My Greatest Goal as a Character in Eighth Grade

Seventh grade has developed me into someone I wasn’t before. It has taught me and opened up ways I interact with the world. My advisor, who I can’t thank enough, has encouraged me to ask for help when I need it. This year, I hope to continue this newfound asset, but develop better skills in interacting with myself.

The first step to making the world a better place, is to make yourself better. I think it’s that simple. If you haven’t developed yourself, what can you say from personal experience about how to move the world forward? Here’s how I want to develop myself this year, here’s a goal I am setting for myself: to be less self-denigrating.

This is how Merriam-Webster defines the word “denigrating.”

Sure is sounds a little austere, and maybe a little bit haughty, yet this is often how I find myself reacting to my own mistakes and imperfections. Now I know you going to say to me, “Ava, take a breather. No one is perfect.” I’ve been told this hundreds of times. No joke. No exaggeration. Hundreds of times since the day I started school. I used to overtly punish myself for petty things, by locking myself in my bedroom, or scrambling up the stairs to the study on the third floor of my house for peace and quiet. I would cry, cry and cry, even though Dad kept yelling at me, saying crying wouldn’t do any good and that I had to make a plan to attack my issues. Even though I knew I would walk into school the next day with big, swollen, puffy pinkish eyes. Now, I react a little bit differently. I’m less blatant about expressing my chagrin. I don’t like to cry in front of my friends or family. I don’t like to tell people as much. I’m finding myself to be much more introverted and reticent about my apprehensions. Sure, those who know me would claim that I’m quite extroverted, but it’s only because I haven’t expressed what I truly feel to them. In the end, I observe hatred centered with full force towards myself for the careless mistakes I had already rectified. I observe frustration from envy of other people. I also observe austere self-stricture from things that make me stressed.

The weirdest thing, is that often times I find crying helps. It’s almost…comforting. It’s a consequence of not having my life together, but the tears almost bind the wounds. I also find that exercise feels really good. It acts as a confidence booster. When I start at my doorstep and return to my doorstep after a three mile run, I feel like I can do anything I want in the world. I’ve written about this in my post about stress, but I’m really beginning to absorb the benefits of pacing, outside or inside. When my brain goes on “auto-pilot” with the stepping and the swinging of the arms, it really has all the room it needs to think about how to organize and plan the rest of my day, so that I may feel less stress, which occasionally lowers my chances of self-denigration. Yet I’m still searching for more ways to love myself, more ways to except my impurities, and more ways to be live without the incessant pressure of criticism.

So the goal of this post was not to rant, complain, condemn, or criticize. I think I do too much of that for myself already. This is simply a goal I’m setting for myself, to be less self-denigrating and to be kinder to myself. Maybe I should resume meditation. Maybe I need to create a new hobby. I don’t know precisely what I need to do. This is just another road I’m going to navigate in eighth grade.

Our Greatest Glory

"Our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall." ~Confuscius

What if…

What if…

“What” and “if” I would deem both banal words of little significance. They are like tags, stuck into sentences, not as to enhance or vitiate its meaning. Yet when these words are implemented contiguously, they change the whole perspective of a sentence.

It’s almost like being a skeptic and questioning the morality of how the world turned out. What if this, what if that, happened instead of what we have been exposed to. How would our lives be different?

By power of example, one can comprehend how fortunate we are. Many people in Boston have multiple fair paying jobs to choose between. Most own a car from a satisfying brand. We have invented a profuse amount of technology and youngsters are presented options for levels of education. My point here is that we are given ample discretion and liberty to act upon our own will, to an extent where we often take this for granted. When I ponder about topic, I think about those who had to fight for this right, who forsaked their reputations, and those who sacrificed their lives for the futuristic vision of a society in which I indulge in everyday. What if that vision never existed or was never advertently considered? What if people never fought for their freedom?

