cut to him unexpectedly going around grading the second assignment of the chapter, putting in F’s for more than half the class because no one did it, as expected, because we were told it wasn’t due, and assigning another set of problems on top to get credit. Don’t stress though. Another, assured us that her class would be a judgement free zone and to not stress over our ability because we are still learning. Cut to her blatantly telling me I was smarter than she had previously thought because I understood a “more complex” question that she has asked me. Nice one. Now I think my teacher has little faith in my ability. Don’t stress though.

The Spirit of Christmas

As we approach the holiday season, many are starting to make their journeys back home to their loved ones. Whether this be to the living room, the next town or to another country for many this is an important time of the year, not only to count our blessings and to spend time with family and friends, but to also reflect on the past and look to the future. However, is the spirit of Christmas supposed to be seen only at a time when there is a tree in the living room or lights in the windows?

Although this general spirit of Christmas is seen across the globe many different cultures celebrate it in their own way. For example, in England the holiday lasts for 12 days, while in other countries the holiday is designated to a single day. But should we confine this cheerful spirit of giving and celebration to one day or month a year?

I think not. In one of the most prosperous and leading contries on the planet we have so much to be grateful for. While this year we will wake up to scrumptious food and presents many will just be grateful for waking up alive. The actions we take throughout the year should be those that reflect giving, thankfulness and celebration. You cannot only brighten your own life by doing this, but also brighten and touch the lives of others. It is surprising how one simple, little act of kindness can impact a person or a family.

So as you sit down at the table on December the 25th of this year, and look around you at the beautiful people that fill your life, I encourage you to think how full life would be if you felt like this everyday. In the end, we should not be asking why share the Christmas spirit all the time, but why not?IMG_0331

The Mold

She does not fit The Mold.

It squeezes her waist, pinching her stomach. Her arms are carved. The support of her thighs crumbles under her weight. The jawline is cut from her neck. The lip spreads into a circle, the cheeks fade into nothing, and the nose is cut away. Bones emerge from the skin; ribs, collarbones, and the pelvis rise to the surface. When The Mold has completed its work, it slithers back into her head. The vision fades, and the girl sees her usual softness in the reflection of the mirror.

She tries to forget The Mold and walks to the closet. She picks an outfit for the day, careful not to choose clothing that is too tight.

Once she is in the bathroom, the girl brushes her hair. Loosened strands fall from her head into the clogged sink.

The Mold constructs another image; the hair starts to wave. It glistens and shines like copper, swaying in the sunlight. The hair covers the girl’s back as it curls to the floor. She groans, shaking away the vision.

The girl leans into the vanity, examining the details of her face. Two eyes that are not her own gaze back at her. Eyelashes brush against the surface of the glass. Eyebrows rise and set perfectly above them, not a single hair placed outside of a uniform shape. Her eyes are bright, eluding to rest and energy. Skin rests on her face like a sheet of plastic; not a single pore is visible, and there is no color besides the flush of her cheeks.

The girl splashes water on her face, drowning out the image. She completes her daily routine, founded apon basic acts of hygiene such as brushing her teeth and washing her face. Before leaving for the day, she decides to look into the mirror one last time.

Her stomach curves. Her arms gently press against the sides of her torso. The support of her thighs is provided by layers cushioned tissue. The jawline slopes into her neck. The lip spreads into thin muscle, the cheeks convex, and the nose points outward. Bones are hidden beneath skin; ribs, collarbone, and pelvis are replaced with hills. Her flat hair limply rests on her shoulders. A few red spots peek out of her face.

She knows she does not fit The Mold. She leaves her house, intentionally skipping breakfast.

OxyContin and The Beginning of America’s Opioid Epidemic

Under the nose of a proud nation, a crisis just as deadly as the HIV/AIDS epidemic has been quietly but violently progressing for more than two decades. In 2015, 52,404 Americans died from a drug overdose. That number is higher than the number of deaths at the peak of the U.S. HIV/AIDS epidemic in 1995, which amounted to 43,115 deaths. Although the high death rates from overdoses did not appear overnight, the opioid epidemic, which began in 1995, contributed largely to the rapidly increasing drug crisis in the United States.

      The roots of the U.S.’s opioid epidemic lay with Perdue Pharma, the pharmaceutical company that first produced OxyContin as a prescription painkiller. Modified from oxycodone, OxyContin was a pill advertised as having the same painkilling effects as other opioids, while being a less addictive and safer alternative. The U.S. FDA (Food and Drug Administration) failed to investigate these claims, therefore approving the drug for the market. Doctors prescribe OxyContin heavily, and people begin to become addicted. It wasn’t until 2007 (12 years later) that the government formally filed charges against Perdue Pharma for stating false claims about OxyContin. In reality, it was just as addictive as other opioids. The company executives were charged a fee and ultimately served no time in prison. However, by then, it was too late for millions of Americans who  were already addicted.

    Unfortunately, OxyContin was just the beginning of America’s opioid epidemic. Users who could no longer afford the pills turned to heroin and other cheaper alternatives that offered the same effects as oxycodone. Heroin, however, was much more dangerous than OxyContin. As a result, addicted Americans fell deeper into the cycle of addiction, overdoses began to occur more frequently, and, subsequently, the United States was ushered into one of its deadliest epidemics in recent history.

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