The sun was peeking through the twin trees that I could see through my window. I stretched and yawned as I got out of bed with a thump as my feet hit the fluffy, carpet floor. I stalked over to my closet, and opened its doors, greeted by hundreds of outfits that I have not wore yet. “Hmm...I guess I’ll just wear my pajamas around the house today. It’s not like I’m going anywhere.” I closed the closet doors, walked out of my room, and started walking down the stairs jubilantly. Time for the world to have a little Kayla in their life! I thought, as I danced around the enormous living room.
“Kayla? Is that you? Jeez, I wish I had your energy.” My mom said tiredly, as she walked towards me to give me a hug.
My mom wrapped her arms around my waist, and I wrapped my arms around her waist in the form of a hug. When we parted, I smiled and said “So. How was your rest?”
My mom sighed in exasperation, “I barely got any rest. I was up late last night working.”
I wish I had a job, I thought, walking over to the kitchen to make some breakfast.

Chapter one: Not an American.

    I opened the door to the fridge, and skimmed through the various amounts of food placed on shelves. I grabbed the bag of bagels and the carton of creamed cheese, and closed the refrigerator door. While I set the items I had grabbed from the fridge onto the kitchen counter, I heard the continuous chatter of voices coming from my sister’s room. I smiled to myself, they’re always so loud in the mornings, it’s almost as if a bustling city had planted itself in there. I walked over to the cabinet where we store our pots, pans, and plug-in items, grabbed the toaster, and closed the cabinet door. After I set the toaster onto the kitchen counter next to the bagels and creamed cheese, I plugged in the toaster, sliced a bagel I had picked out of the bag in two, set it inside the two slots in the toaster, pulled the lever down, and waited.

“Kayla! Hi!” Someone said, in greetings.
I turned around, and raised my eyebrows as my younger sister, Kara, tackled me in a bearhug. I laughed, set my bagel down, and returned her bearhug.
Kara looked up at me and into my eyes, “Spin me!” She said, joyfully.
I smiled at my exuberant sister, saying, “I’m eating breakfast, Kara. Perhaps we can do that after.”
Kara released me and threw her arms up, twirled around, and said, “Yay!”
I chuckled to myself, grabbed my bagel, and went back to eating.
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I was reading a book after I had spun my sister in the living room. I was exhausted after that, and decided that it was time for some rest and relaxation. And in order to do that, I needed to find somewhere comfortable, grab some books I could read under five minutes, and start reading. I was on chapter five in my book, when I heard some footsteps lightly walking down the stairs, into the living room, and stop right before me. I looked up from my book, and saw that it was my middle sister, Klarisa, that had walked down the stairs.
I smiled at her, “Hello, Klarisa. You’re up early.” I greeted.
Klarisa looked at me wide-eyed at the word I had said earlier, walked over to the kitchen, and looked at the time on the stove: 7:30. She walked over to me, and said, “What time did you wake up?” She asked, curious.
My eyes drifted over to the right, as I was thinking about the time I had woken up earlier. “Um...about 7:00. Why?” I answered.
Klarisa dramatically put her right hand over her eyes. She groaned, saying, “I woke up early….”
I looked back at my book, “So? I wake up early all the time. No big deal.” I shrugged.
Klarisa looked at me with a ‘no, really?’ face. “Yeah. You wake up early. Not me. Its not really my thing.” And with that, she walked out of the living room, and trudged up the stairs to get some more sleep.
I decided to get back to my books, since there was nothing else to do.
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    10:30am, watching the news with my dad, and I’m already bored. Since I had finished my daily reading, and had nothing else to do, I decided to watch tv with my dad. Apparently, watching the news had not been the show I had wanted to watch, but oh, well.
   The weather forecast was showing some sunny skies and windy days—days that had been occurring for a while. Either-or, I didn't really care about the weather forecast. Just bring me to the highlights of the day, that had seemed to be as gory or dangerous enough to be seen on TV. Luckily the forecast was finally done, and after a brutal amount of worthless commercials, they finally showed us what was on the news today. What did they show? They showed a video of a Black male getting beat up by a police officer, who—of course—was white. (The Black male was at the age of 13, and had just come home from school. I had assumed that by just looking at his school uniform, and the backpack he had carried upon his shoulders). I watched the grueling video as it replayed over and over, my eyes welling up with tears that were threatening to spill out of my eyes.
    When the news lady was finally done talking about the subject, I got out of my seat, ran up the stairs, ran into the room, and collapsed on my bed crying into my pink, fluffy pillow. Is this how American Patriots are like?! Are they as hateful as the people who had policemen torture us back during the Civil War Times?! Why, why, why is the world so cruel?!
   A thousand thoughts had filled in my head; about the white male who had killed a black male, about the Civil War and how badly Black people were treated, about the time when slavery was legal in the U.S. I raised my head from my damp pillow, and decided on one thing: Being an American means nothing compared to what had happened to my brothers, and sisters, and ancestors in the world. I am not an American, for only one reason: If being an American means killing innocent people out of hatred and violent thoughts, then I don't wanna be an American.
So what if I live here?! I can stay in America for as long as I want. Even when I said I don't wanna be an American anymore.
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Chapter two: Still not an American.

