Sherwin+Yu

__PSA__ Imagine this. You’re lying on a couch, motionless, mind-absently staring at the television. Popcorn is in your buttery hand, and a Coke is on the nearby coffee table. You decide to change the channel, so you reach for the remote on the other side of the couch. All of sudden, your body becomes stiff, and you start to sweat. Now you’re panting, gasping for more air. And then you reach a sudden epiphany: You’re obese. In America, over 75.5 million adults are obese. The severity of this situation is often overlooked because of its commonness, but it cannot be ignored any longer.  Obesity is a huge problem all across the United States. It causes malignant diseases and problems such as heart disease, high blood pressure, and stroke. As you can see, obesity has many negative and even deadly effects. Especially in America, the obesity rate has climbed higher and higher. This also puts people at a financial inconvenience. In the U.S. alone, annual medical costs reach over $147 billion! Don’t you have better things to do with all that money? Exactly. And to solve all of these conflicts and impositions, one thing is strongly recommended: Exercise. All these obesity problems can be attributed to the fact that as technology has advanced, less and less people see the true significance of a good workout. Doctors say that an hour of physical activity is a satisfactory amount of exercise time. Simple exercises such as push-ups and jogging, or full-fledged sports such as basketball and football are great ways to keep your body and spirit conciliated.  In conclusion, obesity is a tough opponent, but it can eventually be conquered. All one needs is exercise and determination. Now imagine this. You are on the free throw line, ready to shoot the game winning point. Sweat is dripping down your face, and you’re breathing heavily. But you make the point and you are victorious. Victorious in the game, and in keeping you and you’re body active. __BURYING MY DAD__

“Oh my God! Oh my God! I’m going to the beach, I’m going to the beach!” I yelped in a singsong voice. As a young adolescent, everything seemed like a new exciting wonder. A brisk walk in the park was the same as being a safari explorer in the Amazon. A simple swim in the pool was the same as scuba diving with dolphins. Even a short power nap in the family room seemed like camping in the middle of Yellowstone. There were no finite limitations to my vivid imagination. With all this imagination at work, my brain seemed to be working overtime to process any and all activities that could occur at the beach. A mermaid could wash up at sea. Great white sharks could start to grow legs and try to attack us. My mind was only set to one realistic possibility though, building the most extravagant, gigantic, and ornate sandcastle known to mankind. While my dad was struggling packing up all the beach chairs, towels, food, and umbrellas, I was also busying myself. Blueprints of ten story skyscrapers, royal castles, and detailed monuments seemed to jet out of my hand, some even professional architects would never be able to manage building. My sketch pad was filled to the point where I expected it to burst into a thousand fluttering pages. “Are we all ready?” my dad asked inquisitively. “I’m more than ready. Now can we please go?” I replied back a little impatient. For the next two hours in our tightly packed sedan, my voice worked like an engine, talking nonstop, hardly taking any time to breathe. My voice was echoing inside the car, as if I had yelled into a deep chasm. Thoughts raced through my mind. //Will the water be cold? How is the weather near the beach? Do they have any hot dog stands there?// My dad, exhausted from trying to answer all my questions, finally managed to strangle in a few words. “WE’RE HERE!” Anxious and ecstatic, I wrangled out of my car seat and ran.