Hurricanes have passed, earthquakes have struck. These natural disasters have formed and dilapidated countries and its people. They have taken away family members, and nothing, including time, could ever mitigate the devastating feeling of fear and loss. I feel fortunate enough to know that my family members are still here, and not swept away with the forces of Mother Nature. I live in a state where nature is usually in good relations with its residents. I admit that our winters are austere and take a great toll on our roads and houses, yet I am remain grateful for our generally predictable weather. What if the east coast was struck by a hurricane? What if a devastating earthquake with a magnitude of 7.2 hit Boston?

What if aliens invaded the Earth?

What if zika infected every pregnant woman alive and all babies were born with microcephaly?

What if the new rule in the States was that every family could only raise one kid and those with more had to give them up for adoption?

What if Earth span out of orbit?

What if we had existed when dinosaurs did?

What if coffee wasn’t discovered and tea became illegal to drink?

What if the Americans hadn’t won the Revolutionary War?

I suppose that the future of the Earth could meander anywhere, yet on the contrary, the past shaped us into who we are today. I apprehend that if any one event hadn’t occurred the way it did, we would be quite different people. The result of any event in the future will be either another door, or a pathway to our progression, though many who experience these revolutions first hand will be incognizant of their effect their entire lives. We just have to unwittingly, yet not lacking acumen, live up to these as if we knew we fighting, working and hoping for the best.

What if…?

The Deeper Meaning of Family

Family. It’s a vague word, stirring various definitions and emotions with it. Many people define family as people you are related to by blood. For others, it is the definition, the category, the name, of the people they come home to, or love each day. I am still exploring how I feel about this touchy subject.

I think my newfound advertency towards the meaning of family appeared after my reading of Jefferson’s Children. This story tells of the disputes between Jefferson’s children from Martha’s line (the white line) and his slave, Sally Hemingses line. Accounts from both sides are included. I recommend you read this book if you have not…it is truly a wonder of two worlds.

And here’s why I bring up the discussion of family: Last Friday, my dad took me by surprise when he told me my cousins were visiting from Australia at the end of August. Doesn’t sound too singular or out-of-the-ordinary, does it? Though for me, it is indeed quite an extraordinary occurrence. It brings me bliss and anxiety. David (my cousin) and my aunt from Dad’s side are visiting the States for 13 days. Three of those thirteen will be spent in Boston. Still doesn’t sound too aberrant, does it? Well, what if I told you I’m calling them cousins, I am calling them family, though I’ve never laid eyes upon them myself? It’s a mystery to me what society has socially constructed as “okay” or “not okay” to call family. In retrospect, when I think about who society says is “not okay” to call family, I realize we often times eschew calling our life-long friends as family, and opting for the alternative who we may have never acquainted. This is no congeal topic to grasp and I still ruminating and challenging my own, and society’s, “standards” for who is to be considered family. For now, I just can't wait to meet my cousin. Maybe he will pull me one way or the other.

Pride and Vanity

Yesterday, when I opened my front door to go for a walk, I saw an Amazon Prime box on my doorstep. Curious, I brought it inside the house and cut the packaging tape to unveil a book. It’s quite a famous one, Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen.

Later last night, I lay on the sofa, legs propped on the coffee table, head rested on a pillow, reading Pride and Prejudice. I ought to share one quote that really stood out near the

end of Chapter 5, “‘Vanity and pride are different things, though the words are often used synonymously. A person may be proud without being vain. Pride relates more to our opinion of ourselves, vanity to what we would have others think of us’” (12). That’s when I began thinking, what do I take pride in doing? When has vanity overthrown the asset candor? So here, I’ve began brainstorming:

Things I take pride in doing:

1. Going for runs
2. Organizing community events at school
3. Sharing ideas through this blog
4. Being a member of Leadership Council
5. Practicing piano
6. Playing tennis
7. Developing my character

Departing question: What do you take pride in doing? When do you feel vanity overthrow your values?

Dreams.

Dreaming has always fascinated me. Whether they stultify my reputation at night, or remind me of something I had forsaken, they are usually interesting to experience. I’ve always been one to dream. I think this somehow correlates with my day-to-day, awake temperament: a peripatetic mindset. I find my mind frequently wandering to topics that I’ve stored in the back of my head for a long time, or to the future. The future meaning possible

vocations, ways to develop companies, how to end world hunger etc. Yet nothing in my dreams can match these thoughts. I have nightmares…frequently. At least once or twice every week. The most intriguing observation I notice is that the people who are in my dreams/nightmares are usually those from my old school, Belmont Day School, or those I knew since I was very young. Occasionally a celebrity will be seen in my dream and always, water. I don’t actually know what the water means, yet Huffington Post says the context of the water, and how you’re involved with it, play a role in its manifestation.

