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Introduction:

This essay is my reflection on a connection I had made with an important person in my life, which was then suddenly severed. My goals for this paper were to try and enhance my descriptive language and to work on describing actual events that happened in my life. I wanted people to understand the connection that I had with this person and how guilt and sorrow came to affect that relationship. I am proud of the work that I did in using imagery and painting a picture through words because I feel that it added a lot to my writing and is one of the aspects of this piece that are most engaging. In the future I would like to work more on my structure, because I feel this piece was made up of a lot of different pieces that didn’t quite go together, but I forced them to, and next time I would like to make the story more fluid.

Advanced Essay:

An old and scratchy voice yelled to me from afar. I turned around, confused as to what I had just heard. A familiar face poked its head out of a car. “You boy, come here, let me show you what I have here for you!” I approached with caution, still startled by the voice that had come out of nowhere. On the corner of the street stood a small car, almost miniature, with a dark blue coat, it was shining from the glare of the sun that bore down upon it. I staggered towards the vehicle, looked through the gaping window to see my father and the woman to which the familiar voice had come from. Now knowing that I could trust the owners of this machine, I grasped the latch to the door and stepped in. Immediately I felt a cool blast of air pour onto my face, and a cold metal object thrown into my lap. I was unsure as to what it was until I was able to take a closer look at it. A metal man lay in my lap, staring up blankly into my eyes, carrying little to no emotion on his face, though he looked curious. He looked as though he was looking through my eyes and into my past, present, and future, though he just sat there, emotionless, worthless. I lay out his flat body in my arms, grasping him, wondering what use he was to me. Why should I care?

The metal man lay on the wall with a look of curiosity on his face. His body thin and bony, easily breakable, so thin in fact that you could see the outline of each and every crevasse in his body. Each one of his limbs hung lifelessly from his torso as if he were a skeleton hanging dead from above. His chest was like a washboard that could be played as a musical instrument. His left arm dangled towards his side lifelessly gripping a guitar that looked like it would be played in a rock and roll band, though it hasn’t been touched for a long time. A charm is wrapped around his neck clinging closely to his skin. A column of ridges peaked out of his face in the place where his nose would be, seemingly connecting his round skeleton eyes to his wide open mouth. The lifelessness that fills him seemed to be the same that might fill a robot, an inhuman metal contraption that sits upon the wall until it is needed. His metal seemed beaten and worn, covered with dents and rust, but through the battered and mangled body that lies there are intricate designs carved into each limb, resembling starry skies and gusts of wind. He stares straight forwards as if he is looking right at you, but you know that he can’t see anything. The metal man is made of scraps, but seem to be something new, a masterpiece depicting a man with an extensive story to tell. He reminded me of her. The old lady who once thought of me. Every time I stared at the corpse of a man strung up on my wall, I was filled with the sight of her face, gleaming at me, hammering the image of her into my mind. It made me happy, knowing there was someone in this overwhelming population who cared enough about me to make a special connection with me.

It hit me all at once, a wave of confusion washing over my entire body. I heard her say the words, but I was unable to comprehend their meaning, each word translated into a foreign language, something that made complete sense, but only sounded like jibberish to me. “I’m leaving on a trip,” she began in a mild tone, “to the middle east, to help the refugees from Syria, to provide them with the many comforts that they need.” Her words confused me, I wanted to believe it wasn’t true, even though I knew every word was spoken with complete sincerity. I didn’t want to believe that she was leaving to such a dangerous place all on her own. I tried to make up excuses in my head: Maybe she just is just fooling with us, she knows that someone of her age wouldn’t make it in that part of world. Maybe she will change her mind once she realizes the mistake she is making. But deep down I knew she wasn’t going to change her mind, and she knew that she wasn’t making any mistake. This was where she was meant to go, and there was nothing I could do to stop her. At this moment I felt completely alone. And I was. I didn’t see her again after that moment, and I continually ask myself: Will I ever again? Was I the one worth leaving?

I never really appreciated her until she left me, and I will always regret not telling her how I feel. The lack of time that I had is something that keeps spinning around in my head, the idea that there may have been another moment, and there may have been another time where I could see her. Every time I now look at the lifeless figure that hangs on the wall I think of her, and how I might see her again someday.

    The beauty in both terror and reality

Is it wrong to find pleasure in a place of torment? Those nostalgic feelings that continue to grow on you over the years The happiness. Then there's those dark memories. The ones you don’t want to go back to but at the same time, can’t wait to find someone who share similar experiences. Fears is what led me to these unexpected situations. It is what drew me closer to darkness. The horror movies, the video games, the websites, seeing some messed up things had brang me so much joy as a kid. It was all fun and games until the night crept in. When everything turns off and the only light you  had was the moon but even that wasn’t strong enough to save you from the horrors that haunt you. The terrors that made you feel alone and i'm not talking actually alone. The type of loneliness you have when you're the weakest one in the room. I had quite a few lovely experiences with darkness himself. I hope to not see him again. 


Friday night, at 7:30pm. My parents are downstairs so I can watch wrestling on the tv in their room. While i'm downstairs, I stared at the staircase. All I saw was a big shadow that was coming from the upstairs, pure darkness. I  walk up the stairs, step by step very cautiously and slowly the light that once guided me, faded to black. I see a painting in the far distance. Everytime I step a little bit closer to it, another human figure will appear on the painting. I examined the picture and remember the man in the white tank top all the way on the side of the painting. It creeped me out and gave me these chills so I turned around in the direction of my parents room. Still in a darkness. 

Walking into my parents room, I quickly turned on the light and then the tv. The room had this safezone feeling with it’s warm colors that laid on me. I changed the channel to the CW where “Friday Night Smackdown!” came on and laid on the bed. Though the room light was on, the hallway was still pitch black. The darkness wasn't pleasant. It was the type of darkness that a kid would get lost in. Though I was disturbed by it, I was also curious. I would take a walk in the darkest place on earth. I may not of been able to see with my earthly eyes but I can see anything with my conscious  that has a mind of its own. Though I was watching my favorite show, the hallway seemed more interesting. Every 5 minutes, I would stare at it. Seeing patterns and shadow, the hallway was speaking to me. It revealed that painting of the dancing spirits to me. Even with the darkness, the painting felt so vivid.  I went back to watching tv. The hallway tone started to get louder as I tried to ignore it. It got to the point that I just had to turn around and look. This time I look, I saw one of the figures from the painting. The man in the white tank top was standing there in the hallway. He was covered in the darkness but his white tank top wasn't. His white tank top is what led my eyes. He never looked at me. I felt like he knew I was there but he just kept staring to the left where my bedroom was. It was like he was watching something in there. As I continue to stare, I start to notice gunshot wounds on his shirt. Each one having a black cherry hole with red blood slithering through the white material of his shirt. He had very strong arms. Those type of arms that just symbolized strength and agony. A working man arm. 

He had this scent about him that just made him bigger than he appear. It wasn’t natural at all. He just shifted through the hall way and stop in front of my bedroom. He just stood there. I blinked and he was gone and so was the darkness.

That night, changed my whole view on ghosts and spirits. I thought Id freak out if that ever happen. It felt like someone stitched my clothes to the bed so I wouldn't move. I was such a shy kid that I didn't even want to breath loudly for the man to hear me. I wasn't afraid. I had fear but it was non existent that night. I never told anybody about that because I easily forgotten about it. It felt normal for the two worlds of living and dead to be together. It felt like the human form of darkness. 

Around that same year, I had another experience with the darkness. This time It was late at night. I went to bed that night like any other night. I was just laying down with my blanket over me, starring at the ceiling. My light was off and my door was wide open. I always hated my door being open. Something kept me up all night. It was like my mind was just racing with so many thoughts of going to sleep and never waking back up. I was scared of the darkness that night. I just kept staring at the ceiling that was lighting up from the bright tv that was on. I kept dozing off to sleep but I didn’t want to. I was afraid of having a nightmare because of all the scary things that wrapped my mind around them. I had no controlling over what I was thinking so I just decided to try and stay up. I just remember staring at the ceiling and then not hearing the tv no more. I try turning my head at it, thinking maybe i put it on mute, but I couldn’t. In fact, I couldn’t move none of my body. It was like a huge weight was just laying on top of me. Like a very strong man or something. I thought if I scream maybe my parents would hear me but I couldn’t. I had no control over my mouth. It was like something had its claws over my hand and its fingers in my mouth because it was hard to breath. I couldn’t move anything on my body but my eyes and man were they wondering. I just kept looking around and around. All i saw was darkness from the hallway. Every time a scene will change from television, a new shadow would appear in front of my door. Making everything go black. So much darkness danced in front of me. Like a show full of ghost and one of them just layed on top of me with its hand on my neck and mouth on mines. I wasn’t myself. I didn’t want to close my eyes. I didn’t want to see those thoughts come to life but they did. They stayed their, one getting closer to my bed and then the other. It was like my soul wanted to up lift itself and run to the light. With all that going on, everything just suddenly stopped. It was all back to normal.

