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Cast of Collin College\u27s production of Oedipus.https://digitalcommons.collin.edu/oedipus_gallery/1052/thumbnail.jp

Oedipus - 53

Cast of Collin College\u27s production of Oedipus.https://digitalcommons.collin.edu/oedipus_gallery/1140/thumbnail.jp

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Crew of Collin College\u27s production of Oedipus.https://digitalcommons.collin.edu/oedipus_gallery/1135/thumbnail.jp

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Cast of Collin College\u27s production of Oedipus.https://digitalcommons.collin.edu/oedipus_gallery/1132/thumbnail.jp

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Final dress rehearsal for Collin College\u27s production of Oedipus

College, Collin

Oedipus Final Dress

Prompt engineering guide for animation and game art. Created as part of Collin College\u27s Prompt Engineering Guide

Smith, Russell

Prompt Engineering Guide: Animation & Game ArtRussell

Tanzim, Samira

My Bedroom Understands Me Better Than the People Who Stand Beside Me
When I was younger, I asked my parents to give me the biggest room in the house. My
king-size bed, twice as long as me, was high and had four-bed pillars, giving me the illusion it
was my imaginary palace; my room was my land, a place entirely mine, a place I could
transform any of my dreams into an endless realm of creativity, a place where I could make
anything happen. My pillow was soft, silky, and feathery; however, it was stronger than
chromium, protecting me from monsters and shielding me from creatures born from my mind.
My kolbalish, a cylindrical pillow almost as tall as me, was my magical sword. As I cut through
vines and enemies to reach the destination after an endlessly exhausting journey, I watched the
sky. I laid on my red bedsheet with golden flowers as the fan’s blades propelled the warm,
soothing air onto my body. I pulled up my blanket and stared at the ceiling, gazing at my
nightlight, a Jasco Snowman Projectable, knowing I wasn’t alone; I had a friend I could talk to, a
friend who witnessed my battles. That was the last time I felt at home.
After my parents’ divorce, everything changed. I lost everything dear to me in a new
country with new people, a new environment, and a new lifestyle. I was living with my mom.
As the night grew, I laid on an uneven, bumpy, and irregularly patchy tushok on the floor,
big enough to jam three people together, containing more dust than in the Sahara desert, itchier
than itching powder getting stuck on my back, causing me to clench my jaw with furrowed
eyebrows. When I laid down on a white floral bedsheet, I slowly entered the aching underworld
of pain that was untold. Partitioned by a moshari, cockroaches tippy-toed by my arm, and my
body started to shiver aggressively as I covered my mouth, fearing to wake anyone up with my
scream. Even on nights without electricity, as the wind blew on the window, creating a
clitter-clatter noise, the room filled with a cold breeze that tasted dusty; it was saltier than the
ocean, and the smell was worse than a landfill. The familiar comfort I used to feel at home was
gone—the last moment before my picture-perfect family shattered, ripping my heart into pieces
of scraps. Even with stitches, the damage was irreversible. Every night, I would try to sew it
back together. Every time I aggressively poked the needle around the crust, trying to attach it to
the other piece, a teardrop would come out of my eye, gushing down from my crusty cheeks
down to my thin, patchy, and thorny pillow, slowly seeping and inflating into a puffer fish,
consuming all my pain and sorrows. Even the pillow knew more about my aching pain than the
people who stood beside me. No one noticed my sorrow except my pillow, which would embrace
me. Whether it was a breezy or stormy night, it never left me. I then embraced my kolbalish,
which was half as tall as me, when internal pain became external; my body shook and slowly
curled into an embryo, trying to find comfort as if my kolbalish were my parents, picturing them
embracing me together. I pulled my quilted kantha over, covering my body, creating an illusion
that I was in a different world. I would try to take myself back to the days when my bedroom was
my infinite realm of boundless imagination, my happy place, but it then became where I was
most vulnerable and where I filled in all my sorrows.
I moved back to America in 2019 to pursue a better future with my dad. Once again, I
was starting all over again in a new place with new people and a new lifestyle.
I then laid on my queen-size bed, staring up at the ceiling with anger; I hated every
minute of living here. I hated change. Out of fear, I got rid of all my friends. I would lay on my
bed and hug my pillow, and it would whisper words of reassurance, being the companion I
yearned for. When I made new friends, my pillow was always there to catch my tears, even
during tough nights when friends spoke spears of venom, cutting me more profoundly than any
betrayal could. My kolbalish was my rock; it always stood by my side and protected me from
echoes of words that tore my self-respect. It always gave me the strength to stand up tall. Once
again, I started all over, alone.
Now I move to another room. It’s not too small, nor too big. The bed is not too high nor
too low; it is full-size, making it just right. I keep the blue version of the red bedsheet I had as a
child. I heard the color blue helps calm people down. This bedsheet brings back my bittersweet
memories before my parents split up. Instead of being upset this time, I’ve learned to accept it. I
now have amazing friends, as I talk to them late at night on the weekends losing track of time
from laughter. My bed now helps me relax all my muscles and provides comfort. The sound of
the air conditioner is like faint cheers of joy and laughter, like audiences applauding proud of the
person I am today. My soft, mellow pillow no longer soaks tears of sorrow but tears of laughter.
As I have made amends with people I’d wronged, my kolbalish grasps my hand and fills me with
confidence, easing my tensed soul as I speak. I open the window beside my bed, and my room
fills with a romantically soothing breeze, not too hot nor too cold, making my body shiver, and
my heart flutter. I pull up my light pink blanket and get lost in the sight of the beautiful moon.
Even though no matter where I go, I will never feel at home, I feel peace.
Throughout my life, nothing was ever consistent. The most consistent thing I’ve ever had
is my bedroom, which saw me transition from childhood to adulthood. My bed, my pillow, my
kolbalish, my blanket: they witnessed my untold aching pain and my greatest achievements and
saw me grow internally and externally. This is where I feel most vulnerable. I can say anything,
and no one will judge me. It’s my safe spot. As I continue to uncover more chapters of my life, I
know they will always be by my side. Even now, my bedroom still understands me better than
the people who stand beside me.


