InLight Spring 2019

The Home Edition

"In the light of faith, you see things quite differently"

- St. John Baptist De la Salle

Cover art by Bella Davila

Mission Statement

InLight is a student-led platform created to spark conversations, breathe nuance into the Biased, and uplift voices that would otherwise go unheard. In the spirit of St. John baptist de la salle, InLight aims to serve our community by giving everyone a voice, no matter their background. We hope To unite our diverse DMV community through our common home: st. john's.

Letter from the Editors

It has been a year of firsts for St. John's with InLight being its first diversity publication and the Student Identity Alliance (SIA) being its first LGBTQ student resource. Beginning in the summer going into the 2018-19 school year, we FOUND OUT ABOUT a DIVERSITY PUBLICATION, Inlight, EXISTING IN MANY DMV SCHOOLS AND WE WANTED TO JOIN THE MOVEMENT. So we brought InLight to St. John's. We noticed that sjc's diversity issue had nothing to do with the demographics of our school - we are proudly one of the most diverse schools in the area. rATHER, OUR DIVERSITY ISSUE HAD TO DO WITH THE LACK OF CONVERSATIONS. So we began to ask ourselves, what if our community spoke?The thought brought goosebumps down our spines because the idea was so powerful. We all have unique, nuanced stories that are never black and white. What could it do for our community if we began to utilize the virtue of courage and embrace vulnerability for the sake of sharing our own, personal truth? tHE UNIVERSAL SENTIMENTS OF OUR STORIES: ISOLATION, PRIDE, frustration, joy, connects us in a special way. despite our external differences, it reveals our internal similarity. We are reminded of our common humanity. aFTER PUBLISHING OUR FIRST ISSUE: THE EDITORS EDITION, WE RECEIVED MESSAGES AND FEEDBACK FROM STUDENTS THAT AFFIRMED WHY THIS MAGAZINE IS NEEDED. students felt heard and seen. their voices mattered. OUR HOPE IS THAT Inlight will serve our community as a medium that embraces truths and strips down stereotypes. WE ARE EXCITED TO SEE HOW INLIGHT CHANGES AND EVOLVES AT SJC. and While these efforts are student-run they would not have been possible this year without the consistent help and guidance of Ms. Gelso, a 2019 recipient of the beacon of light award. wE BELIEVE IN THE POWER OF SOCIAL CHANGE, YOUTH AND PROGRESS. speak your truth or risk someone else telling it for you. with dignity and courage, always, it is up to you now TO Pave the way.

Liam and Liana, editors in chief

A Warm Home

Rylee Saunders Jackson

A bowl of ramen with crabs and clams to remind myself of where I grew up and of the best memories I have there. Crabs represent my time in Washington, DC and my time in high school, clams represent Boston and my time as a small child, and the ramen as a whole represents how long I lived in Japan and how it impacts how I view everywhere else I have lived.

Bits and Pieces

Cristina Racanelli

Often times I don’t feel like I’m Hispanic enough. I feel this way because you wouldn’t know that I’m Hispanic just by looking at me, my Spanish isn’t perfect, and I also grow up in a multicultural household. My mom is Salvadoran while my dad is white, Italian-American.

When I was younger this was something that I noticed occasionally. When I would spend time with my Hispanic family I sometimes felt like an outsider because I’m the only one of my cousins who doesn’t have two Latino parents. When I visit my American family I can’t completely relate to my cousins because I am being raised by a Hispanic woman and that in some ways I am being raised differently than they are. As I’ve gotten older I’ve become much more aware of the fact that my immediate family mixes our two cultures together. While I think my American culture is more dominant, we find ways to incorporate our Hispanic heritage into our daily life, we try to talk in Spanish as much as we can, we eat plenty of tortillas con queso y frijoles and whenever there’s salsa music playing I can always find my mom dancing to it when she thinks no one is watching.

"Maybe that’s what makes us American, pulling bits and pieces from the cultures of the people around us and make them present in our own lives."

Even though it is annoying sometimes for me to have parents who are from completely different ethnic backgrounds, I am extremely grateful for it. I’ve learned from my parents that the differences in culture, language, race, religion, and beliefs shouldn’t be something that prevents me from getting closer to others but should help me to learn more about them. It’s through my parents that I have learned to be curious and open to different customs and cultures. They have been so open to learning about each other and the ways that they grew up that I’ve been blessed enough to live in a household where there is always an openness to other cultures.