Last night, I had another nightmare. This one included (of course) water, Victoria Beckham (one of my favorite fashion designers), and kids from Belmont Day School. Now, I’m not the greatest raconteur, especially when endeavoring to explain something that existed in my head, but I will try my best.

MY DREAM LAST NIGHT

Background information: Victoria Beckham has become the queen of England. There are three miscreants, roaming around on the streets of London, who have just assassinated somebody (I can’t recall who…). Posters were hanging all around London, “WANTED.”

All I remember is that I was hanging out a camp in London with three other classmates from Belmont Day School–Dona, Allan, and Keira–at Canoeing Camp (and no, I don’t think

A picture I took of Old San Juan coast.

canoeing camp actually exists and I’ve never been to London before) We were standing on the rocky, unpaved sidewalk, by the shore of the ocean. The waterfront walk was long, approximately three miles, and the palace where Queen Victoria resided was right in front of the dock at canoeing camp. Willow tree branches lolled in the gentle breeze. Birds chirped melodies while light green grasshoppers froliked across the sidewalk. What a splendid vista, resembling the shores of Old San Juan.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, the sky darkened, and ominous clouds drifted over the magnificent view. Rain began to torment the birds, and a tempest began. My friends and I had no place to hide, except for under a tree, which would have been just as dangerous, or in Queen Victoria Beckham’s castle. So without knocking, we barged in through the front door. Expectant of dismissal, we were shocked to see Victoria Beckham standing on a large, marble stairwell in the middle of the lobby in a stunning gown. She invited us to the highest floor of her castle, so we could converse about Canoeing Camp and the tempest. We followed her, up 32 winding stair cases. There were candles lit up along the stone walls, merely illuminating

the floors and stairs so that one could see the shadows of each step. The draperies on the 20 foot high stained glass windows we made of a red velvet, drawn back by thick, gold silk ropes.

Finally, after climbing 32 floors, we reached the highest chamber. It was small, round, and bare. Cold as well, bearing only 1 low, small window. You could hear the rain pounding down on the roof, as if the Zeus was pitching ice upon the Earth. Victoria talked with us, casually, of course, but with a rounded British accent. Sitting on the right Victoria and the left of my friends from Belmont Day, I was able to pay attention to both, looked both left and right. Then suddenly, the weirdest thing happened. Allan, one of my friends from Belmont Day and Canoeing Camp took out an eyeglass and held it to his face. It was a huge eyeglass, round and crystal clear. But the face reflected underneath Allan’s face was not Allan. I stared closer. I was too slow, for Allan, seeing my curious gaze, seemed to put down his eyeglass and stare at a corner of the wall. A flashback occurred in my head. WANTED. WANTED. WANTED. 3 miscreants on the streets of London. Allan. I thought. Allan’s one of the criminals. A murderer. IN MY SIGHT! Before I could even process this new information, a crackling sound vibrated through the chamber. The singular crackling sound in a storm of rain. Fire.

Allan, Keira, and Dona fled down the stairs, and I followed them. I was confused. Should I follow the criminals down the stairs? Or should I burn upstairs with Victoria? I felt my feet flow down the steps, about 20 feet behind Allan, Keira and Dona. Abruptly, they stopped moving at the window. Keira looked out the window, a proud smirk on her face. Allan checked up behind her and Dona peered out of the window. There, hanging just half a foot above the lowest sill of the window was the edge of Victoria Beckham’s gown. Was she

sitting on the ledge of the single lonely window in the chamber? Was she preparing to jump in order to escape the fire? Surely she would fall to her death. Allan took a candle, which still glimmered gleefully on its stand on the wall, and forced it through the stain glass. I watched the whole window, shatter to pieces. It was like the world stopped in motion. Tiny, specks of color flew to the ceiling, to the floor, across the stairwell. A rainbow. Then almost as quickly as Allan had broke the window, Dona reached out to grab the gown which hung over the edge of the window. She tightened her grip around the silk and tugged. All I could hear was an ear-breaking scream.