That night felt like a long show that I was being forced to watch. When I think about , I imagine cold dirty hands grabbing on my upper arms. I feel a nasty long black tongue going down my throat to taste my vocal cords. That experience was freaky and gave me a new concept of darkness. How darkness can make someone feel so weak. This time felt like the physical form of darkness.

Then there was the outter body experience I had around the same age. The main difference is that this time, it was after dawn. I was sleeping down stairs that night. I’m on one couch and my sister is on the other. I woke up that morning, and just stared at her for a second. The sun gave off this golden light through the house. It made everything feel so alive. I got up and walked a few steps forward just to turn around and saw myself laying on the couch, sleep. It almost took the life out of me. I was up and walking but at the same time, I never left that couch. I couldn’t speak but I don’t think I even thought of spoken. It was like simple logic just left my body as fast as I did. Maybe I was dead I thought but my body laying there was breathing. I then thought that maybe it was my soul or subconscious. Nothing was making sense until the next weird thing happen. My full sight just changed into this picture of Abraham Lincoln. It was a very old picture. It made me wonder even more because Abraham Lincoln died on my birthday. It was a very gritty yet real picture of him. The presence of it got into my thoughts and try to choke me. The spirit of the painting swayed a way into the publes of my eyes and stabbed a chain in them so I wouldn’t look away. His lips were shut like they never opened for a thousand years. He stared deeply into my body and frozen my heart for me. Then the picture moved and so did what I was viewing. It was now a picture of Abraham Lincoln’s Skeleton. The vivid colors cause by lack of flesh, made the picture even more of mystery. I didn’t want my heart to beat while all of this was happening. I didn’t want any sign of life to remind me of what set me apart from what I was experiencing. I didn’t want the darkness to know that I was still alive. I just wanted to dance with it. I wanted to be friends with the black rainbow because both me and it experience something in common. No one ever caring to truly understand the works of something that’s not like them. Something that is only celebrated by those who learn to simply accept it.

I may lived through those beautiful experiences with black. Just promise me that you will never go home as I, myself, fade to black.

My goal in this essay is to show the readers that trying new things and going a little out of your comfort zone isn’t always so bad. Sometimes in order to realize and appreciate certain things you have to go through uncomfortable situations.

Advanced Essay -

“Happy Birthday to you” is all I heard when I woke up that morning, my eyes were still closed as I turned to the other side facing the wall not wanting to be bothered. I almost forgot it was my birthday, but when my mom continued singing, my eyes opened so wide you could see my pupils. As I turned to the other side to face my mom our eyes interlocked, we were looking into each others big dark brown eyes while she sang happy birthday and handed me warm delicious pancakes that smelled like brownies. I had a bright white smile and a really crusty face but I didn’t care it was my day. I was finally turning a year older “Get dressed I have a surprise for you” is all I heard with a sweet and mellow voice. I was anxious. What could it possibly be? I wanted a new phone so maybe that’s what it was! I hopped out of bed so quick my mom could feel the wind as I ran past her to go to the bathroom to turn the shower on.

Everyone’s dressed, except my mom. “Hurry!, Hurry! I said with a forcing and loud tone, you can see the annoyance on my mom’s face as she quickly continues to get ready. What could this surprise possibly be? I hated surprises so much! I hated them just as much as dogs hate baths. Ten minutes passed, Twenty minutes passed and even thirty minutes passed and I was STILL waiting on my mom. I gave up! My heart is beating extra fast and my mind is racing. I bugged her and bugged her and she never gave in.

The last thing I thought the surprise was is painting a picture. “Painting with a twist” to be exact. My mom knew I didn’t like to paint! So how dare she even consider taking me to this small, uncomfortable place on MY birthday. I was angry. Blood, sweat and tears angry but I smiled. I smiled because I didn’t want my mom to think I was selfish, I smiled because I didn’t want her to think I didn’t appreciate it, I smiled, but I wasn’t happy. Trying new things was always hard for me to do especially if I knew I wasn’t the best at it and it wasn’t in my comfort zone. I didn’t want to embarrass myself and walk out with the worst painting. I was also afraid of what other people thought and I tend to compare myself to others. It was my birthday so I was already going to be the center of attention so that on top of a horrible painting was just not a good mix.

We walked in and I put an old black apron on that had paint stains, I didn’t want to get any paint on my new fresh clothes. The director told us it wasn’t going to be hard and all we had to do was follow directions. She was old, with wrinkled pale skin, dark brown hair and tiny glasses. Of course she could easily say follow directions, she’s been doing this all her life. In my head, it didn’t matter if I followed directions or not I could NOT draw. I was staring at the blank white canvas as the director handed me these bright beautiful colors on a plate, big to small paint brushes that my hand held on tight to, and a big cup of water for the brushes. My mind was still racing, and my stomach began feeling uneasy.

As we waited for everyone to arrive, I just started to think about how the night would end.” Would I end up with the worst painting in the group”, “Would I embarrass myself?” Just all these negatives thoughts running through my mind as I was still sitting on a old wooden brown stool with one of it’s legs missing just. Finally, it was time to paint this beautiful African piece that I thought was going to be a disaster. The director began to show us the first step, all I could remember is each time she went back and painted, it looked harder and harder. Trying to keep up step by step, dipping my paint brushes in the paint as I colored the greenish blue background on this piece, hands shaking, nothing but silence in the room, and my mind telling me not to mess up.

As I kept painting, the colors became brighter on the page, my vision became clearer and my painting wasn’t so bad. I followed directions and made it into my own little creation. This surprise wasn’t bad after all. There was music blasting, snacks being handed out, laughter and enjoyment from everyone that was there. The environment is what made my painting so beautiful, the ideas I had in my head plus following the steps is what made my painting so beautiful, it came from my heart and that’s what made it beautiful. Some may say that they don’t like my painting but the red,blue and green colors that filled the canvas are beauty in my eyes and beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Most importantly, I tried something new and I got over my fear of being embarrassed in front of others. I’m learning in life in order to grow, one will have to take risk, so as I grew one year older I became a little more wiser.

‘’ What’s your name ‘’ ? The teacher said ‘’My name is Fatoumata”. This is how it all began in 6th grade. My name was difficult for many people because it was a name that nobody was used to. It was the first day of school I was so excited. I had my navy blue skirt with my attached ribbon , a navy blue shirt and my gold glittery flats. My hair was braided nicely with colorful beads. I was finally in middle school. I get in the car and my dad drives me to school. We stop by dunkin donuts and got breakfast. I gave him a big kiss and I’m off on my way to school. I walk down the steps and go down to the cafeteria. Everyone was there with their parents smiling giving kisses and hugs out to their parents. I was cheesing so hard because I was finally a 6th grader. The breakfast line was so long it was like a herd of cows. I waited in line and finally I got my warm hot pocket. I put my lunch number pin in and went to go find a seat. Every table was crowded. I devoured that hot pocket in seconds , that was the only school food I liked. 2 girls came my way. They were staring at if I were beyonce. They looked and looked and finally said something. I was relieved.

‘’ What’s your name ‘’? ‘’ My name is Fatoumata’’ ‘’ Could you say it again ? ‘’ Fatoumata” ‘’ Fatomatao”? I hated my name so bad. ‘’ What’s so wrong with my name ? ‘’ It’s just a name that sounds weird. ‘’ ‘’ How is it weird ‘’ . I was so upset but I didn’t want to ruin my day with a silly joke like that. I walked up the steps and waited outside my homeroom. The teacher came out the classroom and said ‘’Good Morning students’’ “ Good morning Ms.Shannon we all said. We all walked in the classroom and we all sat down in our little blue chairs with our name on it. Ms. Shannon introduced herself and we played a few games. The name game was next and I was very nervous. I hated the name game it was the worst game that was ever invented. When you’re young you’re mean so much to you but it was the opposite for me. Whenever I say my name people always question , Where are you from ? Where are your family from? Do you speak a different language? These questions get on my nerves so much. I hated to say my name out aloud because the classroom would be so quiet and all the attention would be on me. We would have people in the corner laughing, people sending text messages , people whispering. How could I ever love my name ? I was next I was shaking I wasn’t ready to say my name I was too embarrassed. I was next it was my turn , I got up and the whole class was looking at me. My name is Fat -ou mata. “Your name is really pretty’’. I was so surprised. ‘’ What did you say? ] ‘’ I like your name do you like your name ? ‘’ No I hate my name so bad. ( Bell rings) . ‘’ We will get to the rest of the names tomorrow have a great day’’. I was still in shocked that somebody actually liked my name. ‘’ Hey Fatoumata ‘’ “How is my name so easy for you to say”? ( giggles) “My name is Shakiya by the way and it’s really pretty for a pretty girl like you”. ‘’ Why don’t you like your name? “I wish I could have a name that wasn’t known so I could have been unique just like you.

