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I remember how the wooden floor creaks as I put my foot down, the smell of hot Chinese takeout  welcomed into my stuffed-up nostrils. The light from the last bit of the sun going down streams in, beaming off the white, black, and gray countertop, bouncing right back out the other window, but leaving an orange glow to the room. One person crowds the food while the others sit in front of the blaring TV, football storming the whole house as three people cheer and hiss at the winning and losing of their favorite sports team. Rice, splattered sauce, covers the counter, illustrating the frantic attempt to get food during the 30 second commercial breaks. Collecting a plate and utensils, I start my hunt for some food. I first find the spring rolls.  There are three spring rolls in the container, but there are four of us eating. My first thought is to ask if someone has already taken one.  Obviously, I want a full roll for myself, but I didn’t want to cheat anyone out of their portion.  I stroll into the living room, where they are all perched with their food, and stand there waiting until the commercial to ask my spring roll question. A second of silence goes by, then Dad starts screaming at me!  It is hard to understand his pointless, angry, rambling.

I tried to brush off the incident with my father, but it was harder than I anticipated. I’m sure my father has flown off the handle before, but for some reason, this time really had an impact on me.  I think that’s because it actually changed my perception of him.  Prior to that incident, I thought my father was perfect.  I mean, obviously nobody is “perfect”, but I thought he was the laid-back, patient father I had always known.  After a few days, I got over it, but it's not the moment itself that mattered, it was the change in my perspective, the moment of realization. Now that moment is cemented in my memory. When you're a little kid, everything is perfect all of the time; you don't question the boundaries of your parents’ world . The problem is that is not what the real world looks like, and the older you get, the more you understand that the world is not that perfect. That realization of imperfection starts with our parents.  Those moments that push the boundary are the moments that change you, they are the moments that shape your view of the world.

This change in perspective is constantly shifting when you're younger, as it develops. It’s similar to how your physical view changes as you get older.  When you're a baby, you're small and you see everything at your eye level. When you learn how to walk you’re obviously higher off the ground, therefore you have a different view. This continues when you're a teenager. You're taller than you were when you were a toddler, again forcing you to see things differently.  It’s the same idea, but instead of visual changes, perceptual changes occur as you get older.  The cycle is always the same: the older you get, the more your perspective changes; the more your perspective changes, the more you see things differently. I guess this is the cycle of growing into adulthood.  

The change in your perspective isn’t always a huge deal, sometimes it is just about one person who you barely know. An example of this happened to me about half way through tenth grade.  I remember sitting in math class, tapping my foot to the teacher’s endless rambling about a project, the due dates, and a bunch of other stuff that I don’t care about. My ears pique as I hear a long list of people with their partners being listed. Finally, after what feels like a millennia, the teacher gets to me.  I hear my name, Chloe Hart, followed by my partner’s name. Immediately I feel a rush of excitement, not for the project itself, but to hear and talk to my partner.  He is super popular and very smart.  I’m on the shy side, so I don’t get the opportunity to talk to people in the “in-crowd” very often.  This is going to be a fantastic opportunity for me.  Maybe this person will take a liking to me and I will be welcomed into his group of friends.  At the very least, we’ll create a great project together since this person is a straight-A student. Well, It doesn’t take long for me to lose the excitement. It feels almost like a thunder cloud lurks over him as he talks. He is not a nice person.  His words feel like a slap in the face; I couldn't have been more wrong about him. Everyday, he disappears from class, or leaves a little early, to grab a smoke outside. This small, daily action completely captures my new perception of him.

Overall, as a person’s behavior around you changes, so does your perception of the person.  These perceptual changes can be for the positive or for the negative. When someone does something that you don't agree with, or you find offensive, your opinion of the person immediately declines.  But, is the person fundamentally different than he was prior to this behavior, or did it just change your perception of him?  It’s a tricky question.  It’s like looking at someone through another person’s prescription glasses.  All of a sudden, the person looks like someone new, possibly unrecognizable, but you know that he is the same person. That’s important to keep in mind as your perception of people shifts.

Pew, pew, pew! The lasers blasted from my futuristic laser gun. I stood on the porch and in the distance, was my friend Chris. I aimed the transparent gun at him, ready to win. “I got you now!” The shots fired from the series of noises from my mouth. We loved to play pretend as soldiers from 2239, the thrill of battle filling our minds. This was an everyday thing for us, every day was a different story with different characters and a different plot.

“Agh! You killed me!” Chris shouted from the sidewalk. He proceeded to hunch over and dramatically die from being blasted with a laser.

“Oh shut up, it’s not like you’re actually dead. It isn’t like we could actually die now. Actually, I’m gonna live ‘til I am 500 years old!” I said with pride.

“Uh, no you’re not. You’ll die before then.” Chris replied.

“What do you mean?” My head was spinning. What was he talking about? I never met anyone who actually died. I thought people dying only happens in the movies or video games. I had never been so confused in my life. Was he joking?

“Yeah, everyone dies. My mom told me that.”