END

I awoke after this frightening moment. I can’t exactly pinpoint the exact details, yet I would still consider this one of my more vivid, frightful nightmares. I’m still curious, though, what do dreams mean? What do they symbolize?

Note: The names of the people in the story are pseudonyms. Real names have not been revealed.

I can do this

When I encounter trouble, challenges, or setbacks, sometimes I say: “‘I can’t do this!” I get really whiny and upset. My head starts to hurt and my fingers start to throb. There’s only one extra letter following the word ‘can,’ yet it changes the whole mood, attitude and motivation of this sentence. And here’s the truth, that one extra letter should be rarely supplemented.

Being proactive. I guess that’s what I do. I view proactivity as the opposite of a reactive attitude, meaning that you don’t react to a cause, you take action and drive that cause to the effect you want it to bring. I notice that when I first approach a setbacks or something I don’t know, I may complain to myself, “I can’t do it.” Then the little fairy named Proactive

strikes her wand and I catch become present in the present. I know I should never curtail my opportunities in life, especially those which offer a learning experience. And this is when Proactive says, “Make a plan, Ava!” So I endeavor to attack the problem. I follow my plan, and for sure, these plans range. Sometimes they’re simple reminders and other times they’re lifestyle rectifications.

Once I follow this plan I make for myself, I tend to feel a little bit less stressed (though I’ll always be stressed!) and it makes me feel like I can accomplish anything when I reach the culmination of my goal. In the end, being proactive is really the basis for everything. If you have the desire and the drive to achieve something, you can do it. In my personal experiences, I find I start by freaking out, then formulate a plan, and execute it.

Here’s a chart of what I consider reactive versus proactive approaches to opposition. Sean Covey was a major inspiration for these.

Reactive	Proactive
I don’t have time.	I have as much time as Albert Einstein did…I’ll make time.
I have to do this.	I chose to do this.
I don’t know how to do this.	I make a plan to figure out how to solve this.

At the end of the day, this is how it all boils down: we can do anything we want, if we give the correct form of effort and integrity. We should all confidently be able to say, “I can do this.”

Anxiety

Anxiety. It’s an interesting, vague feeling. It's not congeal. And it haunts me in my sleep, imminent in every decision made during those hours. In retrospect, anxiety is an interesting, nagging, and honest feeling. I don’t know how to describe it. It’s timid, only lingering around the corners of my mind, yet conspicuous enough to disturb everyday life. It throws me off track and unnoticeably, with Time, leaves.

Anxiety. One could describe it as worry. Sure, I don’t dispute that idea. But yes, I do observe something more. Something deeper about anxiety. Something raging inside. It wants to explode and it incessantly grapples inside my mind. It pushes and it pulls. It tosses and it turns over all the rocks you have strategically placed in life. I suppose anxiety can tip you over.

Anxiety. At the end of the day, everyone needs it. We would struggle to live up to our standards without its influence. By power of example, many of the greatest educators, writers, entrepreneurs, and diplomats live by this reality. It is a lifestyle, chosen by many, neglected by others. For me, I try to make anxiety a standard. It symbolizes care. It demonstrates ardor and it encourages integrity in everything I do.

Anxiety. I dare myself to live by this standard. Be comfortable, yet show interest and compassion on a daily basis. Be engaged. Worry. And until Time passes, anxiety will always bubble inside. But with Time, my anxiety will float away like the clouds. I will know my teachers. I will know my classes. I will know where I will attend college. I will develop a career. I trust Anxiety will keep me on my toes, and tell me that that time is imminent, only around the corner. I just have to wait.

Highways and Restrooms

Yesterday, my family was driving on the highway. To be frank, my parents aren’t–and haven’t ever been–considered “fast” drivers. We’re actually fairly slow, generally sticking to the side lanes. The car has a tendency to be quiet, the occasional hum of some music on KISS 108, or maybe a news report. Most of the time, I look out the window. It’s become an inveterate way I bring equanimity to my mind. It’s quiet. It’s soothing. And I release tension.

