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Description
Idle Eve
9/10/06
English AP

The Summer Hyperbole

“Oak, Red Wood, Maple…” I nonchalantly named the trees that passed by, barely paying notice if they were correct. The vast enigma of Junior year loomed before me and unlike many of my friends, I had spent the summer working; all of it. Now, it wasn’t the prospect of working that got to me, nor was it the blazing heat I was in while working, nor was it the nights where I caught insomnia like the flu (a bitter good riddance), but rather some much more plaguing, Uncle. To be honest, Uncle wasn’t his real relationship to me, but it was a title I had to call him. It’s a family secret, our relationship, so I’ll keep its disclosure close to nothing, but I will say one thing, I have never been more irked in my life! His carefree attitude, his lack of listening propagated by his arrogance and his lack of common sense took a good 3 years off my life. I wasn’t the only one who felt this way. Gleeful smiles were amidst the car, and though I admit to feeling guilty, I wanted to leave the house under any means. It was time for a break.
“It was a good idea to go to Tahoe,” I said as we ascended the mountains. I heard a click and Dad shifted to a higher gear. I gulped. Heights.
“Well, it was your grandma’s idea,” he responded. I looked at Ba and smiled, thankful that my last week was spent resting. Ba was a lady in her 80s who spoke only in Vietnamese and likewise, I only spoke to her in English, but we understood each other well enough. I looked at the clock and read aloud 11:51 AM. The weight of my eyes already felt heavy, so I raised the shades, put on my shades, closed my eyes and listened to the lyrics as my consciousness drifted off.
“Look, love. They’ve given up believing; they’ve turned aside the story of the gentle fall.”

It was about 1:51 by the time we hit Lake Tahoe. My moms said a one hour drive was delayed by traffic. I wasn’t skeptical. My drunk-like awakening was evident enough of this fact and unfortunately, for the coming days, I would feel the same migraine again.
Perhaps the only redeeming feature was the very last moments of this trip. No, it wasn’t when I left Lake Tahoe, though that was a blessing in itself, but rather when I took a trip with my father up the Heavenly Mountains. If I recall correctly, the idea was abrupt. I had been packing my belongings furiously and my father came walking in Versace clothing.
“Would you like to ride the gondola up the mountains?” he asked me. I had a mental image of a boat being pulled up by invisible strings and lead by an Italian with a heavy accent. I responded with a yes and so he helped me pack my gear and load it into the car; we walked to the gondola, which I still find odd since I never noticed it laid a block to my right. We bought the tickets. I grabbed the railings, supported myself, and got into the transparent 4-seater hell-bent on the vertical limit of said mountain. Worst. Present. Ever… or so I thought.
Now, I don’t like to admit it, but going up was something I usually had to prepare for mentally. I didn’t have a bad case of acrophobia, and it was mostly dormant since I was a child, but there was something about going up a mountain that made my disposition shake. I realized this too late. I can still remember the “whoosh” of the doors and the rocky jump start that propelled us up the mountain. However, this was negated by the usual breathe in, breathe out routine and allowed me to calmly survey my surroundings. There were remnants of snow by the time I looked and it heavily covered the tops of the trees and coated them much like sugar on cake. Rocks gave the impression of jutted teeth from the side of the mountain. Holes looked like nostrils of some dormant beast. There were no animals in sight, but at the time I started to chuckle at how alive a dead mountain could be. Maybe it was only me and maybe I made a mountain out of a mole hill, but it was great.
“This is what we need more of.,” My dad understood. “Nature is something we just don’t look at...everyday.”
I had to nod and agree. Looking at the mountain made me realize how much I missed walking outside, lying down--greeting the stars. I usually blamed it on work, but honestly, all it took was a lift of a window and I could see the star’s light, a reminder of an individual whom I loved dearly and who would always point out the aesthetics of the moon.
There was not a moment I’d trade all summer for this.
I passionately loved nostalgia. There just something about remembering a treasured moment that always got to me and in all honesty, I’m certain the moment when the lifeless forest mountains came alive would stay with me.