I wished my mom had gave me a name that was so easy to pronounce or a name that was known. All my life I had to repeat my name about 300 times in a day I hated it so bad. Everybody use to tell me I love your name I just didn’t see anything to like. It was a bunch of letters that people could never get. When I was in middle school people randomly gave me nicknames. Nicknames that cutted my name out of it. I was okay with it in the beginning but then I realize that it wasn’t my name and it wasn’t who I am. I started to realize that I loved my name after a while. I was very insecure about my name because I let people criticism get to me but now it represent who I am and I would never want to change my name ever again. I finally accepted myself and my name it took quite some time. My name was a real challenge to others because it was name that nobody was use to. There’s no a lot of Fatoumata in our world and i’m very happy to be one of them. In my family history i’m the only Fatoumata in the family.

‘’ Fatmaata could you come sit down’’. ( Class laughing) ‘’ Whats funny?’’ ‘’ The teacher pronounces your name way wrong and it was hilarious’’ ‘’ I don’t see anything hilarious it’s a couple of words that she can’t put together’’? ‘’ Ms. Shannon I might not be proud of my name but that’s not how you say it it’s Fatoumata’’ ‘’ Sweetie your name is a name that i’m not familiar with’’ ‘’ Well get familiar with it because I won’t respond to Fat Fat or Mata or Fatou it’s not my name my name is Fatoumata’’. ( Applause) I was shocked .I never cared what people called me only if it wasn’t Fatoumata. That’s when I knew I actually did like my name I just hated that it took people years and years to finally get my name correctly. My name is Fatoumata and i’m very proud to say that’s who I am. I won’t be able to change my name because of the amount. I’m starting to love my name and feeling comfortable with saying my name. Its who I am.

Advanced Essay #1 Falling Down

In my journal this year, I wrote that I sometimes struggle to get a story going. However, I overcame this by simply venting non-stop, and continuing to write even if I was not sure how it would relate to the theme of my essay. This allowed me to choose from a lot of content and organize it, which is one of the strong qualities I have and wrote about in my journal. Furthermore, to strengthen my essay I used some descriptive writing, which I am usually hesitant to do because I don’t feel that I sound deep. I am proud of the simile I created, using the elevator to describe how I felt. I want to be able to write more like this in the future, as well as other lines that were significant in my analysis. The most critical area for improvement I see when I read through is my scene that starts of the essay. I want to become a better story teller, so that the story is not only useful for my analysis but so it can hook the reader and they will understand even better.

I popped the cap off the side of the gun and twisted the knob on the faucet. Once the gun was filled, we ran out to the patio where a thick burst of heat hit our faces. We stepped outside and took our shoes off. The tile was warm on our feet so we squirted them with my water gun. It was the middle of the summer and we were living our eleven year old summer carefree. We walked to the edge of the patio. It was around a twenty foot drop to the bricks below, and the same distance between us and the side window of a bank.
“I bet you won’t shoot the window with your gun” I said.
“Are you sure?” said Phil. He angled the gun up and yanked the trigger down. GUSH! The water soared through the air and smacked the window. THUD! We ducked below the edge of the patio.
“Holy Shiitake” I said. “You are a maniac. If they catch us who knows what will happen.”
“I didn’t think the gun could reach. I’m Sorry.”
At the time, spraying a water gun at a window seemed so scary and out of line. I still don’t think it is a good idea, but it is interesting to see how my opinions on what is acceptable and what is not has changed. Today I feel more willing to venture into danger than when I was younger, and things seemed so crazy and scary they were unimaginable. Is it because I was brainwashed by my parents as a child and did not form my own opinions on what is bad or not until later? Maybe after going through enough dangerous things, the world has made me more numb to a lot today, and it seems normal.
I still feel I have a grip on right and wrong, but it seems to be changing as well. It is as if the bar is firmly in my hand, but I am in an up elevator so it rises regardless. I find myself going to boundries I did not even know were pushed yet. When I look back to the old me, I clearly remember not believing my future would hold what it does now. Am I falling into a trap of bad behavior, and my mind is too convoluted with changing ideas to see the immorality in my actions? I can justify most of it now, but before I could prove why it was wrong. An old history teacher once told my class a quote that I always knew was accurate, but I can now see in full effect.
Mr John said, “Boring people are the most dangerous people.” I see this conclusively in my life from the people around me and sometimes even myself. I am still a person with strong values. I want to be as positive as possible so I can spread happiness around me. However we all commit bad deeds, and sometimes it is because we have to, but other times it is because we are just looking for a thrill, and think what we are doing is cool. I try not to let this mindset control me and block out all negative peer pressure. When I want to I definitely can, but it is not always easy to remember in the moment that what you are doing is losing your innocence.

My goal for this essay, Is to tell a story that lead up to the cross and what it symbolizes in my life. My goals were to have a few descriptive scenes along with a backstory that describes and explains why the cross is as important to me as it is. I am most proud of the part in my essay in which I describe what being a Christian and going to church meant to me as a little girl and even until now. I also enjoyed the last part of my essay description. Some of my areas I would improve are shortening my essay down by getting rid of some of the descriptive details. I need to work on having at least two details per scene, because the scene seems to drone on and on the more descriptive it gets. I want to have less, but more as far as visual imaging.

“Hear O Israel the Lord Our God is one Lord, and thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thine heart and with all thy Soul and with all thy might.”, my mother said smiling as she recited to us Deuteronomy 6:4-5. This was one of the many precious verses of the Bible that held the key to living a good Christian life, a life that would make God proud. I remember it like it was yesterday. The bright white pages of the Bible, with shiny gold tint on each edge, as the bold black words marked their presence as they spilled down the page in smooth straight rows, an epitome of scriptures, chapters and verses. I can still see my eleven year old frame, tucked closely next to my sister’s thirteen year old one. Our eyes wide and smiles stretched across our faces, as we soaked in each word into our brains. I remember the sun, as it played peek-a boo through our window giving the straight golden letters on the front cover of the Bible a heavenly like glow. I can still see the smooth brown wood surface of the table, my elbows resting on it’s hard sturdy surface, as I kept my eyes on my mom. I can still hear my mom’s voice as she read the scripture. Her voice smooth, the rhythm steady, rising after each sentence to provide emphasis on each line. Though I had read the Bible many times over the past years , and had been writing scriptures out before my E’s even faced the right way, this was another one of the many times I had read this scripture, and each time it was read I was excited. The way my mother read it brought it to life, just like much of the many animated Bible lessons she taught in our comfortable living room. To us, these scriptures were not anything we hadn’t heard before, but the lessons we would learn and the blessings we would receive would be, if we continued to immerse ourselves in the word of God. At this age, and for ages to come, nothing meant more to me than getting to know God. From the time of birth until now, I was born and raised Christian. I love Jesus and talk about him so much, that I am often labeled what people call a “church girl.” As defined by many, A faithful attender of church every Sunday and a proud member of what my friends call “Team Jesus Christ.” I have seen everything, from the synchronized step of the ushers, as they march in their Black and white uniforms, the harmonical notes of the various choirs, and even the blunt and bold messages of my Pastor. Not only have I seen many of these things, but I have been on everything from the choir, to the usher ministry, to even the Evangelism Team, which requires giving to people in need and sharing about Jesus. Growing up Christian and in the church, meant values to me, and I began to fervently seek Jesus in every area of my life. This meant being faithful to his word, which I had been trained in and even to fasting and praying. As a little girl, this scared me quite a bit. Not the fact that I knew I would make mistakes as a Christian but what it would mean for me to get to know God. To me, God was a great huge, powerful being and I was just a small girl with pigtails, gapped teeth, and frilly church socks. However, my curiosity and my growing love of Him and all the attributes that make up who he is, overpowered my fear and soon I found myself getting baptized in the year of 2008. I can still fill the cold water as it covered my arms hands and feet, as I was immersed underneath it. I can still feel the sting of my nose as I came up out of the water, to the warm smiles and laughter of my family as I stepped out of the water. From then on, I continued to seek the Lord, and at thirteen I received the Holy Ghost, which to Christians is the “Lord’s spirit living within”. From thirteen on, only God continually proved himself to be a working favor in my life, and I sought him through in every way I could. Not only this but the symbol of the cross and what it stands for, became valuable to me. I would wear it on many outfits, whether in the form or earrings a bracelet and even a necklace. and accessorize it with many outfits. It became a favorable sight to me. That is why when the silver cross was given to my mother, I immediately took a liking to it. Although I could not wear it around, I could look at it and it became a reminder of what Jesus did for me. It was a warm spring day, The sun enveloped the clouds. Orange, green, and brown leaves dotted the ground’s rocky surface. The wind, marked its presence with its cool breeze. I rushed down the stairs, my footsteps making loud thuds on the soft brown carpet. The house still, the only noise being the loud ticking of the kitchen clock. As I walked into the kitchen, something amazing glistened off of my window sill. A new sight. It was a silver cross. Not the cliche brown wooden carved cross, but one made of pure crystalline glass. From top to bottom. Each corner and tip arched and etched perfectly together to create on lasting, standing masterpiece. The glass, although blurry continues to shimmer. The sun creating rainbows on its glassy surface often times when it peek into the window. As if this wasn’t enough, it stands on a rectangular ledge, meant to make it rise a little, so that it would be almost impossible to miss it. One layer, two layer, and finally the masterpiece. Despite the ordinance of the sill on which it stood, it stood out. Amongst everything it shares the surface of the sill with. And here it stands. Not did it become a reminder of the great sacrifice by which Jesus made over many 2,000 years ago, but also as a testament and witness. That showed me why it not only is a symbol that belongs in the many phases of life, but also in the very dear recesses of the heart. That day, there was not a moment as special. This cross meant the world to me, because it was a symbol etched into my heart. And so like this cross is , so is my religion and it continues to be as I proudly represent Jesus in every area of my life. Just like I am doing right now in this essay. Hey, what can I say? I am a part of Team Jesus Christ.