“Nick! Come here!” My mom called me in, looking nervous. “Nick, I have to tell you something.” Sweat formed on her forehead. “Uncle george has passed away.”

“What?”

Patter, patter, patter. It was raining. The sky was bleak and grey, the air was muggy, and I was sweating in my little suit. I traveled up the stairs, step-by-step, each time, the grip on my hand tightening. I walked in with my mother, not really knowing what to expect. The carpet was a beautiful maroon red and there was a small glass chandelier in the middle of the family room. Family members and familiar faces were all around. I stayed quiet the entire time while my mother spoke very softly with the rest of them. Then, we entered the viewing room, and the atmosphere transformed in a split second. There was a heaviness in the room. Most of the family were gathered in the seats in front of the wooden box, however, there was someone-no, something else that wasn’t accounted for in the room. My mom’s grip tightened even more, my hands turning purple. We inched closer and closer to the wooden box, the heaviness becoming thicker by each step. Half of the lid was open. I peered inside, and saw something I would never forget. My first dead body. It was my uncle. Everything in my childish mind began to fall apart. My mother had mentioned that my uncle had passed away and gone to a place called heaven. I didn’t understand it, what does it mean? I was in denial. I thought death was in video games, and even then, you came back to life. The eternal sleep that the vessel of my uncle faced in his new home. He was a phantom, so pale it made me sick. Now, he wasn’t here, just a ghost in my memories. I reached and held his hand, it was ice cold. I stared in shock, my mouth slightly gaped. I wasn’t looking at my uncle anymore, just a box within a box. Warm streams of tears ran down my cold face. I shivered in devastation, fear. This couldn’t possibly ever happen to me…

Ding! The elevator doors slid open, the muffled scratching of metal against metal emulating from the small opening on the floors. My sister, my dad, and I stepped out into the hallway. There was tension in the air and I felt as if a plastic bag was forcibly wrapped around my head. In the hallway, there were stretchers pushed against the walls, the imprint of its victim clearly visible. Nurses and doctors frantically treading from door-to-door to help any patient desperately in need of patches and painkillers. We walked towards the end of the hall, where to the left of us was the front desk. “Dr. James to the I.C.U, Dr. James to the I.C.U.” said the nurse over the loudspeaker. The hallways reeked of hand sanitizer and a mixture of various cleaning supplies. As we inched closer to our destination, the sound of small wheels frantically rolling could be heard in the distance. A horde of nurses raced down the hall with a patient that had wounds deeper than the uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. Pretty soon, we were a couple steps away. I had made the mistake of turning my head to the left. An Asian woman laid in her stationary hospital bed, her blank eyes facing the ceiling. A man sat alongside her, hunched over, sobbing. I stared directly into a room of lost hope and a lost soul. In a split second, I turned away. Out of morbid curiosity, I looked into the room next to it, and I saw a black man with bruises all over and an elderly standing next to him, praying. I did not make the same mistake again. We were right at the door, the entrance to my aunt’s deathbed. A male nurse came out and advised us to wear scrubs before we entered. We all scrambled to put on the tight, light cyan blue jumpsuits and the white caps. I walked in, scanned the room and saw familiar faces, my two uncles, my cousin, and my two great aunts all with their heads bowed in gloom. And then, I saw my aunt, her eyes wide open and blank just like the lady from before. Her mouth gaped, frozen in shock. Her body was still living, but I could already see rigor mortis taking effect on her soul. This was true death. Not the pale blue body, not the gray pupils surrounded by a green hue, not the breath that fails to leave her mouth. No, death was the lack of a soul. Her soul had long departed her body and it was evident. I felt nothing holding her hand, speaking to her. I felt absolutely nothing from her, not her lively energy nor her warmth. I learned that day, Death doesn’t reap bodies, it reaps souls.

Introduction: I personally enjoyed the making of this essay, I loved writing the descriptive scenes. I feel like i'm better with writing descriptive scenes and creative writing than any other type. I'm really proud of my scenes more than anything, but I think I could improve on my reflections. Overall i'm really happy and proud of this essay.

Dating your best friend must be something different, especially when you know them so well, you know their deepest darkest secrets and they know yours. You both know you like one another but you could never admit it until you drifted apart.  

There he was standing right infront of me, giving me that “love at first sight” look. Each of his arms were in each pocket of his beige joggers, He was wearing a black floral tank top and was looking down at me. He was at least 5’11, his blondish hair was tucked into his snapback.

“You look gorgeous” he says. I smile and begin walking along his side as he holds my hand.

We walked into a pool hall called Seventy Five and found a seat all the way at the back of the hall. I begin fiddling in my purse and take out my charger to charge my phone. He lays his arm around my shoulders and we begin talking about what we’ve been doing with our lives as the waiter comes by

“What would you like to have ?”  

We both ordered drinks and he gets up to pay for two rounds of pool.

“Je ne sais pas how to play pool,” I say, and began laughing

He smiles at me and says, “C’est pas grave, doesn’t matter I’ll teach you, you won’t lose.”