     I was sitting on my bed, reading another book called Wonder. I was laughing and dramatically crying throughout the book, as if I was the character myself. I don't care if the author was an American, white, or whatever. Whoever she is, she writes as if she was the character. I thought, smiling as I finished the book. I closed the book with a puff of air that had sighed out of my throat. I'll read the book again. Just watch me.
      There was a knock on my door, a few seconds after I had anticipated on reading my book again. I hefted myself off the bed, walked towards my door, and opened it. My dad was staring back at me, asking if I was okay. I answered “yes”, and remembered that my nanna had visited. The rest of my family was downstairs, enjoying some TV time, and engaging in conversation. I was cooped up here in my room—as usual.
   My dad nodded his head, told me to leave the door open, and walked down the stairs to the living room. After a few minutes of reading another book--again--I decided to go downstairs and watch TV with my family. When I had walked into the living room, I had expected for everyone to stop everything that they had been doing, and to stare at me, until I decided to leave. Instead, my mom continued to stare at her phone, my dad continued to glance at the TV and play his game, my sisters had continued to dance in front of the TV, and my nanna had continued to nap. I decided to sit down next to Nanna, since that was the last good seat there on the couch.
     Since, whatever my parents had been watching on TV was boring to me, I decided to spring conversation with my dad.
I fidgeted in my seat to face my dad, “Excuse me daddy, what game are you playing?” I asked, curious.
My dad showed me the game on his phone, “I’m playing ‘Boom Beach’. A game I have been playing for two years.” He answers.
     I look at my dad’s base with curiosity. It was crowded with guns, towers, bomb launchers, and land mines. There were little huts for the townspeople, training grounds for the soldiers, and boats for transportation. In the middle of his base, there sat a temple with a coin icon floating above it.
I tore my eyes away from the screen, fixing them on my dad, “What does this little icon do?” I asked.
My dad looked at the coin icon I was talking about, “Oh, this? You tap on it in order to collect taxes,” He tapped the coin icon on the screen, and coins sprouted from the temple, “See?”
My eyes widened in realization, “Ohh…”
   After I finished my conversation with my dad, I focused my attention on the TV again, noticing that my mom had changed the channel. To the news. Again. Great.
    The anchorwoman started talking in a monotone news-reporter voice, “Today another death has happened in Compton, California. A black male at the age of 30 has been shot in the middle of the street, last night, by a white police officer,” They show a video of a 30 year old black male standing in the middle of the now-empty street with his hands raised, showing that he has no weapon on him at that time. Then, at about 20 seconds later, it shows a police officer raising his gun, and pulling the trigger. Instantly the black male falls to the ground---blood pooling all around him---dead, “His wife claims that her husband was just getting home from work, when he had been stopped by a police officer. It will be a grieving week for the Andersons. Back to you, Carl.”
   When the show had aired to commercial, rage, fury, and hatred glowed in my eyes. I decided to vent out my anger inside the comforts of my room, where no one else can see me.
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Chapter three: Saved by God

My family and I were riding home after we went out for dinner. My sisters were laughing, I was reading a book, and my parents were talking about politics and safety rules. It was getting dark, so I pulled out my phone, turned on my flashlight, and continued reading.
   I was getting tired, so I turned off my phone flashlight, and decided to take a nap. That is, until I heard a siren from right behind us.
“Please park to the right side of the street. Wait for further instructions.” The policeman ordered, sternly.
    My dad drove and parked to the right side of the street, which was the darkest side, because of all the trees. We waited as the policeman parked its car right behind us, carried a big flashlight, and walked up to the driver’s side window. He shone the flashlight right into my Dad’s eyes, wanting to blind him. My sister Kara started sniffling, which got the policeman’s attention.
    He shone the flashlight into our truck, and saw all five of us. The policeman grew pale. He told us to have a nice night, walked away from the truck, got into his car, and pulled out into the street. My Dad prayed for a minute, my sister Kara was crying, and I was mad inside.
Instead of venting out my anger to everyone, I put a calming hand on my sister’s shoulder, “It’s gonna be okay, Kara. It’s gonna be okay.” I said, soothingly.
   Klarisa hugged Kara, and I decided to nap again. I felt like God had saved us today, because if it weren’t for Him, my dad would’ve been dead by now.

~