Introduction

This essay has been one of the most personal writings I’ve ever done. I haven’t written what I consider a good essay in a while. This essay made me think and write about important events in my life which is something that is really hard to share. Not only was this essay real but it was also one of my only essays I was really descriptive. I lack very much in being descriptive and using descriptive words. I feel like in this essay I did a great job moving forward and improving my descriptive language. I can maybe try to include less scenes and have more analysis in my essay but I think I did a good job of balancing it.

        The Man That Changed My Life        

As I walk in and out of my room each day, I always pass by a very important painting. It is of a man that has played a very important part in my life as well as many others. The painting is of a man looking up into the sky while crossing his fingers; which is centered in a mysterious blurred out background with only a gleam of sunlight peaking through the window. He is wearing a nice silky blue shirt that seems as if it is the sky on a sunny bright day. A tiny thin gold necklace dangles around his sturdy neck. He has a slightly faded beard with a face of innocence. This man has long light brown hair that sits upon his shoulder. His mustache is slightly bushy, not too thin but just right. I see a halo hovering above his head glistening. To the right we see a lady in her late thirties, slowly approaching this man. This women has a white cloth on her head that resembles a hoodie. To complement the cloth, she wears a burgundy type of red shirt that fits just right. Around her neck there is a necklace that has a flaming heart at the center with a chain surrounding it. Her skin was flawless and her face embodied an equilibrium of seriousness and serenity. The portrait comes together as one to show the bond between a mother and son. The picture is of Jesus and his mother Mary. A nice classic artwork of the two; framed in a nice light brown frame with sharp edges to center out the artwork of the two. This image would come assist me in multiple situations throughout my years as a young boy trying to find out how this world works. “How was your day?” Asked my mother as we sat in our living room. A room that gives the feeling of calmness and leisure. The walls had a mixture of the two colors; brownish red and a dark yellow. Im sitting next the couch which is closest to the back wall. The room is cubed with 4 walls and two openings “It was good, I got to complete most of my work at lunch and now barely have anything to do at home.” I replied. “Im proud you are being a good student.” “How was your day mom ?” I asked. “Umm… it was ok, I have something to tell you but have no idea of a way to tell you without making you feel a certain way.” She replied. I moved eagerly to the couch she sat on to hear this news. The couch was located on the opposing side of the room from where I had just been.These two couches formed a small hallway that was parallel to the two openings. “Well, mom you know you could tell me whatever. Whats wrong?” I said. “Nothings wrong with me baby, I just got a phone from Frankie’s mom and he’s in the hospital.” She replied. I stood up and began to shakingly walk around the room. At that very moment millions of questions rolled through my mind, but the only one that managed to come out was, “What happened?” She answered, “He was in a car accident, he said he wants to see you.” After she said that I walked upstairs with no response to what she said. I never used the artwork hung in my room but this was the first time I decided to use it. I talked to the artwork and this made the artwork come alive. I asked for mercy for my friend Frankie, and that was exactly what they did. One day In fourth grade, I was sitting at the lunch cafeteria table playing a game of chess with my friend. He was very short with a mushroom shaped haircut that was a very bold dark brown color. He was real light skinned and was always a really nice person.
“No matter what you do I’m still going to be the best at this game.” I said in a giggling voice. “You have no chance against me.” I then continued. “Yea whatever you say” he replied. As he moved his king chess piece; and I realized that this is where I had him locked down. “Looks like someone in checkmate” As I said that; another kid soon approached us. He had been looking in our direction for a while but now he was in the presence of our game. He was a smaller kid who matched the body type of my fellow chessmate. We had been in the middle of what I considered a very intense game when the boy rudely interrupted.
“What are you guys playing?”
He reached for one of our chess pieces and moved it. I shouted, “What are you doing!?”
“Just moving it around”. “If you do that again I’m going to punch you” I said now aggravated. He went to reach for another chess piece; I stood up and pushed him so hard he hit the lunch table’s edge. The situation did not escalate after this so later on that day I went home. When I got into the house my mom asked me, “How was your day?” “My day was good, nothing bad happened just another day of school.” I replied, knowing it was a lie. After the conversation I walked up to my room with the feeling of guiltiness taking over my body. I then looked up at the painting and asked for forgiveness. He talked back to me and told me to go tell the truth to relieve all this guilt. That’s exactly what I did. Jesus is someone who can easily control your actions, which is crazy when you think about it. He has helped me through many obstacles in my life. They’re a lot of people who do not believe in god and have no religion at all. That’s perfectly fine but when I come to think of that, I can’t seem to find myself being the person I am without god to guide me and help me. Jesus isn’t someone you have to make an appointment for, he is someone who is always available. This makes him even more special to me. After Frankie’s accident, I never felt the same. I felt protected and felt as if there had always been someone there for me if my family or friends weren’t able to be there. After the many incidents I had experienced throughout my life, I was able to build a nice strong relationship with Jesus. We developed an unbreakable bond that I will cherish for the rest of my life.

Introduction

This essay is a reflection of my childhood life back when technology wasn’t too much of a big deal or focus. My goals for this essay is to show people that there are more things that can entertain us besides technology or the internet. I want people to understand that technology can entertain us but it doesn’t help us make and experience good memories with other people. The parts in the essay that I am proud of would be the analysis or the last paragraph because I tried putting all my thoughts together about my childhood and my experiences in an organized way. The areas that I need to improve on would be my redundancy in writing and the use of more descriptive words.

Advanced Essay

I had never thought that I’d be living on the other side of this beautiful and gigantic world. I was just a little girl who freely ran around the streets of my small town in the Philippines. I lived with some cousins, uncles, my grandmother, and sister in an old and average sized house. Antique things gathered in the house as dusts always collected in every corner. The air could not circulate enough in this small house and even the ceiling fans barely provided us any air. I remember that as I came home from school, sweat would dribble down my face and into my body. I tossed my backpack slowly to the table where we placed all our necessities such as school supplies or other necessities. After that, I carefully took the ribbon off of my shirt and school ID wrapped around my neck. I unbuttoned my plain white school uniform and unzipped the skirt as I rushed to get changed. Then, my cousins, sister, and I headed to the streets of our village to play with our friends and neighbors. The look of excitement was always seen on our faces because it was a relief to be playing after a long day at school.