I was leaning against the pool table as he was fixing everything. I was wearing a green crop top with a high waisted mini skirt from H&M with buttons running down the middle. My hair was naturally curled, loose big curls that spiraled so perfectly and evenly.

I could see him from the side of my eye staring so hard at me, it was all so crazy at the same time how close we once were and how we’re finally admitting feelings to each other but it’s like we never left.

“Salsa ready?”

He aims the cue stick at the ball and positions my arms and hands as he’s standing behind me bending over at my height, I turn around and stare into his eyes as he stares into mine.

I never forgot that moment, I never forgot him, and I never forget how it all changed. It marks a spot when lose your best friend because they hurt you. This is someone you always trusted, this is someone you grew up with. It was shocking, Shock like the shock I felt when I was told I might have had cancer. Last year I broke my ribs, dehydrated, had an inflamed liver, and a mass all at the same time. I couldn’t walk, breathe, sleep, sit, turn, stand, laugh, and 12 hour pain killers didn’t work on me. But Thank god I didn’t have cancer and I am back and healthy.  I’ve explored many different kinds of shocks in my life that really changed me as person.

Four years ago I almost died… It made me a stronger and a braver person than I was before. We were at JFK International Airport and ready to go back to Morocco like every summer. I couldn’t wait to see my family and friends and spend time with them. I was about 12 years old at the time, holding a baby blue suitcase ready to have the summer of my life. Who knew what fright was awaiting us that day.

The weather was completely different when we got to New York it was really windy and it seemed as though a storm was heading our way. I was wearing a white Nike hat, high waisted shorts, and a plain, white, cropped shirt.  

“Ladies and gentleman I am sorry for the delay, but we are now taking off,” said the woman over the intercom, thank you for choosing Royal Air Maroc,” she continued. “Please enjoy the flight,” she finally said before ending the announcement.

After getting situated I began watching Frozen with my little sister,

They gave the orders to the pilot to take off after keeping us in a plane for 2 hours because of the turbulence  

“Let it go, let it go I can’t hold it back anymore,” Elsa started to sing.

My head bannged into the ceiling, the food in the back spilled, and all I could hear were people screaming and crying. The flight attendants started running towards their seats to put on their seat belts.

“S’il vous plaît, calmez vous. S’il vous plaît! Calme toi!” said the flight attendants.

I couldn’t think, everything was going by so fast and I couldn’t register what was going on but all I could do was wait and see how it ended. If I didn’t go through this all I feel like I wouldn’t be the person I am today.

Introduction:

This paper, to me, was intended to express my fear and love of time. I wanted to demonstrate the fragility of a moment, and how something so meaningless to one person can be the result of a lifetime for another. I think that I did a good job using description and painting a picture for my audience, but I think I could do better at tying my ideas together in the future. I wish I’d done a better job of getting my message out the way I see it in my head because I think it got a bit blurred. My future writing will reflect that, but overall, I am pretty happy with what I created.

Small cafes and restaurants line the sidewalk. It is getting dark and we are trying to pick the perfect place to eat. A street light blares down on us and illuminates the concrete. At my feet, I see a man and woman together, in love, trailed by a sea of green. Smiles like no other envelope their faces, the corners of their lips creeping to their ears as they look out of the carriage to the brand new scenery. Above them, words stretch across the tree coated sky. One yellow followed by white, alternating like the sun peaking through clouds, reading “honeymoon in manhattan.” The couple’s gaze travels up and lands on the “moon,” awaiting their adventure. I reach down to get a better look, and realize that what I thought was a newspaper was really a stack of record covers. Beautiful colors and fonts and patterns lay abandoned on the street with their musical partners sitting neatly beside them. I let out a shriek of joy and stop my family.

“Look!” I say. “There’s tons of them!”

They follow to where I’m squatting and leaf through the antique records on the curb. We grab as many as we can hold, and carry them with us to dinner.

Back in Philadelphia, I pin up each record cover with care. They line the wall below my window and each one brought a little magic to my bedroom. Antiques are special in that way. They are from a different time, were used by different people, and bring their stories with them wherever they go. Who knows where these records started, but they ended up on the streets of New York, and now they’ve come to bring their stories to Philadelphia.

Time blows my mind whenever I think about it. There are different time zones, which means while I’m waking up, other people are fast asleep, others are eating lunch, and other people are going to bed. When I travelled this summer, I experienced this first hand. If I got up early enough in the morning, my friends might still be awake, and later in the day they would just be rising. All of this was happening at the exact same moment, but it was technically different times. How could it be two times at once? How does time stop? Why does time stop for me? Who else was wondering about this with me? I often think about the people who are doing the exact same thing I am doing but around the world, or people who have stood in the same places that I stand. Regardless of what currently covers the land, someone was there, someone came before me, and someone will come after without ever knowing I existed. These records made me think about their stories that I’d never know, and the one I will leave behind. Everything happens at the same time and people cross paths without ever realizing, and I want people to know where I’ve been. Not for my own fame, but because I helped someone. I want for someone’s life to have changed for the better because I was in it, regardless of if the world remembers my name. When I found those records, I couldn’t help but feel the connections they’d had with past owners. First kisses to the soft tunes of a musical soundtrack, angry nights spent listening to loud rock. The life events of another left behind and leaving their mark. When my time is up, I want my accomplishments to leave their mark so that I too can be remembered.

