MOHAMMED BUTT’S SENIOR REFLECTIVE PROJECT

A Stack of Old Books

Will I need my Rasta wig in college? I took a moment to ponder this before putting it back on the shelf. Despite my excitement at the prospect of living in a city,

I had been somewhat apathetic in making the final preparations for this new adventure. What I came across next in my sweep of my bedroom did little to expedite the process.

I opened my closet door so that I could begin packing my clothes. This would probably be the most laborious task. Before I began, I decided to take a glance at the neglected closet floor. Underneath the array of clothing that hangs, adorning the space in brilliant colors and patterns—checks, stripes, ginghams, madras, tartan— were stacks of books. Some were old and dull while others were bright and eye- catching. But they were all equally captivating in content to those who enjoy art, science, and history.

I stood there for a moment as if I had just been served a large plate of food— looking for a place to make the first bite. I sat down and grabbed a book about astronomy that had caught my eye. My toes curled, gripping the lived-in carpet, which was stained with the food I wasn’t supposed to bring up to my room. I remembered lying on this carpet on rainy days poring over the latest books my grandmother had gotten me. I remembered the feeling of rug burn after my forearms had been pressed against it too long.

The book’s large size made it a suitable medium for displaying its content. I contained images of galaxies and other astronomical phenomena. The universe has beauty at every scale. At its largest there are nebulas—massive swirls of gases in pinks, purples, reds, and blues—printed on paper that is almost two feet across.

Brief excerpts accompany the pictures but the book serves as more of a visual experience. However, it is effective in tapping the curiosity of the audience and leading them to seek more information elsewhere.

I grabbed another book. This one was on architecture. It included everything from baroque to art deco to post modern. I found another on the unsolved mysteries of American history. This one had always scared me a bit. What did happen to the

Roanoke colony? My grandma had always encouraged me to be scholarly but also well rounded. It is also worth noting that she still takes classes at a local college to keep her occupied. She also seems to have a lot to say about any number of topics.

I sat there for the rest of the day disregarding the unpacked boxes until I was ready to put the books back. There was still a lot of work to get done. Eat, Breathe, and Sleep Pokémon

It is difficult to imagine how much I could have accomplished if I had not spent countless hours playing Pokémon video games. My generation had many pop culture icons but I will never forget Pokémon. Between the video games, the trading cards, the T.V. show, and the figurines, there is some ambiguity as to where

Pokémon ended and my life began.

Of course, an individual does not create a culture. Everyone was playing

Pokémon. During recess we would trade and battle our Pokémon cards. I could not visit a friend without my turquoise, brick-like Gameboy in tow. I did not always know if there would be a Pokémon battle but it was important to have it with me just in case. It was also necessary for me to continue to train my Pokémon so that I would not fall behind my friends.

I was never one for watching sports nor did I play more than a few seasons on a sports team. I would play basketball or tag or ride my bike after school but I was never able to contribute to a conversation about the Yankees or the Celtics. I suppose that playing Pokémon was one of the ways I could relate to other kids.

I used to wish that I could have real Pokémon. Looking back on my obsession, it seems like Nintendo had gotten pretty close. By creating such a widespread fascination with the franchise it almost felt like Pokémon did exist. My Skills are Tested

Our ambulance pulled up to the address. There was no time for me to fumble with the jump bag; Woodbridge PD was already inspecting the house. Once it was safe to enter, they guided us to a bedroom. The room seemed normal—neater than my room at least—except for the heroin addict lying pale and lifeless on the bed. His mouth was open in an expression of horror. There was also a look helplessness on his paralyzed face that made me shudder. I was a little uncomfortable with the thought of being responsible for his life. At the age of sixteen, I still considered myself to be a kid—someone my parents are responsible for, not someone who is responsible for others.

The aura of intensity in the room was overwhelming. It was as if there was a tangible barrier preventing the entry of the faint of heart. I had made it into the room so I was doing something right. A fellow EMT was already assessing the patient; he did not have to feel his pulse for very long to know that he was severely tachycardic. I found solace in knowing that his heart was still beating but I also knew that he would crash soon if we did not act. It was at this point that my mind went from distant, scattered thoughts to a razor sharp focus. I grabbed the oxygen tank and hooked him up to a breathing mask. Worries and hesitations started to take form in the back of my mind but I did not let them interfere with my patient care. We moved him to the floor and trauma-stripped him in case his heart stopped and we had to perform CPR. Soon afterward, the patient regained consciousness. The paramedics arrived and we moved the patient into the ambulance. One of the paramedics set up an IV and started giving medications. The worst was over; it was now a matter of getting to the hospital. Craving Urban Life

I don’t know when I began to obsess over cities. I reached a point in my life that I decided that the greatest place to be a young person is in a city. I am not sure if this is true but I suppose I will find out soon enough.

It is possible that my impression of certain cities has been romanticized by film and television. I would certainly love to live in Martin Scorsese’s New York sans the violence. Paris has long been a popular setting for the art films I’ve grown fond of. But there is more substance to a city’s appeal than what is depicted on a screen.

They are cultural hubs. This includes things that have long been considered cultural like fine art and history museums. But it also includes modern trends and the spread of radical ideas. Many of history’s famous protests and revolutions occurred in cities. I think that a character from the television show Adventure Time put it best when he screamed “Youth Culture Forever!”

I remember visiting Montreal a few years ago. It fascinated me. There were so many historic buildings. It was just a gorgeous and unique city. There were young people doing odd but fascinating things. People were riding bikes to the local café.

There was so much energy around me. I don’t think anyone can put a price tag on the value of waking up to such a wonderful environment. Although, if there is one, it is very high because living in a city is usually pretty expensive. Sometimes I wonder if the price is really justified but I suppose that’s something I’ll have to decide during my time at NYU.