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A Press Democrat Blog

Teen Life

News and opinion from local teens

Dominik Martinez, 17

Friday Nights My room is a horror movie for electronics. Strewn across every surface are various resistors, capacitors, wires, screwdrivers, and other electronic parts. I am the mad scientist, the person who rips into every device I can get my hands onto. Unlike the cliche horror villain, I do  not torture these poor devices for my own enjoyment; rather, I open them up to uncover the mysteries contained within them. Starting from a young age, and never once losing steam,… Read More »

Fayed Ali, 17

The Middle Lane Secret If I’ve learned anything throughout my life it is this: the middle lane was made for a reason. Yes, the middle lane, outlined in yellow dashed lines with one arrow pointing right, and another pointing left. Where you may see this lane as a simple tool to make a left turn into a shopping center without the holding up traffic behind you, I see it as a tool of infinite possibilities. It has been my theory… Read More »

Hailey Falk, 17

I Am the Daughter I am the daughter of a skateboarder and a photographer, a guitarist and a backpacker, a college dropout and a high school dropout, and I could not ask for anything better. Some students are predetermined to do well academically before they are even born– their parents being mathematicians or English professors or scientists– and are guided through life, following the achievements of their parents. Having a laid-back mother and father has allowed me to pave my… Read More »

Brian Howard, 17

Not an Olympian I always imagined my aspirations as tangible. I always imagined the people I socialized with as my “friends”. I always imagined that I had a stronger support system. Yet, I soon realized that life is not simple; dreams are either impossible or difficult to achieve; people, regardless of your relationship, only support you when life is easy, and the place I called home was not welcoming. Since I was six years old, I wanted to be an… Read More »

Annie Simon, 17

Fatal Moment Never trust a pizza pocket.    Despite its cheesy cheeriness, despite its crispy contentment, despite its saucy satisfaction, the pizza pocket conceals a hidden motive: destruction.    And by destruction I am referring to skin cells.    It was freshman year; I got home from soccer practice to watch the women’s national team in the World Cup. What better thing to accompany me on the couch, I thought, than pizza pockets fresh from the freezer? So I put them in the… Read More »

Priscilla Ng, 17

Safety First? Personal safety, what is that? After adventure and fun, personal safety was my third concern and that was my mentality entering into high school. I loved exercise and was relatively strong for my size; I jumped off piers and swam in the frigid waters of San Francisco Bay; I rock climbed on massive vertical boulders; I navigated caves by crawling on my stomach and forearms; I would do anything the normal person would say “no” to out of… Read More »

Haaris Khan, 17

Trapped I’m no carpenter, but I know when I’ve been screwed. And this royal screwing took place on a father-son bonding trip to a burger shop this summer. I have the habit of taking off my slippers while I’m outside. So while my dad parks the car and exits, I’m trying to put my flip flops on. After a ten second struggle, I gave my routine pep talk: “alright Haaris, push that chest out. Keep your head up. Walk in… Read More »

Maxwell Yu, 17

Don’t Cut the Back Is that short enough in the front? Yes, that’s short enough, now I can see without all that hair in my eyes. What about the back? Ehh, I don’t have eyes in the back of my head, so don’t cut the back. Don’t cut the back? Don’t cut the back. Wake up. School next morning. Guys I barely talk to pat me on the back. Nice haircut, Max! What a change! Girls I talk to give… Read More »

Katie Sachen, 17

No Ending In sixth grade I wrote a scary story about a girl who goes to stay at her creepy aunt’s house.  Freshman year I wrote a dystopian story about predetermined futures.  Sophomore year I wrote a short story about meeting my seventy-five year old self.  What do all these stories have in common?  None of them have endings.  Or at least, not satisfactory ones.  The girl in my scary story may or may not have died, the protagonist in… Read More »

Rebecca Cisneros, 17

Finally Home I am not American. Technically speaking, I am an American citizen, and I was born in San Francisco; however, I have never been able to fully identify myself as living among the American culture. While my father and his brothers were the first generation to be born in America, they were brought up through Argentinean, Spanish, and Italian ethics. After living in Argentina and going to school there, my father ultimately became an Argentinean.    Having a mother from… Read More »