“Our Fears and Treasures” was written for the purpose of showing what it felt like to overcome the anxiety and fear each and everyone has. I wrote the memories of my point of view to describe what loyalty felt like in a way that friendship can still bond. I tried to accomplish the idea that memories can still be descriptive after so many years. It is within ourselves that memories aren’t very detailed but the emotions are. Though, writing to an estimated limit was a challenge, detailed emotion are worth more than gold.

Our Fears and Treasures

Everyone acquires something and treasures it for a lifetime. In some cases, people are born with a treasure. That treasure is within ourselves and it is what makes us who we are. Blood. We are made out of water and colored with pigments from the red blood cells. When the time comes, we lose the treasures. We were born to die. In some cases, treasure can mean something totally different to others.

Everything seemed to suit me well. Nothing bothered me. Prioritizing my education over socializing, I was alone until there was a new student that came into middle school. His name was Omar. He approached me first. During recess, I always sat at the benches to keep myself from playing any sports or getting anywhere near a group of people, especially the teachers.

A couple of years later, Omar and I are still loyal friends. We have stood by each other’s sides, but happiness wasn’t the only emotion I felt. My grandfather on my mother’s side lived with me for the past several years. After he recovered from a serious cold, he decided to move with my uncle in August of 2015. A couple of weeks later, my mother whimpered, “Your grandpa passed away.”  I couldn’t say anything. I didn’t know what to say. I spent the rest of the day in silence.

The school year began a few weeks after my grandfather passed. Omar came over to me noticing that I have been ignoring him. He noticed my mood change and my isolation. I explained my situation and he felt sorry for me. As a friend, he changed subjects until he found a way for me to smile again.

“Oh by the way, happy late birthday!”

I didn’t cry, I stared at him and smiled instead.

“Thank you buddy,” I said softly.

October came fast. My class had to write an essay. I wrote my name and the date in the corner, “October 15, 2015” and underlined it in red. I looked out the window. The clouds grew grey and dark, fogging up the windows. Looking at my blank sheet of lined paper, I sighed and started my assignment. After the day had passed, my father drove to pick me up with a surprise.

My father addressed me. “Liang, my dad passed away.” Tears flowed beneath his specs.

The next day, I came to school early as usual and was Omar waiting for me. A tear dropped down my face slowly. Instead of walking to Omar sitting in the cafeteria, I ran to the restroom. Omar watched me and then followed.

“You can cry on me. I’m here for you,” his soft voice helped calm me down as he hugged me tightly. I thought deeply on how to repay him back for all the emotional support he has been giving me.  

A couple of years have passed again. The third year of high school began. On Saturday, I took a morning shower and came back to my room to get dressed. I checked my phone and at the same time, I received a text from Omar. It was a group text. There were four other unknown numbers that I have never seen before.

“Hey, I really need someone to talk to right now.”

“I’m here.” I first replied.

Suddenly in a split second, my phone started vibrating and Omar’s contact picture appeared. I quickly swiped to answer the call.

“Hey! What’s up buddy?” I said playfully.

“Ben! Help me!” Omar cried. I froze in time for a second. Hearing Omar cry for the first time shattered my heart.

“Bro, speak to me.” I demanded, trying to get every information out as possible.

“My aunt passed away.” Omar whimpered. He bursted into tears, hearing him shaking, body curled, creating a tight echo in his voice. “She was my grandmother. My grandma is literally going insane. I don’t know what to do!”

I sighed. The only way I could calm a friend I hadn’t seen in so long was to give a lecture. He was lost for words and his depression took over him.

“Look man, I’m sorry for your loss. I know it’s hard for you to take in the message that you have lost a loved one but my suggestion is for you to cry. There is no other way to resolve your situation at the moment. Forget manhood! Humans are designed to cry when they are stressed. Think of this, imagine how happy your aunt would be if she, in the heavens, knew that you were crying for her. You didn’t forget her, okay? There will be times that she will cross your mind again and you will cry. Go in a bathroom and cry if you feel embarrassed. How do you think I felt when I lost both of my grandfathers? No teacher was there to help me. It was you that helped me, so I’m here to help you back.”

“I understand” Omar said breathing heavily. “Thank you. Thank you, Ben.”

“Yeah, no problem. If you need me call me, I’m here.” I said confidently.

“I can’t thank you enough.” Omar was finally lightened up. He stopped shaking and his voice became light as a feather. I was able to still hear him crying softly as he sniffed while breathing.

“Okay, I have to go for now, but I’m always available to talk.”