English

My Bedroom Understands Me Better Than the People Who Stand Beside Me

Smith, Aareon

I Believe, No Matter What Life Has For Me I'll Come Out On Top 
 When I was three years old, people noticed my optimism. I believed in fairytales and I 
could be whatever I set my heart on. I believed  I had the choice of becoming whoever I wanted 
to be, and that same optimism would one day guide me through life and all of my achievements. 
As a child, I enjoyed playing in the field all day with my cousins. I was a rough little girl. I never 
wore shoes, and my hair would always be messy. I would go boxing with the boys and ride bikes 
in the neighborhood all day with my cousins. I had to act tough for my cousins; I couldn't be 
seen as weak because they would make fun of me for being soft or girly. Oh, how cruel boys can 
be. I was the only child until I was five; for a while, it was only me and my boy cousins. When I 
was a kid, my grandmother would tell me, "You can be anything you want to be in life." Because 
of those words, I believed I could do anything. Most importantly, this hope came from my 
grandmother. 
  My grandmother used to have seizures a lot when I was a kid. I couldn't have been no 
more than four when they started to happen. It would be overwhelming to watch her on the floor 
shaking. My idol, the most fierce woman I knew. She taught me how to cook, clean, and make 
things from scratch. I would clean all day with her while she said her favorite line, "I hate a nasty 
house."  It's because of her I am the woman I am today. At the time, we lived in Carencro, 
Louisiana, on a street we knew as the “back street.” I was with her often, so I would help out 
with the seizure episodes. In these moments, I developed a sense of wanting to help people like 
my grandmother when I grew up. Because of my grandmother, I believed I would one day work 
in healthcare. What I didn't believe then was how hard it would be. Indeed, it was a long journey 
filled with many trials and tribulations, moments of losing myself while trying to achieve great 
things. 
  I'm the eldest of six kids; my mom had five girls and one boy. A lot of responsibility 
came with being a bigger sister. I would help feed, clothe, do hair, and be the best example they 
would have to follow. As a child, I had to be a leader, so I couldn't afford to play around, or at 
least that was what my father taught me. My dad was very strict when I was growing up.  I 
always thought of him as a mean old man. He definitely was mean, but I guess it was because he 
worked all the time. He would work early in the morning to late at night, and he would never let 
you forget it!  I feel he was just a "you get out of life what you put in" type of guy who was to 
the point. He would tell me things like, "Nothing comes to a sleeper but a dream," or "If you're 
gonna do something, do the best you can do every time, I don't care if you're a garbage man, be 
the best garbage man you can be."  Because of this, I used to feel like no matter what I did,  it 
was never good enough for him. I would have to work twice as hard at everything because he felt 
I didn't work hard enough the first time. I now understand he instilled discipline into me. 
Sometimes, though, it feels like it can be a blessing or a curse! I can't give myself or others grace 
sometimes because of that discipline. 
  My mom and my dad separated when I turned fourteen. I felt as if my world had 
imploded. That meant more responsibility for me, even though no one saw it that way but me. 
My world and all I had known was torn apart. My mom moved my siblings and me to Jeanerette, 
Louisiana, where she grew up as a kid and where our entire family is from. Even though my 
whole family was from this small town (emphasis on the small town), I didn't know anyone 
there, and this is one of those towns where everyone knows everyone. The mall is an hour away, 
and the nearest Walmart is a town over. This was different from my normal. I was used to 
everything being so convenient. I hated every minute of it. This town was so small that they had 
the high schoolers going to school with the middle schoolers. 
 I started acting out with everything happening so fast and against my will (yes, my will, I 