Bright golden sand glistened against the blinding Sun. Decorative boogieboards with carefully crafted designs came into detail. An array of rainbow, polka-dotted, and striped umbrellas lined the sunlit shoreline. Seagulls circled the air maniacally squawking. Lifeguards whistled so loud people on the west coast could hear them. Little babies crying about touching the icy water. The crashing sound of the waves hit against a nearby promontory. College girls giggled away at the sight of arrogant bodybuilders. Every single sight and sound enticed me to go closer, so close my little toes could feel the mighty ocean’s wrath. The ocean was yearning me to come closer. The breeze was acting as a stimulant, pushing me forward. With every moment I stood there, I could hear my father and mother’s plead to “Wait up!” much weaker. In utter silence, I created mental images to the endless possibilities I could do to the landscape. It was imagination at work. And I was ready for it. The rich, salty air was being breathed into my lungs. Grains of sand as glimmering as gold lightly grazed my feet. Unfortunately, I could not run away again because my laggard parents kept me in lockdown after reaching my epiphany. Impatience rose inside of me. Even so, I was not at all discouraged. “Faster! Faster! We won’t get a good spot if you walk any slower!” I screeched agitated. “Don’t worry son, there are plenty of good spots around here.” He retorted in a sarcastic voice. I rolled my eyes and lead them toward a nice, empty spot where I knew would be a beautiful setting for my masterpiece. As I started the tedious task of applying sunscreen, my parents unloaded everything; the beach umbrella, towels, chairs, a soccer ball, food, etc. I found my sandcastle kit thrown off to the side, so I took it, and I briskly walked back to my “construction zone.” //Ahhh, the moment I’ve been waiting for.// I thought to myself excitedly. I sent my mother to fetch me some seawater, knowing it will help with the sand’s consistency. After for what seemed like ages (probably three minutes), my mother brought the water back. I shoveled some sand into a bucket and poured some water over it. I then flipped it over creating the base for my creation. Bucket by bucket, sweat by sweat, I crafted my sandcastle, sculpting every part of it to perfection. I used little pieces of twigs to carve in any writing. Newly found shells were decorated around the whole thing. Unfortunately, my father critiqued me at everything I did, as usual. He could see me do anything and have something to critique about, even if I thought it was perfect. //Your castle is crooked. Pick better decorations. Get more water, it’s going to collapse if you don’t.// “Be quiet, Dad! I’m trying to work! I HATE it how you always annoy me when I want to do something. I don’t need your help. I hate you!” Trying to absorb what I had just said, he turned his back on me and left me alone. With some guilt in me, I tried to complete my masterpiece. Finally, when everything was just about finished, I took a step back, and observed my creation. Sand crumbled down from the uneven edges. Broken pieces of shells were dangling loosely from all sides. Supposed calligraphy written across the top was in reality illegible scribbles. The whole thing was a complete disaster. My dad stepped behind me, studying my cataclysm. Gingerly, he picked me up and put me off to the side. Quizzical, I stared at him intently. //What antics was he up to? What is he going to do?// Then, he did something that flabbergasted me. He violently kicked and pummeled the disastrous sandcastle to a pulp. Looking quite satisfied, he turned around, picked a shovel up, and gave a two word command. “Start digging.” I felt mad that he ruined my hard work, but I knew it looked horrible. And then again, I was still feeling guilty about how I had viciously snapped at him. To try and make up for my wrongdoing, I obeyed him and started digging. “What’s this for?” “Just keep digging.” After an hour or so, and a couple of juice breaks, I had dug a five foot deep hole. My dad told me to stop digging and calmly walked into the ditch. “Fill this hole with sand.” “But you’re in it. How will you get out, Daddy?” I asked worried. “Don’t worry, just do it.” Reluctantly, I started to shovel in the sand. After another ten minutes, he was completely buried, with only his head poking out. “Sherwin, since you hate me, I’ve buried myself so I can die. The sand will pull me down until I can’t breathe, and then you’ll have no more bothersome daddy to annoy you, okay?” In tears, I choked out my pleas to stop him. “No Daddy! Don’t leave me and Mom! You’re not annoying, you’re nice, and caring, and the best daddy ever! I love you so much! DON’T LEAVE ME!” By then, I was hysterically sobbing, wanting him to come back to me, how I’ll never say I hate you to him, how I’ll be the best son ever if he gets out. I was hugging his head, trying to pull him out. The whole beach was looking at us, but I couldn’t have cared less. I just wanted my daddy. Eventually he told me that he talked to God, and that He would allow him to leave the sand because of me, but I had to dig him out, and I effortlessly did. I would’ve sacrificed anything for him to be with me. Now at twelve years old, I can still remember about that day like it was yesterday. The feelings, the emotions, the pain, the joy when I shoveled him out. That was the moment I realized how important he was to me. The moment I realized how much I needed him. The moment I understood why I loved my daddy so much. Through thick and thin, bad and good, we will always love each other. No matter how old we get, no matter what problem arises, no matter anything, our connection is never broken. Our relationship is never strained. Our love is never vanquished.

__ Author’s Note __ When I was young, I often had juvenile and frivolous thoughts. As I grew older though, my father shaped my perspective into a much wiser and logistical one. Throughout the years, he has taught me an infinitive amount of knowledge, consisting of morals, human nature, life lessons, and love. He has made me the writer I am today, and my gratitude towards him will never be a sufficient amount. I’ll love him until the sun burns out, until the brink of death, I’ll love him for eternity.