Omar thanked me again and hung up over the phone. As for me, it was a treasure for me to help out a sincere friend. I was finally able to repay what he had done for me in the past to conquer my depression. It made me feel like I was able to unlock my safe and take some of my gold for Omar’s treasure chest. We both lost someone we loved. That was our treasure. It felt like a phoenix emerging from the flames as this long battle. We both burned our past for new ones.

My essay

Introduction: My goal for this essay was to explain how I overcame a change in my life by connecting several memories and relating them to the present. I am proud of my descriptive memory scenes. I feel as if I was able to convey the important details without going on forever. I need to improve on explaining ideas within my reflection concisely. I tend to get caught up on how to express exactly what I am trying to say and it doesn’t work out.

We walked through the lush green garden to the small wooden back house, situated away from the street, behind the larger blue house in which my best friend lives. I walked beside her and another best friend, laughing and joking. We stepped inside. There were only two rooms, one with a bed in the corner and bookshelves with hand sewn dolls on them, and a little bathroom.

My friend walked over to the bed and plugged her phone into a speaker sitting there, and began to play music as we talked. She played some songs I didn’t know as the two of them sang to the music. I stood and laughed along as they made screeching sounds and jerked around as poor imitations of melody and dancing. As one song came to a close, she reached over and turned out the lights. The afternoon sun streamed through into the semi darkness, creating contrasting patches of bright spots on the floor as we held our own carefree party within the miniature house. The opening notes to the next song played, bright bouncing chords that were familiar.

“Ooooh I love this song”, my one friend exclaimed.

“I know, it’s such a throwback!” the other yelled over the start of the pounding beat. We continued to flounce around the room as the song went on into the catchy chorus, “no matter what you say or what you do, when I'm alone I'd rather be with you…” The way we felt was reflected in the way we moved; careless, free, nothing held back. We were comfortable in this oddly lit room, with each other, and the music. It was peaceful and chaotic, a physical catastrophe of swinging arms, a mental meditation free of worries. I was content sharing the happiness with my closest friends.

This juxtaposition of peace and chaos is something that I have experienced numerous times in my daily, social or school life. I used to be a very active person, as activity would calm me down. When I was in a chaotic situation, I would feel very relaxed. Another example of this is in the calm that I have felt while practicing or performing circus arts. I remember the thoughts that went through my mind while wrapping myself in fabric before spinning through the air.

A particularly hard trick I once learned was the triple star drop, during summer circus camp. I was so tired. My muscles had been aching for weeks and I could practically feel the pain I would endure in the future. I had lost track of my oxygen intake, didn’t know if I was breathing too fast or not at all. My body had been pushed past its limit, every muscle stretched loose and flexed taut, contorted in impossible movements. My skin was covered in stinging rashes and burns, the results of silken fabric that clung too tightly as it slid against my legs. Angry red scrapes lined my armpits and ankles from the rough rope. My hipbones were purple with bruises from the unforgiving metal of the trapeze bar.

Maybe I was so calm because my brain was flushed with blood. Maybe I had no space in my mind for worry because it was filled with the list of every move to make, every transition into the next position to be executed flawlessly. I had no time to think about what would happen if I fell because I was reviewing my checklist, going down the lines one by one, making sure everything was in place. But I did it automatically anyway; the right side invert, right leg hook, left arm reaches down, loops around the left leg, lift up and out, scoop fabric up and invert again, now do it all again, and again, right leg, left arm, left leg, now wrap around, once, twice, okay. I had done it. My mind was clear as I readied myself for the drop. My body was upside down 30 feet in the air and I’d never felt safer. This calmness is what led me to become so passionate about circus arts. It was an escape, an opportunity to clear my mind. Circus was being in the moment.

A year ago when these activities were taken away from me, everything was reversed. For a time I spent my days sedentary. I was not allowed to walk or even wheel my own wheelchair. My unexpended energy bottled up inside my head since I could not let it out through movement. It rattled around in there, sending my thoughts everywhere in disarray.

Now, I sit at the front of the fitness room and watch thirty kids jump and stretch and sweat. They come into the room solemn from other classes, systematically filing in, a sense of refinement around the way they move. Throughout the next hour, they begin to smile more, laughing as they complain of sore muscles and how the class is “killing” them, and it seems that as they move they let off steam. This is not to say that I am sad now. This is to say that upon reflecting over these memories of movement, I have realized how I have adapted over the past year. I have learned that discontent and restrained resentment need to be released somehow. I have developed new ways to let my energy out, most commonly through writing, drawing, reading, or working. Nostalgically analyzing my past has shown me how different it is from the present, but not that it is better either way, simply different. Change has come, and phases have gone. Maybe I will soon be able to return to circus as I have to dancing with my friends and simply walking. If I don’t, I can still remember the serenity of hanging upside down preparing for my favorite trick.

Introduction

My goal for this paper is to share my story with others, so that they can understand why I am a certain way. I want people to know, how it is that I started speaking the same language as everyone else. A part that I am proud of is where I explain how it was going out to try to get help from others and how I felt. Something that needs improvement is that I should add more details and be more descriptive. Also, I should try to reflect more and try to connect it with my larger idea.