was spoiled). I didn't want to be there, and I didn't know how to move on without my dad. I felt 
broken inside, and my family was incomplete. I was abandoned by my father, a trauma I'm still 
trying to heal. Unfortunately, because of what was going on at home with my parents ,my focus 
strayed away from school; to the point where I was held back from the tenth grade. When I 
arrived at Jeanerette Senior High, the counselor told me he would put me in my original grade if 
I did the work and showed him I was trying to improve my academics. However, I somehow let 
my conflictions affect everything. I was angry all the time,  so high school was rather rough. I 
would fight a lot, and I didn’t see the point in going. Although now that I'm older and able to 
admit it, I was trying to get under my parent's skin. Whatever they said do, I did the exact 
opposite. I was so stubborn, but soon, that stubbornness would work in my favor. 
 While I found ways to make extra money,  I began to resent my mom for my dad's 
decision to leave because of all the hardships it caused. I feel terrible about it now, but as a kid, it 
was only black and white there was; no in-between. I give her all the honor and grace now since 
I'm a woman, even more so since I'm a mom. I  understand life is hard, and we do our best with 
what we have.  I sometimes feel alone and get upset with how things may be going, but I try to 
approach things differently, no matter how I'm feel.  
 Because of all my manic episodes, my family pretty much washed their hands of me. 
They didn't feel as if I would graduate. They felt that I was a lost cause. The reality of this was 
that they genuinely believed that I was lost. I began to realize that's what it took for me to get my 
act together and believe in myself. I needed to learn to put one foot before the other and keep 
going.  I started going to church on my own when I was sixteen. I got re-baptized and committed 
my life to Christ. I just wanted to be different from everything that I saw around me. I was so 
overwhelmed with life and the hand I had been dealt that the only thing I could do was turn to 
God. I believe I can do all things through Christ, who strengthens me. I honestly haven't been the 
same person since that day. My emotions are regulated, and I want the best for myself and 
everyone around me. I was so upset with my parents that I let all that anger govern who I was, 
how I behaved, and most importantly, what I believed.  
  I  started noticing my potential. I scored excellent ratings on my end-of-core exams while 
being rewarded with many different awards at the end of the semester. I went above and beyond 
my expectations and limitations. Then again, my dad always told me, "Science says the average 
person uses 10% of their brain; think of the possibilities if you go beyond that." I believed I 
could succeed no matter what challenges I would face. The counselor did what he said he would 
and bumped me back to my original grade. During my senior year, I had an online (do at your 
own pace; have to complete it and make a passing grade) course I needed to graduate. I'm not an 
online class person. I hated it, to be completely honest. It's just not my way of learning. All that 
semester, I procrastinated with the class until two weeks from graduating, and then I realized it 
was crunch time. I believed I could finish that class well within that time frame; with hard work, 
dedication, and that same stubbornness' —I completed that class on time and with a passing 
grade. I walked across that stage, proud and free of every chain put on me. 
  I broke generational curses that day, being the first in my family to graduate high school. 
I believed in myself when no one else did. I had to prove to myself who I was and what I was 
capable of. As soon as I realized this, my whole life trajectory changed. My story didn't stop 
there. I've faced greater challenges, but got through because  I believe I'll come out on top every 
time. What you believe matters! "When life gives you lemons, you make lemonade." Let what 
you believe guide you to becoming a better you. Don't give up; most importantly, don't let 
anyone tell you your purpose; that's what you decide!! 