Description
Idle Eve
9/10/06
English AP

The Summer Hyperbole

“Oak, Red Wood, Maple…” I nonchalantly named the trees that passed by, barely paying notice if they were correct. The vast enigma of Junior year loomed before me and unlike many of my friends, I had spent the summer working; all of it. Now, it wasn’t the prospect of working that got to me, nor was it the blazing heat I was in while working, nor was it the nights where I caught insomnia like the flu (a bitter good riddance), but rather some much more plaguing, Uncle. To be honest, Uncle wasn’t his real relationship to me, but it was a title I had to call him. It’s a family secret, our relationship, so I’ll keep its disclosure close to nothing, but I will say one thing, I have never been more irked in my life! His carefree attitude, his lack of listening propagated by his arrogance and his lack of common sense took a good 3 years off my life. I wasn’t the only one who felt this way. Gleeful smiles were amidst the car, and though I admit to feeling guilty, I wanted to leave the house under any means. It was time for a break.
“It was a good idea to go to Tahoe,” I said as we ascended the mountains. I heard a click and Dad shifted to a higher gear. I gulped. Heights.
“Well, it was your grandma’s idea,” he responded. I looked at Ba and smiled, thankful that my last week was spent resting. Ba was a lady in her 80s who spoke only in Vietnamese and likewise, I only spoke to her in English, but we understood each other well enough. I looked at the clock and read aloud 11:51 AM. The weight of my eyes already felt heavy, so I raised the shades, put on my shades, closed my eyes and listened to the lyrics as my consciousness drifted off.
“Look, love. They’ve given up believing; they’ve turned aside the story of the gentle fall.”

It was about 1:51 by the time we hit Lake Tahoe. My moms said a one hour drive was delayed by traffic. I wasn’t skeptical. My drunk-like awakening was evident enough of this fact and unfortunately, for the coming days, I would feel the same migraine again.
Perhaps the only redeeming feature was the very last moments of this trip. No, it wasn’t when I left Lake Tahoe, though that was a blessing in itself, but rather when I took a trip with my father up the Heavenly Mountains. If I recall correctly, the idea was abrupt. I had been packing my belongings furiously and my father came walking in Versace clothing.
“Would you like to ride the gondola up the mountains?” he asked me. I had a mental image of a boat being pulled up by invisible strings and lead by an Italian with a heavy accent. I responded with a yes and so he helped me pack my gear and load it into the car; we walked to the gondola, which I still find odd since I never noticed it laid a block to my right. We bought the tickets. I grabbed the railings, supported myself, and got into the transparent 4-seater hell-bent on the vertical limit of said mountain. Worst. Present. Ever… or so I thought.
Now, I don’t like to admit it, but going up was something I usually had to prepare for mentally. I didn’t have a bad case of acrophobia, and it was mostly dormant since I was a child, but there was something about going up a mountain that made my disposition shake. I realized this too late. I can still remember the “whoosh” of the doors and the rocky jump start that propelled us up the mountain. However, this was negated by the usual breathe in, breathe out routine and allowed me to calmly survey my surroundings. There were remnants of snow by the time I looked and it heavily covered the tops of the trees and coated them much like sugar on cake. Rocks gave the impression of jutted teeth from the side of the mountain. Holes looked like nostrils of some dormant beast. There were no animals in sight, but at the time I started to chuckle at how alive a dead mountain could be. Maybe it was only me and maybe I made a mountain out of a mole hill, but it was great.
“This is what we need more of.,” My dad understood. “Nature is something we just don’t look at...everyday.”
I had to nod and agree. Looking at the mountain made me realize how much I missed walking outside, lying down--greeting the stars. I usually blamed it on work, but honestly, all it took was a lift of a window and I could see the star’s light, a reminder of an individual whom I loved dearly and who would always point out the aesthetics of the moon.
There was not a moment I’d trade all summer for this.
I passionately loved nostalgia. There just something about remembering a treasured moment that always got to me and in all honesty, I’m certain the moment when the lifeless forest mountains came alive would stay with me.