Never let anything get in your way

Daily, we go around, pressured by obstacles thrown into our path in order to make us give up and quit. My parents are both Mexican, so they grew up learning spanish, and weren’t taught english in their schools. They decided to come to the US in order to provide a better life for themselves and for their future family. As I grew up, the language I was taught was spanish, so it was difficult for me to communicate with others. Eventually, I started going to Pre-Kindergarten, but it was a difficult time for me because I couldn’t understand the teachers or my classmates, so I wasn’t learning anything. There were many times when I would cry, because when it came to recess, I would be playing by myself because I had no friends because of the language barrier. I would sit near the tall princess' castle, picturing myself as the princess living in a magical land filled with happiness and everyone getting along. When it came to homework, I didn’t understand what was on the paper, and neither did my parents, so we would have to go out and ask others like our neighbors for help.

At the time, I used to be super embarrassed, because I hated having to go to the same people over and over and ask them for help. At times, I felt dumb because I was the only one having trouble in class. However, thanks to my mom always pushing me, and to my pre-k teacher, little by little, I started learning more and more English. One day, the teacher announced that we would be having an end-of-year celebration, where we would present a play to our parents and other students. The teacher said, “Everyone, we’re going to be having a safari themed play. 1 person is going to be the guide and everyone else is going to be some animal.” I was beyond excited to learn that I had been chosen to narrate the story and be guide. I practiced everyday, and finally, the day of the play arrived. I read every part carefully and at the end, everyone got up and applauded me. When it was done, many parents and other teachers came up to me and congratulated me for my wonderful reading.

If it weren’t for my determination and the extreme support from my parents, I probably would’ve never gotten this chance to be the reader. Thanks to them and to the resources presented to me, I was able to learn English, and then move on and help my parents with it. Ever since those days, I’ve learned to give back to those that were just like me, using my english to help others out. For example, I would be the one to help my siblings with their homework because my parents didn’t understand. I’ve also been an interpreter to my parents when it comes to appointments or meetings, I help translate. I’ve also helped some of my parents friends with translating things and helping them understand.

I’m thankful that my parents decided to learn english, because it’s helpful now, so that my family members aren’t only relying on me for help. From these experiences, it’s shaped who I am as a person, I’ve become independent because I’ve basically had myself as my “teacher” and I don’t often ask for help because of how often I did when I was younger. Sometimes we take the safe road on many things, instead of wanting to take risks. It’s probably because we are scared of what those risks might lead to, we are scared of failing. As I’ve grown up, I’ve had many decisions to make where I knew that taking a risk, stepping up, and not giving up would help me accomplish things. I thank God for giving me the strength to never give up, He had a reason for my struggles and a gift for my faithfulness. As Confucius says, “Our greatest glory is not in never falling but in rising every time we fall.”

Introduction:

The goal of my paper is to demonstrate my struggle with anxiety, and to elaborate on how I was able to embrace it. I see the topic of my essay as something that could be relatable for a lot of people, and I can imagine it having an impact on many. I also wanted to reflect on my experiences throughout my writing and depict how they affected me on a larger scale. Throughout my essay, I used an immense amount of literary devices as a way to make broader connections to the emotions I was feeling and the images that I was seeing. With that being said, I am proud of how I was able to convey my point across nicey, and how I developed some analogies that may have a bigger impact on people. In the future, I think it would benefit me to increase the amount of dialogue that I use throughout my essay. I see this as a benefit because it may give the reader a closer look at the overall context of my descriptive scenes.

Advanced Essay #1:

Anxiety engulfs me from top to bottom, like when all you wanted to do was take a dip in the ocean, but you end up drowning instead. It would always occur before something important, no matter what the event, it was a given that I would been shaking uncontrollably only moments before. I blamed it on my fear of messing up, a trait that correlated well with my Type A personality. It had caused me to remind myself of any bad possibility that could happen, and to compare myself to others as well. It was physically and mentally draining, dealing with the constant shaking, jittery memory, cold sweats.

It’s crazy to think about how one moment can wash your body over with anxiety in an instant. Taking the happiness you once had and replacing it with self doubt. Grasping any inkling of self esteem that you had left and tossing it out the window. It was a feeling I wouldn’t wish on many, but I was something that I had definitely felt. I was at my last Cross Country competition before State Championships on a chilly fall day. Tension was ripe in the air as students from different Catholic and Public schools prepared to fight to the death for those precious spots to States. The stakes were high, especially for me. I would’ve had to run a personal record for myself in order to make it, but despite the circumstances, I was determined. It was finally time for me to run. I tried to prepare myself, but my body was numb. My feet were planted on the ground, hands clenched tightly into fists, and blood rushing with adrenaline. As the starting signal went off, my surroundings became a blur. I ran as fast as I could throughout the whole course, leaving no room for error. If this was my last shot to make it, I was gonna make it count. The sound of my heart pounding was so loud that it gave me a headache, and I breathed heavily as my lungs grasped for any ounce of air. As I crossed the finish line, I laid my hands on my knees and let out a large sigh. The deed was done, it was all up to fate now. Moments like this happened to me often. I’d be put into a new situation and immediately get uncomfortable or I have to do something to achieve a goal that was extremely important to me. Every time, my reaction was the same.

