Advanced Essay #1: FEAR

By: Caresten Lyn’ae Moses

My goals for this essay was to tell about how my fears affected me and to let the readers know that it is okay to have fears, as long as you try to get over them. I am proud that I was able to share my experiences with fear. I’m glad that I was able to give vivid details of my fears along with my feelings. If I was to improve my writing, I would plan out what I want to do and then I would have a better idea of what I want to write about and ideas could flow more freely.

Fear is a part of you and me. It’s apart of growing up. Whether it’s fear of dogs to heights, to asking a certain question, we all have fears. Having fears is totally normal. It’s about how you overcome those fears. In life, you can’t run from your problems or fears. You have to toughen up, muster up the courage and face your fears. It is one of the scariest things to do, but once you finally conquer your fear, you feel unstoppable and it easily turns into the greatest feeling. I know. I have been fearful of things in my life, and I felt stuck until I just needed that extra push or a sign to tell me to just face it.

I felt the push of a familiar big hand. There I was. Every step feeling so heavy. The music was loud and the lights were hot. As I stepped out onto the stage, I looked forward into the audience. I couldn’t focus on one face. As I looked further into the crowd, I saw the bright, blinding lights from cell phones filming. I then looked to the side of me when I saw the other girls in their pink sequin covered leotards and tutus. I saw the bright, blinding lights from cell phones filming. In this moment, I looked to the side of me into the wing of the stage. I saw my teacher counting off for us to start. I saw her mouth say, “5, 6, 7, 8.” I remembered why I was there in the first place. I glanced down at my arms that had goosebumps on them. I get the same cold, terrified, stiffening feeling every time I get on stage. It was time. My feet started gliding across the floor and I started to flow through the dance routine. I remembered to smile and show personality— To go full out on my movements and to keep going if I messed up. All these things the dancer teachers tell you to remember to do while dancing. It was so difficult to do all of that while dancing though. I was almost finished the dance, and my mini solo part was approaching. I remember my transition. The swift movement I had to do to get to my spot. I did it. I really did!

Dancing in my room when nobody is watching is so much different than performing in front of hundreds of people who are watching your every move. Fear is what held me back for so long. Once I finally got over that fear it all started coming together and things were easier. Fear seems so hard to overcome when you are older. Every little thing is frightening.

As I got into the car, I immediately popped in my headphones and shut the world out. I knew my parents wanted to ask me a thousand and one questions, but I didn’t care. I listened to my music and scrolled on Instagram until I fell asleep. I knew the ride home was going to be a long one. Since I was a small child, there was always something about the bumping and stopping and vibrations from the car that I enjoyed so much. As I laid my whole body across the cold leather seat, I drifted off to sleep. All of a sudden I was in a room. A dark, stale, cold, small room. This room was unusual. I tried to stand up but my head hit the ceiling. I must be trapped in a box, I thought. No. How did I get here? I heard a scratching noise. I turned behind me and it stopped. I looked forward again, and the noise continued. Suddenly, there was a small light. I could see a large hand with red gloves holding a lighter. I looked in the back of the lighter and saw a white painted face with a red painted smile. OH My GOD. CLOWNS IN THE DARK. Those were my two biggest fears. This really couldn’t be happening. I was shaking. Finally, I said this has to stop. I pushed the clown into the wall and shouted, “I’m not afraid of you!” The sight of the clown faded away and I woke up.

There’s always been something about dreams that make them seem so wickedly real. When I have a good dream that’s never a problem but I have a nightmare it’s the scariest thing. Fear is just a temporary thing. What I’ve learned throughout my 16 years of life is that if you don’t face your fears, you will be stuck thinking you can’t get passed them. Fears will hold you back forever, restricting you from accomplishing your goals. It is extremely necessary to muster up the strength and courage to face your fears head on.

Introduction: My goals for this essay was to convey my story of change. I wanted to pass on the message that change is never easy, and there will always be challenges ahead. But with every challenge, every obstacle, I will grow and learn to know life a little better. I am proud that I remembered so many details from Toronto, so that I could write about it and make it entertaining. I am proud of the way I wrote my essay and I was pretty strict with myself while writing, I wanted there to be a specific tone. I wish I could have more space to write even more about how Philadelphia has changed me to this day. I wrote more in the past tense, about how I felt in the past moments.