Yet somehow, the car ride yesterday didn’t seem so. I saw cars rushing by ours, each one faster than the last. Reds, navy blues, whites, silvers, golds, and greys all rushing past our car in a blur; a rainbow. It felt very rushed and tense, though it reminds me of how

hypocritical we can be. In the Canadian Rockies, on the highways, it was blatant who was native to the land and who was a foreigner from a major city in the States.

This isn’t meant to be a stereotype, however I could evidently spot who thought the speed limit of 60 kmph. (37 mph.) was too slow for the highway. My family, included, were probably one of the faster cars on the highway, considering that in Boston, the highway speed is generally around 60 mph to 70 mph. These differences are what makes the world so amazing. When you travel, I believe you become more aware of these different cultures, and lifestyles. In the States, the rush is definitely more conspicuous, with more frequent honks and beeps.

In addition, I wanted to note the way people refer to the “restrooms.” In many parts of Canada, “bathrooms” are referred to as “washrooms,” and even in the U.S. many call them “restrooms.” My good friend Sophie is native to Canada, and though she refers to restrooms

as “bathrooms,” I notice how her mother refers to them as “washrooms.” I was oblivious to where this saying came from, thinking it was just a more proper term than the typical used in the U.S. Now I know that it may actually be picked up from a different part of the world. I guess this all boils down to culture, tradition, dialect and lifestyle. My goal is to be more perceptive of those beyond the one I am faced with on a daily basis.

Self-awareness

I looked it up: The highest temperature in Massachusetts was 104 degrees in the summer of 1911. In the summer of 2010, we reached 100 degrees. For the past three days, the temperature in Boston has been well over 90 degrees. When I step out onto the streets, I instantaneously start sweating before my brain can even register it. This is a lucid manifestation of global warming issues. Massachusetts is in a heat wave.

Anyhow, that was not the main purpose of this post. Part of it is to remember the devastating weather we’ve experienced for the past three days, yet today, I mainly want to share my weekly inspiration. Due to the sweltering weather yesterday, I was stayed primarily indoors. I began reading a book my dad gave me when I was in fifth grade, along with the

Seven Habits. It’s called The Girls Book of Wisdom by Catherine Dee. A broad-scale synopsis would deduce that it’s a book filled with 45 aspects that lead to success in life. Yet these pages are not written in the traditional chapter style. The points in the book are illustrated through hundreds of quotes by females.

Some of these aspects are I am mentally conscious of, yet do are not stored the brown boxes in my mind. Some aspects I already practice, but become more aware of. Others stick. Spirituality is one I became more cognizant of while self-awareness is something that has stuck. Catherine Dee wrote a marvelous paragraph about self-awareness. She says that we “know who the popular kids are at school, what they’re thinking about and saying, and who and what impresses them” but she questions, “Do you know the same things about you? What are you thinking about and saying, and who and what impresses you?” For me, this is a very powerful statement. At

This cat clearly needs to gain some self-awareness!

school, I’ve never considered myself a “popular” kid and knowing what those who are find bliss in, it makes me skeptical as to whether I know the same things about myself. I think many kids get really caught up in impressing/assimilating with the “popular” kids which leads them to forget who they truly are themselves. It’s when you manage to remember your true spirit, is it a clear-cut example of self-awareness.

When I took a second to deeply consider the benefits, self-gains, and mentality gained through this simple aspect of self-awareness, I realized how broadly possibilities spanned. Self-awareness keeps me on my toes, it reinforces my spiritual tenet about defining myself. It encourages me to simply be myself as well, and eschew falling into the control or influence of others. Sometimes, I feel that self-awareness may actually be the basis to success: it helps us know our capacities and aspire to surpass them.

“It’s where we go, and what we do when we get there, that tells us who we are.” ~Joyce Carol Oates

The Help and what it reminded me of

Each year, BB&N sends a list of summer reading requirements for English and History. Most of the time, you are presented with a list of 5-6 options for the two subjects and have the discretion to choose two from the list. This year, I chose The Help by Kathryn

Stockett as one of my English choices.