It was the start of a new beginning. I was finally bursting out of my super glue sealed bubble, and taking the bus home for the first time. While this might’ve seemed like a simple task to many, it was a hardship to the petrified adolescent that I was at the time. I had lived a very sheltered life for most of my childhood, with not being able to cross the street alone till I was 9 years old and only being able to ride my bike past a certain house being prime examples. These normalities in my life caused me to get extremely anxious very easily when I was put into new situations. This was definitely one of those moments. It was finally a gift a freedom, but it was one I was questioning being given. The route seemed simple enough, but it was going to be a long journey back to my suburban home in the Northeast. A trolley, a train, a bus, and a 10 minute walk all needing to be ridden before the sun went down. I didn’t even want to fathom what the consequences would be if I got home later. Hundreds of thought’s were running through my mind. What if I got kidnapped? I’m tiny, someone could easily take me. What if I get on the wrong bus? Will people look at me like I’m lost? The possibilities I came up with were as dark as onyx, and they definitely didn't help ease my nerves. As I sat on the bus, I tapped my foot on the ground and stared out the window, adamant about avoiding any glances from the people around me. My hands shook as I prepared myself to pull the line that would signal that my stop had arrived. Finally, I was here. All that was left was my walk, although, it actually ended up becoming a run. My target was in sight and I was ready to reach it, and when I finally did, the relief that I felt when I knocked on my front door was better than the feeling of being given an ice pop on a hot day.

Getting anxious before important events in my life was a feeling that I had gotten accustomed to. Reminding myself of every wrong scenario that could happen, only increasing my nerves even more. Although, the bright side was that the feeling let me know what significant moments in my life were, and the severity of it would be an even bigger sign of its impact. I was scared of losing grasp on things that were important to me, and the anxiety was sign of that.

Introduction: The goal of my essay was for me to write about what I remember and reflect on my family and capturing the perfect moment. I wrote about how I hated that my parents took a bunch of pictures and now I appreciate the pictures they took. The area that I am most proud of is my last paragraph because I sum up everything with my reflection about taking the perfect photo. The area that I need improvement on is the connecting more scenes to my essay.

I had never looked forward to trips when I was younger. That all changed when my annual family trip was planned, and this year it was Mexico. This happened because the stars aligned and Drexel’s summer break lined up with my summer break. The morning of the trip, my brain was scattered everywhere trying to make sure we had everything together for the adventure we had waiting for us. While I am packing the suitcase, my sister Ellen was packing all of the cameras and equipment -  Polaroid, a tripod, and a DSLR. Going on a vacation with my family, you have to make sure you bring enough Polaroid refills. We almost used a pack in one day! Ten films would not work for this family, it wouldn't even last a day.

By the time we finished packing, it was 6:30 in the morning and our flight with American Airlines was at 10 am. As time went by, my stress level had gone down and my excitement had risen up. I couldn't wait to start the journey that I knew that I would have. We finally got to the airport, through TSA, and onto the plane. As soon as I sat down, I fell asleep and woke up in beautiful Mexico.

On the second day of the trip, my mom didn’t really want to go into the beautiful clear water of the Gulf of Mexico. Instead, she took so many of the same pictures and videos non- stop until the very last day of the trip. Which at the time, I thought it was pointless because she was just taking a lot of the same pictures. Once my parents learned how to take pictures or videos on their own, they stopped us when they saw something breath taking or beautiful, just to take one picture. Soon enough, we had to limit their pictures to  just enjoy our trip without being stopped every second. I told my mom no more pictures for now and to enjoy our time here because we don't see this is Philly. I knew that my parent’s just wanted something to remember these moments. On the other hand, I like to live in the moment and take pictures with my memory instead.  

During our third to last day in Isla Mujeres, my dad and I decided that both of us would go to the Selvatica Adventure Park, while my sister and my mom went to an outdoor museum. It took two fine fours to get to the place of adventure. When we finally got there, the photographer took numerous pictures of us holding two colorful birds before we started on our activity. The instructors took us really high up in the jungle. It looked similar to a jungle gym for grown-ups. Once the instructors hooked me into a harness, my heart started to racing unusually fast. My dad and I both waited for our turn together. I was on the right and my dad was on the left. The instructors told us to lay on something, similar to a bed, so he could hook us up to the wires. I shed tears of fear just at the thought of falling from 100 feet down to the jungle in mid-air. I was not ready and I wanted to back out, but my dad said it was too late to back out. My biggest fear was doing the Superman zip line, which is where we were in our stomach and the table from under us would drop. Afterward, it felt like I was flying and turned out to be the best thing I did in the whole trip. Sadly, the photographers took some embarrassing pictures of us. The photographers were moving the cameras around to get the perfect shoots. They end up taking about 125 pictures of my dad and I - so that number did not compare to the amount that my mom and dad took.