One day, as we were playing “tag” and making loud noises on the street dogs kept barking from a distance. Little did we know that it was our friend who was chased by these group of dogs. We saw our friend with his terrified and sweaty face from a distance as he pedalled as hard as he could just to get away from these angry dogs. It was a bit of an entertainment but we were frightened to do anything. My mind blanked, heartbeat almost came out of my chest as I quickly picked myself up and ran swiftly to avoid these enraged dogs. We played a lot of the Philippine traditional games such as “tag”, piko “ hopscotch”, Chinese garter “ Chinese jump rope”, taguan “hide and seek”, and so much more! Sometimes, my cousin, sister, and I would be doing our homework because our Lola “grandmother” said so. No matter how thrilled we were to be playing outside we just had to give it up sometimes if school gets in the way. Playing street games outdoors became our routine almost everyday after school and even on the weekends. Butterflies of excitement always rumbled in our bellies every time this “play time” came.

My childhood life in the Philippines is unlike any child’s life nowadays. I had some forms of gadgets growing up but I detached myself from them because I had fun playing tag with my friends on our street and playing cash register games or barbie dolls with my cousin. I may have some gadgets such as a phone to contact a guardian at school, a desktop computer, and a video game gadget but, they were just there. They weren’t a big part of my everyday life which I am glad. As a little kid, I connected myself to the outside world and enjoyed myself being outdoors. Thinking back, I am very grateful that I got the chance to explore the world outside before the LED screens came out big time. I always loved every moment being outside but I’ve never really thought of the idea to fade away one day. As a laid back kid, I didn’t think of the fact that as you get older and move to places things will never be the same and things can change. If I just knew, I could have enjoyed every second that I spent playing with those kids in my block more. Now, I could go back and visit but things will never be the same because we’re all growing up. However, I cannot complain because I am in the most comfortable that I have ever been in my life even though sometimes I think to myself, “Oh I just miss the good old days.” Those were one of the good times in my life but according to my dad, “good things must come to an end.”

Introduction// My goal for this paper was to let people get a glimpse of what my life is like behind closed doors. Honestly, I put up a strong front and wall towards people in order for them to think I’m strong and sometimes that can come off pretty bad. Although I am somewhat of a tough character, I still do have certain weak spots just like everyone else. I am very proud of being able to be very descriptive in certain parts of this essay and that’s something that I normally really struggle with when it comes to essays. Of course there’s room for improvement and I think I could’ve improved my conclusion paragraph but I tried to tie it all back to my first memory and description of the painting in my dining room and I think I was able to do that along with bigger idea coming across.

There’s this picture in my dining room. It hovers over the dining table like my guardian angel. It captivates my eyes due to its assortment of large and small circles of different colors and textures. The background of the picture is something quite unique. Colors collide together beautifully down the green, red and yellow ombre backdrop. The texture of the background reminds me of paint brush strokes, streaky but beautiful. The top of the picture is a grass green and like love at first sight it falls romantically into a goldish yellow. Between that and the next two colors, resides a gray area something that resembles what we all have in life. A moment that does not really seem to fit, but at times it may move you into something a thousand times better. That vivid brown color twisted the gray area into a moment I fell in love with. Possibly the best transition of the entire picture or maybe of my entire life. There’s a big white circle on top of that grassy green tone I mentioned, I would say it is a perfect circle but life can never be too perfect and on the outside of this circle comes a white orbit facing forward around it. Like impulsive moments in my life, this picture is filled with spontaneous circles. Varying from quarter sized orange and red circles that reminds me of Mars, to that big white circle with another orbit that reminds me of Pluto.

I am way too familiar with the five senses associated with a broken heart, or maybe I should say the senses acquired to a heart break. It sounds like occasional whimpers, sniffles and sobbing. It tastes like sea salt, cotton and strawberry ice cream. It looks like eyelids forced shut and dried patches on my brown skin. It feels like feathery pillows and warm cozy blankets. It smells like fresh perfume or old cologne. As I sit at my table and reminisce about my past, my eyes become engulfed into a blank google document and keys that varied from alphabetical to numerical order. I remember this day just like it was yesterday.

The laminated faux cherry wood dining set pushed out into the middle of my dining room. Hanging above it was a crystal chandelier, a little dusty but the reflection from the shallow jewels still relayed the dark brown reflection of your eyes. The table we sat at was covered in postal mail of different sorts. Postal stamps plastered onto envelopes, package tape ripped off of brown cardboard boxes but for some reason the clutter did not seem to bother you. What your eyes really laid on was the steaming hot, shrimp alfredo my mother made for us. The linguini noodles were smothered in a white sauce topped with speckles of paprika, pepper, salt and garlic powder. I watched as you sniffled in the steam and various aromas that arose. The way you clutched my forest green ceramic plates as you engulfed the food with that metal 4 armed fork let me know, you enjoyed every bit of the meal. That made me smile inside. I know you’re a keeper if you happen to like mothers food. In that time, I caught myself occasionally staring at that picture. The various large and small circles captivated me, they sort of resembled my pupils. The pupils you always seemed to compliment that made me blush uncontrollably. After eating, you had to go home but your memory did not leave. Although I would never see you again, I saw some of you in the sweat stain you left on the burgundy leather chair cushions. I saw your lip print on the glass cup you drank from and that never left. Damn Finish ™ for not getting the dishes as clean as they promised. Now I will always see you in that picture, at my dining room table and as a faint memory in the back of my head.

I wish there were actual memory erasers, you know from Men in Black. Your presence would be here and then gone in an instant. But, of course my long spiral road of heartbreak just doesn’t end there. There’s always one thing after another, just like a broken record of vocals. The same lyric playing over and over and over and over and over and over and ov- you get it right? Similar to what I’m dealing with. A never ending, record repeating, late night assortment of blues.

The morning blue jays arose and sung a song while I stared at the window behind my bed and admired the blooming spring flowers and healthy green trees. These trees always scared me on windy nights because I thought the tree would fall over. As the day came to an end , and the crickets came out to play, I saddened at the next saga of events. A notification tab popped up onto my phone screen and what I saw next made my mouth drop completely to the floor. “He broke up with me.” Tears welled up into my eyes, slowly finding their way into the creases beside my mouth. I tasted the salty liquid on my taste buds as my body started to become numb. I slowly read the message making sure I caught every detail within the long cold hearted paragraph. “This just isn’t working out.” Words screamed in exhaustion throughout my head, my heart cringed at the beating it would be taking yet again. “After all I’ve told him, after all we’ve been through?” 4 walls began to close in on me, dry patches stained my cheeks and my body began to shake uncontrollably. Should I leave it on read and not respond? Should I convince him to stay with me? I couldn’t really seem to come up with an answer. The more I read the message, the more questions I had. Is this all my life will ever be? Was there someone else? Were you not happy? Am I just not good enough?

My story is a prime example of transition. Alike the gray area in the painting that hangs faithfully above the dining table in my dining room, my life became swiveled and swirled into that vivid brown closely related to the swivels and swirls in that soft serve ice cream cone from the Mr.Softee truck. So effortlessly did that brown take full control of the car I had slowly but surely lost control of. After a full year of total unhappiness and complete betrayal left and right I realized this was all a test. A test to see how much I could take. It felt as if I took this test about 50 times, each time being labeled a different type. My first trial, I was to weak to realize the true lies. My second trial I was stable, starting to understand my mistakes but still blinded by the black veil of “love”. My last and final trial I was strong. Realizing that I am worth an entire picture of words. I am a beautiful little 15 year old black girl, who will be 16 in two months, whose hair will never get curly in the water, a picky eater who hates when their food touches but loves the mixture of vegetables and meat in beef stew. I am a little black girl who is a little shy and awkward around new people but able to be outspoken and loud when it comes to expressing her thoughts. I am a teenager who has experienced the devastation of heartbreak at a young age, I am a teenager still learning to fight for true love. I am still in the process of finding myself. But, most importantly. I am changed and I am me.

Intro:

My essay is about life lessons that I learned. In which that happiness comes with pain. You can’t have one without the other. And that you need bad experiences to change who you are and give you a good outlook on life;aka to be wiser. I am proud of being able to express myself in this paper because I have a hard time opening up. Also, my poetic descriptions are fantastic! I am very proud of this piece and I hope others enjoy it too.

