Sam’s Struggle with Senioritis

SAM HSIUNG

Editor-in-Chief

One of my current favorite poems, “Meditations in an Emergency” by Cameron Awkward-Rich, begins like this: “I wake up & it breaks my heart.” As a second-semester senior, this line couldn’t more perfectly describe how I’ve been feeling — waking up and going to school has progressively felt more and more like a continual chore.

We imagine life after college apps to be replete with loud laughter, purple sunsets, flourishing dreams, and infinite freedom from an institution that has tethered us to its fences for seemingly endless years. We dream of the finality of it all — the moment at which we feel like enough, weightless and full of nothing but satisfaction.

Well, news flash: school still exists. Grades still exist. We still exist. The burdens and weights and heavy loads of four years don’t just render themselves into the ash beneath us — in reality, we’re still here, waking up every day, our hearts breaking for no one but ourselves.

I’m exhausted, burnt out from these four years. I come home, draw the blinds, fall asleep; get in the car, shut my eyes, fall asleep; go to school, walk into class, (mentally) fall asleep. Three weeks ago, feeling typically exhausted, I woke up with a headache, and while I normally would’ve sucked it up and gone to school, I decided to stay in and sleep in (with the permission of my parents). I woke up again at around 9 a.m., got dressed, and arrived at school for my second period class. For the rest of the day, I felt refreshed, rejuvenated, and untethered — like a lost kite sifting through the morning wind. And, later in the evening, I made up the schoolwork I had missed without issue and turned in all my assignments early.

This experience of skipping class has reminded me of the importance of prioritizing myself, my mental health, and my physical well-being over school. In these

Hot Pockets: America’s Abominable Dumplings

KARINA ARONSON, SAM HSIUNG, SOPHIA YAO, & SALLY KING Editors-in-Chiefs, Opinion Editor & Editorial Director

Did you know that Hot Pockets are considered a type of dumpling? Well, we didn’t! But according to Wikipedia, anything that “consist[s] of pieces of dough… oftentimes wrapped around a filling” is classified as a dumpling — and Hot Pockets fall perfectly under this category.

With this newfound knowledge, we embarked on a journey to the downtown Los Altos’s Safeway where we ravaged the frozen food aisle for Hot Pockets like four greedy vultures. The flavors we decided to purchase: Ham & Cheese, Pepperoni Pizza, and Meatballs & Mozzarella (with REDUCED FAT mozzarella cheese *gasp*). After our Safeway rendezvous, Sally drove us in her car back to Pinewood, where we tucked our Hot Pockets into the school’s microwaves for two minutes and 50 seconds with great anticipation. T’was a fine (and obscenely disgusting) adventure, so buckle your seatbelts (like we had to in Sally’s car #pun!) and prepare yourselves for four tasty opinions!

Why did we decide to do this?

SH: I don’t know. Ask one of the other children in this column. Also, I offered to pay for Sally’s gas.

KA: I’m a masochist who enjoys torturing my tastebuds.

SK: They just told me to drive and pay for the gas. Sam did not offer to pay for gas — SHE IS LYING.

SY: It was Karina’s idea, so blame her for this mess. I suggested ravioli.

What was the best Hot Pocket flavor? Why?

final few months before graduation, I’m forcing myself to remember that sleeping an average of four hours a night is a choice — not a necessity — and also a cause for early-onset dementia, as my mother loves telling me. I don’t have to wear out my body until it becomes a hollow shell of itself. I’m learning to take breaks; to put a pause on life; to sleep more; to read more; to hang out with my friends; to be a kite floating standstill in the sky, feeling the lilt of the wind against my shoulders, spectating the expansive world beneath. You may call this phenomenon “senioritis,” but I think I’m just learning to be nice to myself.

As I’m sitting here writing this article, I can’t help but think of all the recent moments that I’ve been able to remember better and enjoy more as a less sleep-deprived, less absent-minded person. Some snapshots: foggy windows. Winter formal. Puss in Boots with Sky & Vinnie & Robert. Pho & gossip with my mother. The soft glow of streetcars. My dented water bottle. Mr. Kim’s TikToks with his baby. Safeway runs with Aeron & Rosa. The realization that “Stats” is a palindrome. Fried chicken. Red kites. Friday night basketball games. WALL-E & Big Hero 6 debates in AP Gov. Me trying to prove to Rosa & Sally in AP Lit that Ophelia is a lesbian & the both of them not believing me. Ms. Welze’s plastic swords & Hamlet costumes. The downpour of weekend rain. Glass chandeliers. Pho with Melody. Hot Pockets with Sally & Sophia Y. & Karina. Pimple patches. White space. Perforations in Calc class. Journalism layout. Ms. Wetzel’s frequent usage of the word “slay.” 4 a.m. McDonald’s with my brother. Chopin. My broken foil. H periods with Audrey. Naps & naps & more naps.

My heart is mended and full of gratitude for these snapshots & moments & people. In the last three months of high school, I’m looking forward to creating even more memories, to opening my heart up to more fulfilling experiences, & to waking up. & for that, I’m thankful for my “senioritis.”

SH: The Ham & Cheese was the equivalent of rubberized cement. The Meatball & Mozzarella was the perfect amalgamation of undercooked plastic and crusty meatballs. The Pepperoni Pizza was actually not that bad — it was horrible, but not that horrible, so I’d say it was the best one.

KA: I am only picking Pepperoni Pizza as the best flavor because the other two tasted offensive. The Ham & Cheese filling seeped out of the dough envelope, leaving a greasy trail. Buying the Meatball & Mozzarella flavor was another terrible choice. The mystery meat mounds (not balls, just mounds) were coated in a vulgar smelling red sauce. If thrown on the floor, it probably would have bounced.

SK: Between the plasticy, elastic cheese and putrid meatballs, the Pepperoni Pizza Hot Pocket was the most edible of the bunch. Even though some of the molten goo oozed out of the exploded dough wrap, parts of the cold raw dough perfectly complemented the saucy red liquid which tasted like unblended ketchup.

SY: Although they all tasted like cat pee if it was whisked into a sort of sticky paste and then dried in the sun and then caramelized and then cut into Hot Pocket-sized edible trash, the Meatball & Mozzarella was the least rubbery and congealed so it takes the crown.

Would you recommend Hot Pockets to others?

SH: If I strongly dislike you, then yes.

KA: Gross, no. I seriously question how the Hot Pocket company is still in business.

SK: If you ever need to make yourself throw up, have a couple steamy Hot Pockets!

SY: No no no no no no no no.

Do you have any last words that you’d like to leave with readers?

SH: If you’re convinced to try these out even after reading this review, please stay away from me.

KA: I’ve also been recently informed that we were supposed to put it in the pocket which uses special technology to make the Hot Pocket crispy which would probably explain why our dough was slightly soggy on the top yet brick hard on the bottom. (Compromising our credibility as food critics, my apologies.)

SK: I am ashamed to be in a country where these are considered an American delicacy.

SY: Never again.