The next day, as a whole family, we wanted to go see the outdoor art sculptures. Before we got there, we took many stops here and there. My parents couldn’t get enough of the perfect view and took fifteen pictures of my sister and I at each stop, and my sister doing the same for my parents. We also had to ask strangers to take pictures for us as a family. I feel uncomfortable having to pose for a really long time. We finally get there and my mom wants us to take more pictures with most of all the art sculptures. She mom kept moving her phone around, spamming the camera button on her smartphone. Meanwhile, I just wanted to look around and take pictures here and there of the beautiful art. My parents never understood how taking a lot of pictures and staying in one spot is not my thing.

“No more pictures! This is the last picture,” I exhaustedly said.

“Take a picture, this is going to be the last picture,” said my mom.

Throughout this whole trip, it was all about taking pictures and making new memories with my family. It felt like the pictures were going on a never-ending loop. With my family, we can never just take one photo. There will always be someone looking the opposite direction of the camera. At the end of the day, there is always one perfect picture with all of us looking. And even though I didn't like taking so many pictures, I just appreciated that I can go to these places with my family.

For this paper I really wanted the reader to understand and get a sense for my struggle with patience. I wanted to use scene that helped me to convey my struggle so that readers could relate to my problem. I am really proud of my scenes and the fact that they do help me to convey my struggle, although I should note that my reflection and main idea isn’t the strongest. I don’t know what I could do to improve it now, but that is definitely an area for improvement.

I sit down at the dining room table, with my brother across from me, to start a game of monopoly. I always suck at this game. I can never get enough properties to win and I always make the wrong trades. Just a week before I traded away my railroads for a monopoly while I playing with my mom. She won on that trade alone. Live and learn, you know?

But this time will be different. I just know it. It’s like when you walk out the door to school and part of you just knows that the day ahead won’t be enjoyable. I just knew that something was gonna happen, and I wouldn’t have to go bankrupt again.

I shake with excitement as the first dice rolls happen.

“You sure you want to do that,” I say as my brother tries to roll doubles to get out of jail instead of paying.
“Sure thing bro,” he responds as he roll doubles.

“What? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

This is how the beginning of the game goes. I manage to get more properties than he does, but his excessive landing on free parking and go give him two or even three times the amount I have. Even though properties are better to have in the early game than money, his stock of two less properties doesn’t make a difference.

“Welp, this is bad,” I murmur to myself. I need a plan, and I need one fast.

I look around the room as my brother rolls. The nice chandelier hanging from the middle of the room. The cabinet at the far end of the room. I look toward a painting hanging over my brother’s head. A gray boat sits on a peaceful lake. The women on the boat wait patiently for the fish to bite on their fishing poles.

If I am just as patient as them, and not rush, I will be fine. If those women get anxious, they won’t catch any fish. In the same way, if I get excited and anxious, I’ll make a mistake and lose the game.

Soon after, I make a well thought about trade to secure one side of the board. I now own that whole side, the most lethal side.

For the next couple of times around the board, my brother seems to only land on those properties. With my money growing and my brother’s shrinking, I know that this could be the turning point.

“Oh boy, here we go,” I think to myself as I crack a smile.

Throughout my entire life, I have struggled with patience. It is not one of my natural abilities. For example, I really wanted to win that monopoly game. I always get so excited when I play those type of games that my lack of patience often comes back to kill me.

When I was a lot younger, it was worse. I couldn’t wait for anything. When I was done shopping, I was done and I let my parents know it, often throwing fits until they agreed with me. These examples of my impatience are evident throughout my toddler and preteen years.

My grandparents loved to take me fishing. They had a campsite on a lake and I would go and stay with them for a week during the summer. My grandpa introduced me to fishing when I was eight. At first I loved it. The idea of catching a fish sounded amazing to my young, inexperienced mind. But I learned otherwise. I couldn’t stand fishing, and catching a fish didn’t help to improve my mood. I just didn’t have the patience to sit around all day waiting for some dumb fish to take the bait. I stopped fishing soon after.

My attempt at fishing helped me to recognize that I wasn’t as patience as I thought I was. It rocked my world. But after I thought about it some more, I realized something. For my entire life I have been athletic. I’ve been on championship soccer and baseball teams for most of my childhood. My parents have often said that I’m just naturally athletic. But I’m not naturally patient.

It suddenly hit me that I wanted to be someone that I wasn’t. I wanted to be better than myself. Like me and my struggle for patience, everyone is not born perfect. Everyone has the desire to be better than themselves, to grow and mature in many different areas. For me, that was patience. I really would love to be patience, and I’m sure there are many other people who want to grow, just like me. We all have our certain struggle, it’s human. But we have to at least try. Because if none of us try, the world wouldn’t be like it is today.