Essay:

Happiness comes with Pain

“Left, right, up, down. No matter what direction you are looking, you are stuck Mackenzie.” These thoughts that haunt me from mind began at five years old, and I only started talking at age 3. “Little kids don’t understand or interpret much,” adults throughout my life would say, but I disagree on a deeper level.
Everybody liked to treat me as child that is incapable of hurt and feelings. Put me in a room full of children, they would walk by making me unnoticed. The adults would just sit there not knowing the inside screaming in my head. My head taunts me every time: “why won’t they talk to you; I see people sitting next to each other laughing and talking. Mackenzie you can’t do that, you are all alone.” Play with me, sit next to me, show me your smile! Black starts to cloud my vision, and my heart sinks like it is going to my feet. I have to hold it in, I have to hold it in, that’s what is expected of me, and I don’t want to cause others worry. So I am the child that is incapable of being hurt. Elementary school arrives, and I took a turn for the worse that I was not expecting for. I woke up every morning, brushed my teeth, threw my clothes on, got in my car with my mom and on we went. Every morning when my mom dropped me off I was embarrassed with soft kisses on my chipmunk cheeks, and received squeezes from her large, warming body. I’d walk into school, expecting to start the day off good. “Hey fatty, did you take a bit out of the door thinking it was a chocolate bar, a part’s missing.” Their it comes again. The Darkness, The pain, The regret. With teary eyes and a held tongue, I pick myself up with my head tilted down and bangs falling on my eyelids, I walk out of the classroom into the bathroom. “You have to hold it in, you can’t show them.” it whispers into my anxiety ridden soul. Looking steadily in the mirror, I examined my eyes, watching the salty pain running down my face onto my lip. The taste reminds me that I can feel, and why i am in hell. That continued like a tribal ritual for the sun coming up. Except there was no sun in my life, just whispers in the dark hardening my strength to speak. My lips were sown with the invisible threats of hurt and insult I was reminded with. I was not seen, therefore I would just be the air that you breathed;Unnoticed.Watching every move they made, listening to every sound they made. They do not see me, but I see them. I am the child that is still not capable of being hurt. Middle school I ignored all their comments, but I still thought I was worthless. I then met the best friend love of my life. Everytime she hugged me with warm moist hands around my back, and her big solid chest for me to find comfort in, it did. I imagine her like this blissful heaven like glow in my mind. She grabs my hand and pulled me out of the abyss of my screaming darkness, and in a loving embrace I cry like a cat who was picked up from the box of abandonment. She was my nice new home, where I could stretch out my legs and take a nap on a comfy couch. The voices in my head that wished for me to let go, and lose my mind with loneliness, have stopped. Sarah helped me, but my mind could not erase the saddest that was engraved in my memory and current vision. When I hug my mother, I cling onto her like a child, because I missed my childhood, it was taken away from me. She could not understand the struggle with my classmates. I want to show the situation right in front of her, but I cant burden the broken. They’ll listen through one ear and out the other. I am the broken child who is hurt, someone please notice me. Later as the year went on, I looked more closely at time with myself. I realized that only I can make peace with myself. I spent my time staring into the wide gaping sky, and gasping over the beauty I see in the flowers that cry droplets. The the bright yellow sun flowers that a husband gives his wife to tell her that she is the shine to his life. A baby’s laughs from a mother spending precious moments with her baby at the park. Or even the the burning sensation that I feel on my back and face from the sun shining on my Vitamin D deprived skin. Proving that I belong in this place called life, and I am alive. Even if a person hasn’t noticed me, life has accepted my existence. The sun will continue to beat down on my snow like skin, and tears stream down my thankful face, representing that happiness comes with pain. As long as I have these memories , I keep a lesson within me, that the darkness cannot escape inside of me, but my empty box will be refilled with the life that shines through the breaking walls around my heart. I am a girl who can feel hurt.

My goal for this essay is to show my audience why I love fantasy books. I’m very proud of my detailed description of the book cover in my story. My description should paint a clear picture of the book’s cover in the minds of my audience. One thing that I needed improvement in my essay would probably be getting to the point faster in my writing. This is fixed now, but before it was just extra writing that wasn’t needed. I hope you enjoy the experience of reading my essay.

Near the bottom/ middle of the picture is a fight scene between two teenage boys and their horses. On the bottom left side of the picture is a depiction of one of the two boys. It starts out with a rising black thundercloud with yellow lightning streaks coming from it. Rising from the thundercloud is the boy wielding a sword on a horse. The boy is caucasian, with a sort of goldish tan and golden blonde hair. He is raising his golden sword with his right hand and holding on to the horse with his left hand. He is wearing a purple shirt and making an angry/ screaming face toward his opponent. The horse this guy is riding has the same look as the thundercloud, black with many yellow lightning streaks for veins. Also, this horse’s eyes are a glowing red. The horse seems to be rearing up, but from the middle of his stomach and down is covered in the black thundercloud.

Next is the teenage boy on the bottom right of the picture rising from a violent wave of water is with a sword on a horse. This boy is caucasian as well, but his skin does not have a golden tan-like tone to it and he has ruffled black hair; his skin looks a little darker. He is raising his shining bronze sword with his right hand and holding onto his horse with his left hand. He is wearing an orange shirt and he is also making an angry/ screaming face at his blonde haired opponent. This boy’s horse is a black pegasus but you can’t see the wings too well, so don’t worry about the wings. Like the thunder horse, the pegasus seems to be rearing up as well. But from the the middle of the pegasus’ stomach and down, the waves are covering it. Both of the two horse’s front legs appear to be touching each other as they are reared up near the bottom middle of the picture.

Right above this battle near the top of the picture, in a crimson red color, is a huge face of an owl. It’s not the owl’s entire face, but just it’s eyes and small beak. The eyes are drawn to stare right at you. Creating a “C” like formation around both owl eyes are feathers. Right in between the owl’s eyes is a medium streak of white lightning, and around the outer parts of the owl’s face is small minor streaks of lightning. Above the owl’s face, the picture just does a transition from crimson red to black. The last thing is that starting from the top of the two horse’s heads and going toward the bottom of the picture, behind the battle scene and between the black thundercloud and violent wave is a sort of whitish and yellowish color.

This picture that I have delicately described is the cover for a book called, “The Mark of Athena”, by Rick Riordan. The day my mom took me to Barnes and Nobles in 2012 to get this book, I unintentionally memorized every detail of the cover. It was so inviting to my young and curious eyes that I had to have it. Like most fantasy books, looking at this book made me hype to delve into it. From then up to now, diving into the worlds of fantasy stories is such a beautiful feeling. It pulls you away from reality, which for me was an amazing thing. Back when I was twelve and reading, “The Mark of Athena” getting pulled away from reality meant getting away from homework, annoying teachers, and some responsibilities. Now that I’m a teenager in the eleventh grade, reading books like, “The Mark of Athena”, means getting away from more homework, bigger responsibilities, benchmarks, the major nuisances of this world, and the the idea of growing up. Sometimes, the thought of growing up can be scary. So to make myself feel better, I would pick up a fantasy book and delve into it. Not only are fantasy books so interesting and exciting to read, but they are also very comforting and they give me a sense that I will be alright.

Even though fantasy alleviates reality, reality is still reality. Growing up as a leisure reader, I soon had to learn the hard way that I won’t always be able to read the books that that I want. Whent started my first year of Science Leadership academy, I was already in the middle of a good book. But then I was assigned lots of homework and lots of educational reading. Which was very boring. Because of all this work, I then had to set my leisure reading aside. Reality had won this round against fantasy. I had thought that I would be able to read my book again after all my work was done. But as the work progressed to greater amounts and as the school reading increased, I wasn’t able to catch up on my leisure reading until the next year. After my freshmen year, I had thought that reality always wins against fantasy. It wasn’t until my sophomore year that I learned that fantasy can sometimes beat reality too. That is to say, I found time to do some leisure reading. It was then that I created a balance between Fantasy and Reality. I made sure that not only would I get my school work done and get good grades, but that I would find time do some leisure reading.

My goal in life is to be myself and help others, and in my piece I explained that and other things I’d love to do. I am pretty proud of how I described my piece of how I really feel.. Areas for improvement can probably be my grammar.