I think that trying to be more Hispanic in an American environment will be something that I will struggle with for the rest of my life, but somewhere along the way I realized that my story really isn’t that unique and that millions of teens all around the country live in multicultural homes and deal with the exact same things I do. Maybe that’s what makes us American, pulling bits and pieces from the cultures of the people around us and make them present in our own lives.

The Crossroads between Religion and Home in Millennials

Sam Angevine

Religion has continually impacted almost every aspect of the human condition. Initially conceived as a means of answering seemingly unanswerable fundamental questions, religion has long provided humanity with a solid foundation upon which our beliefs firmly stand. What many fail to realize, though, is that religion is not always necessarily what we believe. It is far too often what we are taught to believe. Religion provides us with a sense of home no matter where we travel, but it is oftentimes forced upon us at our actual home.

Many children are baptized as an infant because their parents believe that it is the right thing to do. Growing up, many attend weekly CCD classes and mass afterward. They are taught to believe in the holy trinity, Jesus’ resurrection, and God’s love. Religion for many isn’t a choice of belief, it’s forced. Religion is meant to provide a sense of home, a sense of security when hope in all else is lost. How, though, can religion provide a sense of safeness and security when it has become a decision that others make for us?

The Homes we Hold on to and the Homes we Create

Liam de Beaufort

Elementary school felt like an 80’s small town movie.

I lived close to school. My friend Angela and I met on the corner of Sedgwick and University Ave. to walk to Horace Mann Elementary together. I knew my friends since I could remember. We learned our ABCs and the Birds and the Bees in the same building. And We all lived near each other, we frequented the same spots. Starbucks after school always meant Starbucks on New Mexico Ave.

Our playground alliances and betrayals, romance and heartbreaks had context - our actions were interwoven in a history that was everything. Because we were everything. There was only one Liam. Only one Charlotte. Only one Beau. We filled the gaps of each other’s stories. No matter how different, we were part of each other’s identity. Life was simple. It made sense.

This is the story I told myself.

By fifth grade it had not yet dawned on me the monumental shift that would be middle school. Conversations began to change – the issues discussed had implications beyond what I understood at the time. I heard talk about SSATs and applications from my friends. Acronyms for private schools I never heard of began to generate competition, hopefulness, entitlement, and in my case, vulnerability. Horace Mann was a feeder school for bougie independent schools and reputable charter schools. By spring, hard work, connections, and expensive SSAT tutoring payed off and my classmates were getting accepted into their new homes.

In hindsight, it made sense where my friends attended. The wealthiest and most privileged ended up in exclusive independent schools. Many of those who wished to continue with a quality, free education attended a rigorous new charter school that opened the following year (most chose this option). A few attended actual public school. And I attended a small Catholic school, a place beyond the borders of my world.

St. Bart’s felt like a mistake. And to be honest it probably was, but mistakes have a purpose. As I imagined my friends taking on middle school together, I arrived to St. Bart’s feeling like I had been dropped from the surface of the earth to planet Jesus. I felt uncomfortable wearing the new Flynn and O’Hara uniform that I would one day get used to. My classmates had attended the school since Pre-k. I was joining someone else’s everything. With twenty kids in my grade, the idiosyncrasies of their inside jokes and shared memories alienated and intimidated me. I did not understand the dynamics of their group hierarchies or interests. To survive, I had to adapt.

Left: "eyes" by Bella Davila

I was still friends with a couple Horace Mann people but everyone seemed to be engrossed in their new worlds. I couldn’t help but feel like everyone else moved forward as I stayed behind – stuck somewhere between two worlds, not able to fully immerse myself in either. At St. Bart’s I wasn’t known for anything in particular – I was average. All the shifts in my life caused me to lose my sense of identity. So, I let my surroundings define me – I would just go through the motions.

But I was not only struggling to feel at home within my new community, I was struggling to feel at home within myself. Puberty hits like an indecisive ocean current – some waves are fine, and some waves are so strong that they are capable of dragging you to the depths of your mind. The unfamiliar began to plague my mind. The sudden urge to fit in gave way to a social anxiety that fed toxic insecurities. And with that, the mix of a new school and puberty created the perfect concoction for the beginning of an identity crisis that would continue through high school.

Just like fifth grade, there would be another diaspora. This shift was welcomed – my time with my peers was short and I never fully allowed myself to become one of them. This time I had more of a say in the matter. I chose St. John’s.

"I learned that my identity was not a matter of finding myself, but creating myself. only then could i find my home."