Finding Me:

It was a Tuesday morning during 3rd grade at Blake Public Middle School, right outside of downtown Toronto. All morning, we have been working on “Me Posters!”, all the other 20 students and I had to brainstorm, write, and decorate a poster that would reveal who we are at age 9. Joshua was writing about playing basketball everyday, and Joanne wrote about how she loves medicine and her passion in becoming a doctor. I don’t know what passion is, I don’t play sports or instruments, my life is boring. I sat there for an hour looking at my blank poster before Ms. Barr came to ask, “Annie, why haven’t you started your poster?” In which, I exclaimed, “My life is boring, I’m boring, I don’t know anything about myself. I’m no fun.” “Everyone has their own story Annie, and they are all unique in their own way. You’re not boring, you are always smiling, always kind, and you love to make people laugh. People always change, try new things, and become new people.” So I did what I could with my poster, I drew the places I would go to. I paid close attention to what I was doing on a daily basis, how I interact with people, and I was more than ever aware of my words. But still, I was only 9 years old. So I hadn’t taken anything seriously yet.

Trying to find yourself at any age can be very challenging. And most times, everyone is always changing, like Ms. Barr said, whether it be minimal or drastic. Changes in a person can be a result of many factors. One of those factors is the environment of the person. It becomes the people a person interacts with daily, the places the person adventures to, the media, and of course, the person itself. While I was in Toronto, I had a few friends. Luckily for me, my school was very diverse. I was exposed to different types of people at a young age, which opened my eyes about people in general. I had two best friends, Zoolnad and Azka. Zoolnad was Pakistani, and she was always the prettiest girl. Her mom always made the best Chicken Biryani. Azka was Indian, Azka and I lived close to each other so I would try to go over to her house. In which my only guardian, my grandma refused. Azka was a lot darker than Zoolnad was. Here’s the thing, most traditional older Asian people tend to be racist. “You never know what they could do to you, I am only doing this for your safety. Those types of people are scary, dirty and dangerous,” my grandmom always said Pretty soon, I submitted to her ideas, and Azka was gone.

Up until leaving Toronto entirely, I lived there for almost three years. I was 12 when I left. What I knew about myself was: I was a tomboy, I loved riding scooters, I laughed at everything, and would cry about anything, I was still boring. All those things about myself weren’t relevant to me. To be honest, I was scared about the future, I lived in constant fear that I would never be able to live with my parents. So when I was on the steady 14-hour bus ride to the city of brotherly love, I was incredibly excited.

I arrived in Philadelphia on June 13th, 2012. The first day of 4th grade was rough, I had bowl cut bangs, deep dimples, and my Cinderella backpack. The Cinderella backpack was not my idea, the worker at target said that every girl has it, so I should get one too. I realized how much I missed my friends in Toronto. I had never seen so many white kids than I did in class that day. Everything seemed so dull and sad. The kids were not nice, but they had made fun of me because of my haircut. It was the first time someone made a mean comment about me. I cried about it when I ventured back home. My parents were at work until 8:30 pm, so I barely got to see them. I would fake a smile for them.This was the first time I truly felt sadness. I dreaded going to school the next day. For two years, I hated my life. “You’ll get used to it” was not the case for me. I was homesick in my new home.

Towards the end of 5th grade, I grew out my bangs, and started shopping at a store called Justice and Forever 21, no more WalMart clothes. I felt not like me, but change is necessary. After a couple of months, kids at school were being friendly to me. They started talking to me outside of school, and then came my new best friend, Allie. She was white, the popular girl and perfect for me. We had the best time ever, we would Oovoo each other everyday afterschool. Allie and I did a lot of things together and pretty soon, I adapted her talking language, her sense of fashion and I even decorated my room like hers. It was the new me.

All of that was physical though, as I got older, my mindset changed. I was very observant of my surroundings, I noticed the number of homeless people on the street, I noticed the number of times I got catcalled at age 13, I noticed the sadness and depression in a stranger’s eyes. Not everyone would be happy, and most times, people are miserable. For the first time in my life, I saw the bad, the ugly, it wasn’t playgrounds, sunshine and rainbows. I started doing things so that people would like me more, and sometimes I still do this. It was something I had never done in Toronto.

I didn’t realize I was changing, nobody really ever does. It becomes a self reflection thing. I heard many more mean comments, bought things to please society, wasted time on people didn’t deserve it, try new things, liked it, didn’t like it. It’s all apart of life and I would never regret any of it. Transitioning into a new society can be very difficult for anyone, it causes unwanted and wanted change. Philadelphia and Toronto are both big cities with millions of people. There as many differences as there are similarities. I learned so much about myself in both cities. I am not sure where life will take me in the future, but I will always be Annie.