Advanced Essay

Waking up to an bright light almost makes you feel like you’re in a better place. I can sense the heat on my sensitive skin, keeping me warm and comfortable. I told myself I heard the sound of sweet soul of music downstairs. It was within me today, I said as I was shuffling out of bed. The sheets were attached to me like a magnet. It was yet another Monday Morning about 7:21 am. I was only 6 years old when I started learning about my superiority. I took myself downstairs for a bite to eat as I made me some cereal. My step-mom made me eggs and a bagel. I took it to the living room and turned on the tv to watch some PBS. Sesame Street was on, but sadly went to commercial. An advertisement came on. It was at that moment my eyes started dwelling and my stomach was growling. I glared at the television listening to a man who had a voice of an activist. He stated, “You can accomplish anything, anytime, if you just put your mind to it.” I had to hear more to what this man had to say. He kept going on about accomplishments and achievements. At the time I didn’t know any of those big words he was saying, so I wrote them down on a post it note and gave them to my Dad. He defined them for me and it was all making sense. Leadership, control, management, desires were swarming on me. I told myself I wanted to go find these accomplishments because I knew I would need it. The rest of my life that is ahead of me. Not just that, but at that time, things weren’t going so well for me. You could say there was some family problems, or you can say there’s sadness that surrounds me and my broken heart. This happens at times, but it drifts away from me also, and returns when my emotions change. I was able to get out of the house and walk around for a bit with my mom. We went to the park, I got on the swings, went down the slide. It really helped me forget about the things I used to know. Just a simple commitment with Love and positivity can do that to a kid like me. I thought I could do that to someone too. To make them feel better about themselves, and put a smile on there face to let you know “Hey, I’m alright” I also thought, If life was simple like this that I can take a deep breath and start over, then this is something I can get use to. And so I did. And it was really helping a lot. Each day, I explore more and more and stopped worrying about the negativity that tries to surround me with sorrow and guilt. Because, I was already surrounded by the power of positivity. Everything I had was already on my side. My parents, friends, family. Because even though we always have our bad times, in the long run, we all love each other in the very end. This is my motto and still is today. As I keep growing and developing, I add more and more things to my notes. Always have a positive attitude, having faith, having hope, and believing in yourself. If I ever see my friends who are down, I’d do my best to pick them up. When I was 9, I told myself I want to make the world a better place, one by one, one step at a time. Helping people, help feed the homeless. Talk to my peers and to make them happy. Of course, I was gonna have my off days, of how much I wanted to keep it to myself. I couldn’t, people who were really close to me notice my troubles and they were there to help me. Raised in a church taught me how to be a better person. It did change me a lot, developing into a better me than before. This is where I started my roots. These were reasons why I was becoming a great kid. 7 years old and growing. When I accepted Christ into my life and began reading the bible when I was 8. The next year, I was understanding the passages, one of my favorites were Romans 3:23 “For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God”. One of the best quotes in my notes, is to accept defeat. Of course when I was initiating to becoming a great kid, I realized that we are all not perfect, we will sin, we will do wrong And when that comes, I’ll be ready for it. My life isn’t over, it is just beginning. And I realize there is going to be times where I will do good and I will do bad. Sometimes, I won’t be able to realize the good and the bad. Or what I’ve done at times. But I am prepared for it. The only thing I’m not prepared for is what’s going to come later. I don’t know how and I certainly don’t know when. I could die the next day. But doesn’t mean every second I have to breathe it. Just to be alive is a reminder to be happy and to tell my story one day..

When I first saw the portrait, I said to myself: “This painting will go great with the atmosphere of my house”. When we got home we couldn’t figure out where to put the portrait. I suggested why don’t we put the portrait behind the dining table. My parents said “That not a bad idea because it fits the area around it. So we all agreed to put it in the dining area and when we stood back and looked at it, we all said “It looks perfect here.”

Quite a few months back I move into a small apartment with my parents. The area around seemed empty because where the apartment is, it is surrounded by garages. The apartment was small yet durable it had a deck so I can go outside and had a electric stove. First we got the heavy stuff in the way so it won’t be much of a hassle at the end. Next we got lighter stuff out of the way and then a week later we got the internet and cable up in the apartment.

During my life there was a lot moving and here I am going to tell you from the beginning. When I was born, I use to lived on Brighton St. near where there use to be a HESS nothing much happened at Brighton Street.

Next I moved to Frankford Ave where I lived most of my life. A lot as happened on Frankford, some good some bad. I call it a small apartment with a lot of memories, For example a squirrel came into our apartment without any notice and me and my mom were scared to go near it, so my mom called her boyfriend without telling him what the situation was. When he got there my mom just tells her boyfriend about the situation and her boyfriend got the broom with a nervous look on his face and he knock it down the stairs and it ran out the door never to be seen again. When I lived on Frankford Ave. I met two people named Alexis but people call her Lexi and a boy named Anthony but people called him Ant. after we became great friends as the when we started to hang out but as much because they kept coming and going for a while and all of the sudden we stopped seeing each other for a long time and we have not seen them since then.The reason we moved out of Frankford Ave was because a drunk man kicked our door open in the middle of the night and my mom called to police and nothing happened after the fact.

Next I lived on Disston St. Not a lot of has happened on Disston, but the only thing I remember is inviting my friends over and pool parties. I had a great time at Disston Street, but we had to move and I really liked it there.

Then a few years later, we moved to Tyson. There was really no memories at Tyson because we moved not even a year later because the neighborhood was a bit crazy.

When I moved to Marsden St. we had some memories there for example I made some new friends there, got my new pet there for Christmas, and met my uncle who I have never seen on the same day. I also graduated Austin Meehan Middle School and when to Lincoln High School and a year later I started my first year of Science Leadership Academy. When I first saw Science Leadership Academy, it looked like a office building from the outside. When I started to go to Science Leadership Academy, I was excited and nervous at the same time because it was great to be in a new school and make new friends and nervous because it was a new school, new neighborhood, and new faces. I was scared because I was afraid to make a bad first impression at my new school. When I saw the schedule I was so lost because at Science Leadership Academy they call them bands instead of periods and the letters were confusing because I did not know where any of my classes were. As I started to go there I started pick the pattern that was happening and after three months, I started to get the hang of it.

After that I moved to Vandike St. with my mom and her boyfriend and as we are living here at Vandike St., we are creating memories. So these are all of my past memories that I can think of on the top of my head.

Introduction:

My goals in this paper is to inform the reader about my struggles on figuring out what to paint for an important assignment I once had. And how that influenced me to not to listen to people who discourage me and to continue their passions. I am proud of the analysis towards the end where I express my feelings about what society expects of me but I do not what to follow what I was taught. Some things I would like to improve in the future, is to work on my transitions so the flow of my essays would go smoothly with no changes in tone.

Advanced Essay:

As I sit in on my bed, thinking about what to write, how to write about this. It stays sitting in my bookshelf, on the very highest shelf hidden behind all the happy family memories. It is something that holds my talents; a small painting created by my fifth grade self. Painting came easily to me and it was somewhere I could express my creativity and there were no limits. But this talent wasn’t satisfying the expectations of my family or the lifestyle I was grown into.

I drifted away from those thoughts and flashbacked to when I painted it. The memory was slowly fading away from my mind and it was getting difficult to remember every detail. It was an assignment every student in the fifth grade was given. We were to read, Number the Stars, by Lois Lowry over the summer. We would be focusing on impressionism and by observing closely at different artworks we were to create a masterpiece by ourselves. To expand on our ideas, our teachers let us explore the Philadelphia Museum of Art which housed quite a few impressionist artworks. I anxiously walked through the exhibit, hoping some kind of concept of what I wanted to do would bloom in my mind. I stared deep into the paintings as if I were to be dragged into it like a black hole at any moment. I noticed how the painters used strokes to make the painting seem blurry but very subtle to lead the viewer to their imagination. I already had experience in painting but I wanted this to be something new and mysterious. This task was going to be unique and I was determined to make it the best I can.

It was finally time to paint and I chose the scene where the main character, Annemarie, found peace amongst the chaos during WWll. She was watching fireworks in the night sky. I wanted to start at an angle where the view was through her eyes like she was directly seeing it. I had to put myself in her shoes and painting the scene in that very moment. As we sat in class, I let myself go and let my mind and hands do all the work. I allowed my emotions get to me and tried to feel what Annemarie would have felt so that the scenery would be powerful. It screamed happiness and excitement but sadness all at the same time. It was like you would get the same thrill of watching fireworks and just looking at the painting and being there yourself. It represented that even during the darkest times there was light.

I started from one small sparkle to a massive firework like Annemarie herself, just a young girl with great ambitions. I painted some small, and some larger than others using bright, and alive colors that brings joy within us. I painted the dark black buildings, which were above the water. They stood tall, the pigmented color of black, as prominent as ever. I painted the water with ripples and reflections and look as if it was glistening, like you can reach out and touch it. If you looked close enough it seemed as if it is moving and you can hear the soothing quiet sounds of the water. I didn’t let myself stop until I felt as if there was nothing left to add.