Bordered by Rock Creek Park, St. John’s was the combination of my two worlds. While it was still Catholic (meaning uniforms, prayers, and mass), it had some meaningful distinctions. For one, it was located in Washington D.C., which was important because my time in Montgomery County had caused me to become a full out dc champion. For another, the community was actually diverse – the individuals came from all over the DC area. Attending SJC was a culture shock.

At SJC I found myself, on my own terms. I learned that my identity was not a matter of finding myself, but creating myself. Only then could I find my Home. I joined a sports team that became an integral part of my life – a source of pride, comradery, and passion. I chose authenticity over comfort: I was unapologetically gay, Latino, and proud. By getting involved with school clubs and organizations, I was able to interact the diverse faces of the SJC community and slowly strip down the stereotypes I once had. I found my tribe, I belonged.

SJC became a physical home as well. In my most emotional moments, such as my dog’s passing or the last day of XC practice, I sat on the red benches on top of Quinn field and stared at the views of Rock Creek Park. As a runner, Rock Creek was my playground afterschool – countless memories were made during runs with my teammates. In a way, my new home: the identity I created for myself, the relationships I forged, were similar to my afterschool runs. I ran into Rock Creek, not knowing what to fully expect – rocky terrain, nagging injuries – but emerged certain of one thing: myself and my place in the world.

In poetic fashion, my journey came full circle towards the end of senior year with a Horace Mann reunion. I was nervous and excited for this reunion because I was returning to my original world. I felt a profound link with these individuals – they shared my everything once. I attended the reunion with one of my oldest friends, Christina. I was a whole person and I wanted my old friends to see that I was just like them. I was ready to feel at home again.

In reality, we left barely an hour later. The contrast between our present selves and our past selves was the closure I never knew I needed. I realized that in an effort to have something to hold onto during my identity crisis, I had inadvertently romanticized my experience at Horace Mann to mean something more than it actually was. While the short walks to school and similar hang out spots were cool, they were simply convenient and practical, not some idyllic 80’s movie. Although we still displayed the same mannerisms we had as kids, we were now completely different people – shaped by our new worlds. I, was a different person.

After leaving the reunion, Christina and I drove over to Horace Mann. We held each other as we looked at our old home. The views seemed fitting. Like us, Mann had undergone a change. While It maintained it's original structure, it was renovated to a point where you had to accept that It was something else now. Life diverted us in different paths, and that was okay. I loved that part of my life for what it was and I moved on.

Home moves with you. At a certain point in your life home was there. Now it is here. People will come in and out of your life and your true friends will remain despite the context. You must always see things for what they are, appreciate them, and learn when it is time to let go. Your journey may not make sense in the moment, but you will end up on your path home. Before you find your home, you must first find yourself. Home moves with you because it is in you, wherever life takes you.

America Today

Michael Penafiel

This is a timeline of immigrants in America and sentiments through the decades. On one side, it shows the progress of immigrants, from anti-immigrant political cartoons, to the diverse ethnic communities of today. The multiple faces in the right represent the multicultural heritage of America. America will always be a nation of nations.

"America will always be a nation of nations"

Our Home Too

Austin Rios - Colon

What’s it like to be a part of a U.S territory?

There are about 3.7 million people who live in US territories, in places like Puerto Rico, US Virgin Islands, Guam, American Samoa, and the Northern Mariana islands. But what does it really mean to be part of a US territory?

People who are part of these territories are not treated or given the same rights as those who are full american citizens that live in one of the 50 states. They are treated differently in the political spectrum along with being treated differently in the social spectrum.

What makes a US territory different? Places like Puerto Rico don’t have to pay for federal income taxes because it has its own system of self governance. But these territories do have to pay for social security and medicare, along with some places like Puerto Rico and the Virgin islands having to pay for unemployment taxes.

However, the political sway of things for these places makes it very one sided, as we can see from Puerto Rico voting and trying to earn statehood multiple times. The most recent poll that was set up in Puerto Rico to try and make it a state had 97% of voters say that yes, it should be a state. But this doesn’t change the fact that it is not a state because it is only up to the members of congress to decide on the status of a US territory. The people in congress won’t go out of their way to make a territory like Guam a US state because they simply don’t want to, it’s too far off their radar.

"When my parents and family members moved into the United States they were constantly being called racial slurs and heard the phrases “go back to where you came from” or “you don’t belong here”, which should seem very ironic because yes, we are from America."