INTRODUCTION

In my essay, I tackle the idea of living in the now. My goal for my essay was to enlighten people on how important and impactful small moments can be. How we should appreciate what we have in front of us because nothing is a given. I am proud of the work I did to make it clear and elaborate with the help of my peer editors. For my next Essay, I want to make sure that I have multiple people look at my essay so that I can get a lot of feedback and advice.

LIVING IN THE PRESENT

by Nile Shareef-Trudeau

I’m alive!

This is about recognizing all the blessings that are right in front of me. All the blessings that I pass up because of the toxic conditioning I have as an American. Unlike many people around the world, the way my country is set up has made me think I have all the time in the world. An infinity of tomorrows. Because of this, I take so much for granted. I’ve felt so sure that tomorrow will come. I stay stuck in times past or fantasies of the future. Instead of living; appreciating each day as the amazing blessing that it is.

There’s a recurring event that happens at least once a day in a nook known as my room. A feeling of anticipation of what’s to come, from sounds so familiar yet mysterious. Two little feet, size twelve in kids, traveling up my staircase. I await all the possibilities. At times these feet are loud and clunky, at others slow and creeping. From these two sounds, I can tell who it is. The seven-year-old stinker of a sister I love so dearly. The incredible and loving little Lama of mine.

I can’t count all the times I’ve been annoyed when she comes up my stairs. I often didn’t care about the magical things, thoughts, and ideas she had to offer. I had sunglasses that covered the light that she radiated when she came into my room without even realizing it.

Though this event passed for small and insignificant, with my new realizations, it provides me with an opportunity to instead soak in and savor every moment of it. I could count each step it takes for her to reach me. Hear the clicking her tongue makes as she speaks. Feel how my heart warms in her presence, each little thing she does. Looking at her in a gaze of amazement, taking in all that she is. Her soul stands personified in front of me, and I’m in love with it.

Little moments are often overlooked but it is in these moments that we feel the most. Many people don’t appreciate these moments as much as they should. In these moments it can be hard to be completely present. However, if you can get there you truly feel alive. You experience raw cut emotions of realization. I am living right now, in this moment. I’m feeling, seeing, hearing. Each moment of life is a blessing and it should be understood/treated as such.

I went through a rough patch last year where I was sucked into a tornado of negative emotions. I chose to cut my hair as a release.

I felt a twinkle of insanity; an uncontrollable excitement rushed over me as I gripped the scissors in my hand. Cutting away my luscious lion mane and knowing feelings of rebirth and self-empowerment. “I feel a heavy weight lifting,” I said to my sister Lotus on the other side of the call. All the shadows my hair cast on my shoulders and nape of my neck being shown to the light. Now with all I’ve uncovered about myself, I can move forward. I wanted so badly to move on from this state of being. Growth is all I was looking for, so I cut my hair off. In that moment I allowed myself to feel. To take a chance. Brushing past all the thoughts that tried to tell me I would regret my decision. Not knowing what the outcome would be but not caring because if not now, when?

As American people, we are programmed to walk through life looking for a bigger picture. We are constantly thinking about the future. We wonder and work to figure out how we will harness it. With this being said, we miss out on all the important things: the nows. By being stuck on the future and dwelling on the past, we miss out on exploring, enjoying, and exercising the present moment. To do things just because: like examining details of a drawing; A simple creation from my mind: how the drawing on my wall consists of a hand, but this hand specifically is a left hand. That of which is gripping a small book with its pudgy fingers. These things often seem insignificant. Some may say, “Why would I sit around and look at the junk in my room?” What people don’t understand is by doing these things we begin to live in a world so real. Getting to know the present moment. Tomorrow isn’t certain, and the past is said and done. This is what it’s all about. Putting in the work to evaluate things we can change that are right in front of us. Rather than looking for things that are no longer in our grasp. Not to mention, we begin to get rid of this idea that life is boring but instead fascinating. With each moment and thing a new adventure. Then, and only then, will you be living your life in color.

While writing this essay I wanted to bring awareness to how precious a woman is and bring attention to the fact that our soul purpose is not to serve a man. It’s to show the digression of the level of feistiness we have as we grow up in a world that tries to mold us as the archetype servant for a man. I tried to be as honest as possible with my opinions but to also get the reader to understand this isn’t a persuasive essay but one to open eyes and minds. I am proud of this essay because it stands out from many of my other pieces of writing. It’s not about heartbreak, or race wars, depression, it’s about being a woman. It was fun to not be stuck in my same writing topic and divert from the usual. Even though I am very proud of my work in this essay but for future essays I will focus on descriptive writing more, so that I can transport the reader into the scene.

When we are little princesses,we don’t worry about what we wear around our uncles, or if our stepdad will come in the house when we’re getting out of the shower. When the pod becomes a flower it gets pushed into the dark.