This all came back to how everybody thinks art is just something you accomplish just for a leisure activity. It’s something that gives people joy, it’s something you can’t throw away or hide, it’s something someone should spend time on or make it their career. It allows people to express themselves whatever the situation you are in. Whether you are angry, emotional, happy, those moods allow you to produce different types of art and makes it meaningful. It is a way of finding peace. It is the positive vibes during the bad times.

Art is dependent on ourselves. It’s on you whether you want to express this talent of yours that other people may not have. A majority of people think that arts isn’t something you should focus and spend your life on or that you won’t get noticed for it and that doesn’t mean you have to stop doing it all together. Don’t let the negativity stop you. Don’t let it knock you down. Don’t give up. Let it motivate you instead to continue with your passion. “You have the control of your future. Control of you is all in your mind and your hands. Don’t let anybody take control of your future other than you,” states Dina Torkia (UK Stylist). It’s not just in arts but other subjects as well. People telling you what to be when you grow up or what to do. Today, it’s like society has your fate written, you have to be a doctor or engineer. As Dina said, your mind and your hands give you the ability to do what you want in your life so do not let what people say get to you. This is what I have learned from this experience; get past the barriers and reach for whatever you want in life. It may take time but you will eventually get it. I could not figure out what to do with the empty canvas. But I got passed it all and produced something that was valuable. It’s not just the tiny things like this assignment, but the larger things in life.

It was as if someone snapped their fingers and brought me back to reality, that I realized I had something to finally write about. I opened my eyes and smiled and let myself and my hands type away, like I was painting once again.

My main goal for this piece was to show my friendship with my bestfriend Saiyeh. I wanted people to see what friendship means to me. I think that I described how I feel about my friend well. I did lots of editing to my piece since my first draft so it has improved a lot. I feel that through the whole process of writing this advanced essay I did a good job, so I am proud of that. Something I can improve on is trying to find ways to use metaphors and other different writing skills in my writing.

Stuffing her life into three suitcases a guitar case and a box. It’s crazy when you pack your life it just looks so small. It makes you realize that was only the beginning of your life story. I said goodbye to my best friend that night. Blasting our summer playlist on Spotify as we danced around her mess of a room. Singing every song because every song brings back a memory from our perfect unforgettable summer. As I sit on her suitcase to close it with her, “Riptide” comes blazing through the speaker. We both stop and smile at each other. This was our summer song. As a tear crawled down her face, she realized this summer was behind her and it was time for the next chapter of her life. I took her hand and started singing. Music has always seemed to be our escape.

This moment comes in my mind when I look at the panting pinned onto my wall. I remember the moment that my best friend Saiyeh gave it to me. Looking at the sunset in the background of the painting remembering how beautiful that night was. This sunset is red, orange and yellow; all combined. When I look at this painting, so many memories float in my head. The sunset reminding me of the last day we were in Indiana together. After 4 days of looking at the sky, the last night was the most beautiful. Not just because the colors blended perfectly together but, the guitar in Saiyeh’s arms as we sang many songs made it the best night ever. Everything just felt right in that moment. We just soaked up the many memories. I never wanted to leave because “the sky is just so big” Saiyeh would say in awe.

The next thing that catches my eyes on the painting is a tree that is on the left side of the canvas. The tree is brown and you can only see half of its big trunk. This brings back all of the times we met at “our tree” at the park near us. We painted beautiful pictures and listened to music a little too loud. The tree is drawn with grass surrounding it. I remember the many grass stains that I still have on my jeans from laying in the grass at Rittenhouse or the park near us. We just were not able to stay away from parks. We just loved the wind blowing through our hair and the grass below our bare feet. Sitting on the grass, that is surrounding the tree, there is a girl. This girl’s body is facing the horizon, but her face is turned to the right. Looking at the beautiful view all around her. Her torso is a skeleton where you can see her spine and her ribs. This reminds me of beauty that comes truly from the inside. Her shoulders, neck and face are normal reminding me how we got over the many struggles and look deep within.

Friendship to me is a connection that can’t be broken. Friendship is one of the reasons I wake up in the morning. Knowing that I have people who care for me and that will always be there helps me keep my head up throughout the day. I have been through many things and my friends have came right to my door to comfort me. One time, when I just got off a serious conversation with my cousin that resulted in me crying, Saiyeh came right up to me held me in her arms as we swung back and forth on the porch swing. This sad moment didn’t last long though with her by my side the next thing I know we were both laughing so hard that are stomachs hurt. We can never stay serious when we are with each other. Another time when my dog passed away, she found out and her and I took a walk. We bought a tub of ice cream, then we sat on some random steps talking about the whole thing. Some people overuse the term “bestfriend.” They use the word very frequently for people who they don’t know much about. A best friend is someone who you have an unbreakable bond with; you can relate on a different level. Saiyeh and I have that relationship, we connect in every way. Art and creativity strengthens that relationship we can talk hours and hours about it.

The last day with Saiyeh before she went to college, had a bittersweet feeling. Sad, because I won’t see her everyday and knowing that she wouldn’t be near. I felt the grip loosening on the rope that held us together. I also felt happy because she is about to start the next chapter of her life where she will grow and become an even better inspiring, talented, and beautiful person. I may not be able to see her everyday but I’ll always remember the many memories that we shared and the many memories to come. “A strong friendship doesn’t need daily conversation or being together. As long as the friendship lives in your heart, true friends never part.” The fullness in my heart will always be there because of our deep friendship.

Hayley Barci September 14th, 2016 The masterpiece of my life: It was a fair-weather day, the sun rays shimmering between the falling leaves of the trees, standing tall throughout the park. The fresh smell of the air inhaling, and exhaling through my nostrils. The bright, white piece of paper, with lines, circles, and different kinds of shapes. The start of a new drawing, staring me in the eyes, speaking it’s own words of wonders, wondering how I should finish this masterpiece. My mother spoke,”It is a beautiful piece you have created, my dear.” Expanding my mind into all the geographic shapes, I could possibly think of. I, as a woman, thought of the hourglass shape, that every possible woman has. Thinking to myself,”maybe……..just maybe, I could put that idea into my piece. Somehow I could tell the story of my experiences through my sophisticated, yet simple drawing. My pencil began making wonders, from tear drops, to flowers. From skies to waters, and sights never seen. The tears of hope streaming down my face, within the past and present experiences. This is was a moment of hope and joy. The love and passion I had put into this piece, reflects all of the challenges and fears I had to face throughout my life. I was always focused on the destination, instead of the journey. I then, gained that faith that pushes me through all of the challenges I face.

As I began to get distracted through the nature that surrounds my body and soul, I decided, I want to capture these beautiful views. I then slipped out my camera out of my bag, began to capture the memories seen through my own eyes. My mother looked over my shoulder, then spoke,”What beautiful pictures you’ve taken”, I replied,”sure”. Not believing any comments that have come my way. Unsure of whether or not they’re true or not. Not realizing the true meaning of loving myself, and self care.

Reminding me of the day, My whole world was flipped upside down. It was the beginning of my freshman year of highschool, I was petrified, and afraid of myself. I’m in tears, staring down at the shimmering light, reflected on the knife, lying in the palm of my hand. Thinking that the whole world is against me, I began slowly facing the knife towards my chest. Until, I hear the soft, fearful voice,”Hayley, please, put, the knife, down. I turn my head towards the right. I can see the fear within her eyes, and the shakiness within her fingers. Blaming myself for what I had just done. My mind speaking,”It’s all your fault, your mother now hates you for what you have done to her.” I’m fighting with everything i’ve got in order to make it through these challenges, but I could never succeed. At least I thought I couldn’t.Within the next day, I ended up in the hospital, or better yet, hospitalized. I was hospitalized five different times within two years. While I was inpatient, I would color, draw, and do many things that made happy, and made me feel good inside. It didn’t really matter what other people think, as a long as it makes you happy.

Through my art, I was able to realize that life wasn’t just a terrifying dream, I was able to realize that these journeys are priceless, that it’s the journey that matters, not the destination. My strength grows every single day, I believe in myself more, as I go. Art is my reflection of those challenges, and journeys that come my way. I’m in control of my life now, and not one soul can change that, nor bring me down, because here’s one thing for sure, I will, get back up. I’ve learned to not care about what other people think of me, i’ve learned about my own self-care. You shouldn’t care about what other people think of you, their opinion is not important, only your own opinions matter. Just because you have self care doesn’t mean that you’re a selfish person. It just means that you are expanding yourself and your own being. I myself was bullied for eight years straight, after all of those years of being beaten down, I found my strength within art. Within all of the colors, and the geographic shapes. Lost within all of the wondrous words to describe the masterpiece, of my life.