American Samoa is another territory that is treated differently in the political spectrum. The people who were born and live in American Samoa are not US citizens, they are US nationals. This means that they can go to the rest of the US if they want, but they are still not allowed to vote, run for office, and are prohibited from certain jobs. These people are the most disadvantaged, for all that most of the nationals want are just the ability to vote, because they are born on US soil. This was denied through court in 2015, which cited the racially motivated “insular cases”. These are rights for the US territories that were established over 100 years ago, which stated these people as “uncivilized”, “non-white” and “alien races”. This sort of discrimination to people who are born on US soil is simply unacceptable.

These US territories are even used for military purposes but they aren’t even treated with respect. Recent studies have shown that if you go to Guam and calculate the rate of adults who are US veterans, you will get a rate of 1 in 8 adults being a US military veteran. But they can’t even vote for commander in chief and have difficulty trying to get medical services

"Our Home Too"

I, Austin Rios-Colón, am a Puerto Rican. I have family in Puerto Rico, Florida, New York, and other parts of America. I have experience on how US citizens are treated differently from other US citizens for being from a US territory.

When my family members/friends enter the states, they are treated as if they are immigrants. It’s not even to those who are Puerto Rican, it is even to those who are from the Virgin Islands and part of other US territories. If you look at the statistics you will see that about 50% of US citizens that live in the states know that Puerto Rico is a US territory, and I personally think that at this day and age, that number should be much higher. When my parents and family members moved into the United States they were constantly being called racial slurs and heard the phrases “go back to where you came from” or “you don’t belong here”, which should seem very ironic because yes, we are from America. These comments are not said as much but they are still coming back to me and my brother ever so often.

After hurricane Maria, over 4000 people died from the causes of the hurricane and thousands of people were left without power. We needed help, desperately. But people like Donald Trump were not willing to lend any help saying that we are overreacting. But my question that I will leave this off with is that if you lived in Texas, Florida, South Carolina or any other state and were devastated by a hurricane and received no help, would you stand for it?

As a US citizen, I think that it is time for people from US territories to be treated like they are US citizens from the states in the political spectrum and in the social standpoint.


Annie Hagerty

This piece captures what home feels like when parents get divorced. Depending on the situation, it can feel as though one’s head has split into two parts with unending questions spilling out. By using neutral colors and imagery, I was determined to communicate that divorce isn’t always terrifying. However, the dazed look on the subject’s face indicates divorce does make concepts like marriage, trust, and parental reliability confusing.

Locked Out

Cady Hyde

If someone told me freshman year that I would go 543 days, precisely 1.488 years as of May 1, 2019, without running a race, I would not believe them. If I had a dollar for every time someone told me I would be one of the fastest runners in the area by my junior year, I would be rich. If I had known that my high school running career would be marred by injury after injury—defined by what could have been—I’m not quite sure where or who I’d be today.

But here I am, two weeks away from sitting on the sidelines, painfully cheering on my teammates as they look to capture their sixth consecutive team championship between cross country and indoor and outdoor track while I longingly spectate from the bleachers for the fifth time in a row. Than pain from running and injury—lactic acid burning in my legs, oxygen lacking in my lungs, thirst plaguing my tongue, aches consuming my fractured shin—is dwarfed by the misery I feel when I watch my teammates cross the finish line only wishing I could be on the track with them. It’s not that I don’t want my teammates to be successful. I do. It’s just that it’s been one and a half years of being detached from the running community, riddled with unexplainable chronic injury, not knowing when or if I will ever be able to return the sport I love most.

It’s like I’ve been locked out of my own house with no way back in. I watch my family laughing, playing, training together inside, unknowing of my struggle, while desperately searching for the elusive spare key. I come close, thinking I’ve found the spot where it’s hidden, only to find frustration, anger, and sadness.

It’s cold and lonely outside a house that radiates warmth and fosters community. I often contemplate whether or not I should try to get my family’s attention, to force them to witness my struggle, but I often keep searching for the key on my own, afraid to reach out for support.

As much I want to let sadness, loneliness, frustration, anger, and confusion control me, I don’t. Though there are times when the tears just start falling, for the most part I wear a smile on my face, not to mask the pain but simply to be happy. Through this 1.488 year journey, I’ve come to realize that being sad and frustrated doesn’t solve anything, so I might as well be positive—though I FIRMLY believe that a nice crying session is healthy and necessary.