To be honest, this book really stunned me. The plot was creatively woven together and the themes were easily sought, yet sometimes I felt that random, delusional, non-plot pushing events occurred. To my disappointment, most of the time, these events didn’t really link together, like one would expect in a mystery. So now I’m questioning whether The Help is indeed a mystery, a drama, or whether it is a historical-fiction adventure. I’d say it’s a mix of all…and that’s its beauty.

Yet what this book really taught me was how to talk to others. Strangers, friends, and family included. I don’t advertently plan on spoiling this book for you if you haven’t read it, but I think this is a neutral (and well-known) fact to reveal. When the white ladies communicate their black maids, they talk knowingly, or listen like the maids are aliens from somewhere else. My innuendos about these fictional characters are consummate example of where stereotypes and racism occur. When people talk to each other in this manner. Mishy Lesser once told me that the greatest thing she could advise upon current middle school students, is to talk to people not like they’re a curiosity. Talk to people like you know you’re going to learn something new.

The Canadian Rockies

Explore the world. It’s simple. That could mean taking a brisk walk around town. That could mean talking to an old friend you haven’t seen in a few years on the street. It could also mean traveling. My parents have always deeply instilled the importance of being cognizant of others around me, encompassing the various existing cultures, languages, and tenets. I consider myself very fortunate of being bestowed with the gift of frequent travel. From July 22-July 31, my family explored the world of the Canadian Rockies.

July 23-24–Lake Louise

Lake Louise [the town], was actually not the first place we visited, in fact, it is almost 2 hours away from Calgary. Calgary was the closest city with an international airport, and arriving, exhausted and depleted of mental energy at at around 4 p.m. on the 23, we stayed in a rural hotel close by the airport. It wasn’t until early the following morning that we drove the 3 ½  hours to our first destination, Lake Louise.

Roadside view of mountains

I remember riding in the car, listening to pop music on Sirius XM, completed dazed by the sublime vista of the grayish mountains, fitted perfectly together with the azure blue of the
unique rivers and lakes. My family was driving on the highway, yet it already felt like moving in a painting. The mountains hosted million year old glaciers, merely visible underneath obfuscated clouds. The ride from Calgary to Lake Louise took 3 ½ hours due to frequent stops dedicated towards visiting lakes or views off the main highway.

Lake Louise is by far the most famous lake in Banff National Park. In fact, after stopping at Lake Louise Village for lunch at 1:00, no cars except for the ones heading to the hotels by the Lake were allowed to pass at this time. The culling ensured that (a) all car headed down to the lake were able to find parking and (b) the lake wasn’t overcrowded with visitors. Incognizant of this fact at first, soon I realized what the traffic police were talking about. Driving up the narrow road, curvy road, I saw cars parked almost half a mile away

Chateau Lake Louise

from the Lake. Many of these people had probably awaken before the sun to see the Louise. Likewise, public entrance into the Lake wasn’t permitted after 7. This marked a very short, and limited public visitor number each day. Thankfully, I was staying in a hotel so the lake would be of access to me during my whole stay. And that’s when the Chateau Lake Louise pulled into sight. I was amazed, the resort was humongous! But then the Lake pulled into view, and that’s when I my brain really froze.

Of course, being a photographer, my parents and I walked down to the amazing Lake Louise, observing the light-blue water of the lake, blended with the glacier in the center of the landscape. The piece seemed to fit together so perfectly, it was like a miracle! The subtle sound of the gushing water onto the rocks on the shore, the luminous mountains in the background. My breath was taken away by silence.

Yet the next morning of our one night stay, I was once again mesmerized, yet this time by the very different vista of the giant glacier in the morning sunrise. Red, glowing, orange, lurid…amazing. To be completely honest, I was unaware of the how beautiful some places in the world could be. I guess I was kind of caught up in Boston.

