"Senora, please step out of the vehicle. Your shoes, your Indian hair, your skin color and your demeanor are a total indication that you are illegal in this country."
Protests, Web sites and petitions galore have mounted against the newly-passed Arizona law (SB 1070). Thousands hit the streets of Arizona, claiming the bill is "unconstitutional," "irrational" and "dangerous." Members of the press have compared it to Adolf Hitler's orders to the SS to demand papers from Jewish people. Although our society seems a far cry from the Third Reich, the passing of the bill definitely shadows the absurdities of the once superpowers, swiftly authorizing law enforcement to spearhead the "war on immigration."
Just when Californians thought it was safe to get back in the water, the sight of oil drenched birds and blackened waters began to appear on the nightly news.
It was never my true intention to be a journalist. I always enjoyed writing and felt a sense of accomplishment when research papers and English essays came to me with ease. It wasn't until entering the newspaper world that I fell hard for the pursuit of the truth and reporting it to the public. What better way to merge my love for writing than serving our readership, providing them the facts to ask the questions that keep conversations vibrant. I would soon find out that exercising my right to free speech came with a price.
Northeast of Hawaii, about 2,000 kilometers off of our west coast, lies a vortex of commingled trash twice the size of the state of Texas. No, it isn't some kind of enormous landfill; it's a floating garbage patch out in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.
If I started this piece by saying that I always land on my feet, one could easily imply that I also have nine lives. Obviously, I'm referencing a cat here, but after the past couple of weeks that I've had, I can't help but analyze this little metaphor on cats.