And besides, I’m not always locked out. I find the key on occasion and joyfully re-enter my home. I feel rejuvenated and loved by spending time with my team, my family. For a brief period, I am relieved of my pain, entirely consumed by happiness and laughter. Gone is my endless anxiety over what the future holds and out comes my bubbly, silly, and playful self that few people truly know. It’s a high on another playing field, a feeling so indulgent it almost feels wrong to be having so much fun.

It’s this raw joy that makes being locked out again so much more painful. As much as I want to be inside with my family at all times, at this point in my health journey, it just doesn’t make sense. The hurt of being inside only to be unable to get back in simply isn’t worth it. My hopes get to high and then come crashing down whenever a new injury arises.

I hope that one day I will be able to find the key and keep it forever. When that will happen? I am not sure. As for right now, all I can do is smile and appreciate the new home I’ve made outside the one I’ve been locked out of.


Caroline Lander

The purpose of my piece is to show the importance of my room in my broad definition of home. Through this drawing on a map of Maryland my favorite and most intimate space or “sanctuary” is shown. My walls are covered in various memories with family and friends and other memorabilia that define who I am and shape my idea of home.

Home in Music

Candace House

When I put my earbuds in I discover myself in a different world. I hear how pianos, violins, and drums can blend together to form one intro. I hear the harmonies in the background that help emphasize the artists’ voice. I focus on the little phrases that chime in here in there, most likely improvisations when recording in the studio. Music is more than just a new album needed to be listened to to be culturally aware. Music is every note, every beat, every lyric, masterfully put together and blended to convey a story.

My love for music actually started by a decision made by my parents when I was five. The principal of the school when I was in Pre K told them that I should no longer go there. She said that I had a gift for music and I should pick up an instrument by the age of five . She recommended the piano teacher the school had but she made a point that I should transfer to the school my siblings attended.

I did not know that this decision would impact my life to this day.

I started playing piano, getting lessons every Friday at my old school. Eventually when I was about 6 my Great Aunt gave us the piano she had at her house. By 4th grade I began playing 10th grade worthy songs. I started to receive compliments at our piano recitals and my piano teacher started to be impressed.

Eventually my mom decided to tell my teacher that I also liked to sing. They said I’ve been singing ever since I was born and that I would never stop. My teacher then had me sing a song with him accompanying him in maybe 5th grade. I’ve been singing at my piano recitals ever since.

I was raised on classical music. And it may sound disgusting to you but classical music is an incredible challenge. The Beethoven song I am learning right now is a 10 page song , 9 lines per page , 6 measures a line. That is 540 measures I have to learn by June. 540 measures that must be played in 6 minutes with a goal of no mistakes. The piano world is no joke.

"Every note on the piano blends in with the violin. Every beat is perfectly timed. That is music, that is my world , that is my home."

Due to this ability of mine I was faced with a choice my 8th grade year. I had applied to Duke Ellington of the Arts for high school. For the people who don’t know what that is, it is one of the top performing arts high schools in DC, if not the country. I auditioned for the singing department. It was a two week audition where I came in about 4 times a week. You had a one on one audition where they discover your range. You then move on to a group song sung in Italian, I had never spoken a word of Italian in my life. They then give you an individual song given in your range to learn at home and perform in front of the adults. On top of that I had to take a placement test and then have a personal interview with the superintendent and a family interview with another person as well.

After all of this...I got in. Now I was left with the choice of going to St John’s or going to Duke Ellington. Obviously, you know what I chose, but I’ll still explain the thoughts behind it. At Duke they drill into you that this must be your passion, your drive. Duke’s school day went to 5 pm with a majority of the time spent in your department. They said they required 2-3 hours of practice at home per day of music learned in class.

With all this talk of music you would think that music was my passion . But it is not. I do not want to be a singer or pursue this professionally. And that is what Duke advertised . Duke Ellington is for the people who may want to go to an Arts trade school or become famous for their gift. Going there I discovered would A. Strain my voice and B. learn to hate music.

In turning down Duke Ellington I chose music . I chose my home. Spending so much time devoted to singing would only cause me to never want to do it again. That was something that I could not live with so I chose to keep my talent to myself.

I was never given the option to not play music. But if I was, I would not even consider stopping. I love the versatility of music. When I am sad I can not only turn music on my phone but I can create it myself. I can sit down on the piano, try to learn a new song, and sing along.