Later in sunrise

Earlier in sunrise

July 24-26–Jasper

Jasper is another town, about 3 ½ hours from Lake Louise, and that’s the calculated time for a car ride that has no stops. A non-stop ride was not possible for my family, as the

Peyto Lake, off of highway

road we were traveling on was nominated one of the most beautiful roads in the world. We passed foreboding mountains, and twisted rivers the color of a pale light blue.

In Jasper, we stayed at the Jasper Park Lodge, 18 minutes from downtown. Out of the three towns/cities I visited during this Canadian Rockies trip, I think Jasper was my favorite

Jasper Park Lodge boat rentals on Beauvert

place to visit. Our lodge was located on Lake Beauvert, a non-geometric shaped lake with a tall, glamorous glacier in the scenic view. Our lodge consisted of over a hundred small cabins, surrounding around ⅓ of the lake. I enjoyed my chilly, brisk runs along the trails of the Beauvert in the morning and the sitting on decks above the shore of Beauvert, watching the sunset at night. Truly a wonderful pleasure.

Lake Beauvert

Although Jasper and Lake Louise are both towns in the Canadian Rockies, they both dramatically differ. It’s almost like sensing the difference when you cross the border between two towns in Massachusetts. Jasper seems more connected to the wilderness, with taller, more abundant mountains, and curvy highways, while Lake Louise seemed to be more populated, obtaining a closer resemblance to the city.

My favorite place to visit in Jasper was the Athabasca Falls. My family parked at the top of the canyon-like-gorge, and hiked down to the river. WHAT A VISTA! The color of the rocks, a concoction of yellows, and light oranges reminded me of the Grand Canyon. Yet the main difference was the gushing water and glaciers in the background. The sun was high in the sky, sending a warm azure tone to the water and the trees glowed a brilliant green. I was truly amazed by this painting-like view.

Top of Falls

Bottom of the falls

Halfway down Athabasca

July 27-31– Banff

Being the largest city of those we visited, Banff was also very unique. There was a plethora of wilderness, bears and water. Yet it also had a fair sized downtown, with local and international shops. It was almost like a more mountain focused version of Weston, MA.

Columbia Icefields

The ride from Jasper to Banff would have been about 7? hours, yet my family visited the Columbia Icefields on the way. It is a huge, million year old glacier that sits close to the highway. We took an Ice Explorer (there are only 23 of these machines in the world) up the rocky mountain and finally onto the glacier. What an original view. This marked my first time being on a glacier and surprisingly, it wasn’t as cold as I’d expected. Small streams ran throughout the crevices of the cracked ice and not surprisingly, this was from the slowly melting glacier.

Finally, at around 9 o’clock p.m., my family checked into the famous Banff Springs Hotel, located in the mountains. This historic hotel was built in 1888, and resembled the architecture of a castle. The interior was almost ghostly, too vast. The halls were colossal, adorned with tall small glassed windows and large black and white tiled floors that echoed when you set foot upon them. The lights that flared in the hallways exemplified candles or old-fashioned, dimly lit lanterns.

I think the most notable place we visited in Banff was Emerald Lake, which was 45 minutes away in Yoho National Park (thank you Sophie for recommending this!). Yes, the name says it all, the water appeared like a bluer version of an emerald! We walked a three hour trail along the lake’s circumference, observing the mountains, and the water’s color from different angles. Away from the bedlam of the city, I felt very present and relaxed, observing flowers and taking photos of the lake. We were in the woods, so the extra green added amazing pazzaz. The woods were quiet and only the occasional sound of rustling in the trees could the heard.

Emerald Lake

Emerald Lake

August 8–Boston

I’m sitting in the study room, typing up this post, thinking about my whole trip. A reflection. It lasted nine days, and we visited three different towns/cities. My family explored at least two places each day, so I’ve just highlighted my favorite place(s) from each city. I’ve kept a verbiage journal throughout my whole trip, writing and recording each day.  In retrospect, I know how many places I been around the world, but I think the Canadian Rockies have genuinely made the list of places I’ll never forget. It’s truly an amazement, a realization, and Mother Nature’s miracle.

Note: I took all of these photographs during my trip, and most are very lightly photoshopped, although the colors of the water are generally not altered.