I Believe, No Matter What Life Has For Me I\u27ll Come Out On Top

Bryant, Hailee

 In my little one stoplight town of Boken Bow, Oklahoma, a cozy brick home is set at the 
conclusion of a long and rut – filled, dead-end dirt road. The family living in this house is more 
or less your typical family – a mother, a (step)father, two sisters, and a brother – with one 
exception…religion. Jehovah’s Witnesses lead a modest life with plenty of guidelines. One such 
guideline that has always gotten me in trouble, “we just don’t date.” One guy, Austin Allison, 
caught my eye early on in high school, when I was just 17 years of age, and it created an instant 
bond that could not be broken. In this cozy brick home there came a day that would change the 
course of my life forever. 
 The day was coming to an end, the sun just beginning to set over the horizon as I sat in 
my bedroom nestled into my favorite oversized red armchair watching a tv show. In comes my 
mom and stepdad, their faces rife with anger “How long have you been dating this boy?” my 
stepfather said. I managed to make a meek little “A while” escape my lips as I tentatively rose 
from my spot, realizing my comfortable, familiar life was about to change. I saw the anger in my 
parent’s eyes flash to shock, then back to anger, “You better hope he can come get you” said my 
mother. Sadly, with tears filling my eyes I said I would give him a call. After the call I told my 
parents that he would be here in about three hours from Dallas, Texas. I looked at my mom as 
she quietly started to cry, realization setting in that I was not going to fold this time. My stepdad 
then asked me “What about your faith in Jehovah? Was all that even real?” I wasn’t completely 
sure how I would go about answering this loaded question. The best I could come up with was 
that I gave it an honest try and found, it isn’t what I want for my life.  
 “How could you not want Jehovah in your life?” my stepdad asked flabbergasted. “I tried 
to be a part of your religion, but I realized I was only doing it to make you and mom happy.” 
“Not for me” I countered. “I’d better leave before I say the wrong thing” my stepfather 
said angrily as he stormed out of the room. The tension was hanging thick in the air like clouds 
on a foggy day. My mother looked at me defeated as she said to me “I just don’t understand how 
you could want this boy in your life instead of Jehovah” and then she left my room, leaving me 
to try and figure out how I was going to be able to pack all my stuff in the short time I had. I 
quietly cried as I put clothes, books, and other belongings into garbage bags, being careful not to 
leave anything special or important behind. I knew my relationship with my parents would never 
be the same again. 
 Several hours later after checking and rechecking, making sure nothing was forgotten, my 
mother entered my room again. By now the sun had completely set and the dinner that had 
earlier been made was getting colder and colder sitting on the stove, I don’t think anyone has an 
appetite tonight. As my mom sat on the edge of my bed red-eyed and tired, she calmly said to me 
“If you ever have an emergency or just need to talk, I hope you know I’ll still be here for you.” I 
told my mom I would keep that in mind and call if I ever just wanted to talk. I told my mom I 
still loved her and didn’t want this to affect our relationship, even though I knew it ultimately 
would. As my mother left once again, I started dragging my heavy bags out of the front door and 
to the curb one by one as they were too heavy to be carried all at once. I knew that in just a few 
more short minutes I would be riding away from the life I had grown accustomed to. With 
nothing left to do I sat down on the curb and waited. After waiting for a few short minutes Austin 
Allison drove up, with his younger brother, Cameron, sitting the back seat. They quickly hopped 
out of the car and put my bags anywhere that there was space, and we drove off into a new life.   


Changes

Charcoal  10”x13”  Instructor: Carter Scaggs, Drawing Ihttps://digitalcommons.collin.edu/fallstudent2024/1009/thumbnail.jp

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