Music provides a warmth that no person or thing brings to the table. It can make you feel pain, agony, or complete joy and happiness. The different tones in a person’s voice or simply the skill of a pianist on the instrumental part consumes me. Truly, try it. Put in your earphones and play a song. Not trap music or music that will constantly be ringing in your ears. It doesn’t have to be a ballad or classical music. My example of this is “Honeymoon Avenue “ by Ariana Grande. Don’t roll your eyes because you saw the name Ariana Grande. Truly put in those headphones and listen to the first 39 seconds of the song. Do not sing along, just listen. Every note on the piano blends in with the violin. Every beat is perfectly timed. That is music, that is my world , that is my home.

College Expectations and Distortion towards Asian Applicants

Angelica Phan

When applying to colleges, many Asian parents make it clear what college majors their children should apply to. Many Asian parents encourage their children to pursue majors and careers in STEM, but many Asian parents also discourage teenagers from pursuing most majors outside of STEM. Degrees involved in STEM have become more exclusive against Asians. As a result, Asians will be unnaturally distributed in the work force, and many will wonder why Asians are not prominent in certain areas like cinema.

An exemplary American

Sabrina Leatherwood

The Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. exemplifies what it means to be an American. He wanted all Americans to live harmoniously in the United States because at the end of the day, this country is our home. Any injustices in our country affect all Americans and as long as we call this place our home, we must continue to make it a land of freedom and opportunity.

Foreigner in my own Homes

Annie Phan

It was the first day of school and I was excited to go back to school, which at the time I considered my second home. My second-grade class was asked to introduce themselves by first, middle, then last name, and of course a fun fact about themselves. Middle names like "Maria" and "Eleanor" popped up several times. I got up and introduced myself as "Annie Vu Phan." Looking around me, I saw faces of confusion from my classmates. Me being one of the few students of color in my class, my name was "unique," according to my sympathetic teacher. I distinctly remember a kid saying, "Vu isn't a name! It's not a real word." My second-grade self froze and could feel my face turning warm and red. I did not know what to say. I was so embarrassed that I forgot my fun fact.

"I consider myself lucky to have the United States and Vietnam as my two homes. My two homes where I am a foreigner."

Later that day, a group of girls excluded me from a recess game because I did not have a "normal" middle name. I remember going home that night and yelling at my mom asking her why she did not give me a "normal" middle name. I could see her feelings of frustration and told me that she wanted me to keep my Vietnamese roots. I suddenly wished I was less Vietnamese.

Going to Vietnamese family events, it was expected for the children to bow and greet older relatives in Vietnamese as an act of respect. This always left a pit in my stomach since I could not pronounce some of my relatives' names, let alone greet them. I dealt with it anyway. I flashed my famous dimple smile, giggled, and spoke to my elders in broken Vietnamese. I would always hear the occasional "you're so tall" and "you're growing up so fast." Even though I am not fluent in Vietnamese, I always understood the phrase, “Tội nghiệp, em không biết nói tiếng việt.” This basically was pity comment for my less than elementary Vietnamese speaking skills.

I also received criticism from Vietnamese elders for not being fluent in their language. They told me that I could not survive a day in Vietnam with my level of Vietnamese. My fluent cousins would tease me saying that I am not "Vietnamese enough" to be Vietnamese. I got called the "white-washed cousin" since I grew up in "Starbucks" area. I suddenly wished I was "more" Vietnamese.

Even though I have never felt fully accepted in either group, I still identify as Vietnamese-American. I have moments to this day where I feel like my life would be easier if I only was one of my labels. Despite this, I consider myself lucky to have the United States and Vietnam as my two homes. My two homes where I am a foreigner.

Mental Health: Finding Home and Safety Through Sports

Chris Teter

The sun was out, it was muggy and uncomfortable, and I was about to run another 5k. Not exactly the ideal conditions, but sometimes you get dealt the short end of the stick. It felt like any other race, although there was one thing that made it different. This overwhelming feeling of anxiety came over me. I cannot explain that feeling, it is a mixture of being alone, yet you are completely surrounded by people. It felt like I was having an existential and internal crisis all at the same time. I did learn over time, though, that there were people out to help me, and most all people have good intentions towards those who deal with mental health problems. Those people I had knelt down with, they were family to me. I had known them for a couple years now, and it felt great to call them friends. I had realized that once we had knelt down and been in close company, how calm I felt. I knew I was safe around these people.

"This overwhelming feeling of anxiety came over me. I cannot explain that feeling, it is a mixture of being alone, yet you are completely surrounded by people. It felt like I was having an existential and internal crisis all at the same time."
Lost on Cloud nine

Contact: InLightSJC@gmail.com

Spring 2019

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