Everyday after preschool there was a routine. My grand-pop picked me up, brought me ice cream sandwiches, took me home, made me waffles, we watched cartoons and went to sleep. Naps with my grand-pop were the ones I’ll remember the most, they’re the reason I don’t know how to do homework until 8pm.

I was the babygirl. I woke up from my nap at the age of 12 with girl parts that now set boundaries for me. When a girl grows a woman’s body too early her childhood slips like sand between her fingers. I always wondered why my grand-mom let me and my grand-pop eat while she just washed the dishes. Why my mom felt obligated to make my stepdad breakfast before the rest of the house. Why when my grand-pop had company my grand-mom would say to stay upstairs with her until they left. Why do we go from princess to house slave? Scared to speak unless spoken to, cooking, cleaning, being fully submissive, unselfish, and unconditionally loving. I remember watching Weezy Jefferson go toe to toe with her husband. It made no sense to me why the Jefferson’s didn’t apply to real life. I guess that’s why they say TV is fabricated. TV even depicted modern day moms as sassy, independent,and witty like Rochelle from ‘Everybody Hates Chris’. She is a depiction of the way married women are supposed to be, but why aren’t wives living up to these standards? Are they too high, for the modern day wife?

By the age of 14 I had two sister in-laws. I’ve watched both of them cry, but only in private. It is written in the universal invisible rules of relationships that “if you and your significant other are having problems your outside demeanor should not say so”. Men can cheat, hit, go out, etc. If a women were to do these things they would be looked at as crazy or as hoes. We are forced to keep our pain private. I’ve watched my sister in-laws fake their smiles to the point their faces might crack. One of them,Jade, is 5 years older than me. She’s beautiful with long black hair, tan skin, and an hourglass figure. I’ve seen her breakdown and tell herself “I love him…I can’t leave him”. I don’t know why love makes a woman mindless. She tells me “You won’t understand until you fall in love”, if that’s what love is count me out. “I would never be that stupid” “I would never let a n**** play me”- Said every girl whose words bit her in the ass.

The line between stupidity and love seem to be blurred sometimes. The line between self respect and mindlessness seem to overlap. If the world was full of little girls what would men have? No wife, no servants, no one to blame for their life going wrong, no one’s heart to mangle, nor no one to make excuses for them. Little girls with hair and mouths that can’t be tamed. Princesses who get answers and never give them. What would men do with a world of headstrong girls? We go from being carried on backs to a man’s world nearly breaking them. It scares me to think that I can’t be the Wheezy to someone’s George, the Lucy to a Ricardo, but instead a Ceely to a Mister.

The rules of this game called ‘Life’ were written before paper. Men were winning before women were presented to the playing field. Hundreds of years ago a man was raised to be independent, headstrong, selfish with his time and efforts. Women were raised to look for a husband trained to be a housewife. Females did not understand the power of realizing self worth. Women did not understand how much raw potential they had because all they knew was that getting a husband would be a lifetime achievement. In society it took centuries for a woman to be looked at as an equal, as another being and not an accessory to a man.

A conversation with my grand-mom will always stick with me. While riding in the car going to school, doing my usual game of 21 questions with her, one of her answers stood out to me. I asked “why can’t relationships be equal?” “Relationships aren’t really meant to be equal.You have to be submissive to your husband because he will be in charge. Yes you have a say but sometimes what they say goes.” I tried to give her statement the benefit of the doubt. Tried to convince myself that these thoughts were just coming from her 60 year old mind. But, I realized that it wasn’t her mind, it wasn’t even really her opinion. It was the result of her training, they were the words of the world and its ways. I’m fearful that 20 years from now my daughter will have to push her feelings to the side because she fell in love. Or that I will have a son who feels entitled because he was born male.

I’ve realized I can’t let the world teach me how to be a woman. My pride will forever stick with me. The colorful mind of a young girl will forever rest on my shoulders. I’ve always viewed relationships as equal; I’ve viewed relationships more like partnerships. It might be new aged but that’s the way I see it. I’ve always been a sunflower never to be pushed in the dark.

Introduction

My goals for this essay was to really step out of my comfort zone in writing and trying something different. Usually, for my essays, I write about a sad event that happened in my life, but this time I did something different. I am proud of the number of descriptions I had put into my essay and using words that I haven’t used before. One way I want to improve in my writing is trying to use new vocabulary and use it in a professional way in my essay.

Six Flags Unexpected Adventure

These days, who can you trust? Life is not always churros coated with cinnamon sugar, or a harness protecting you, or a person telling you that you’re “all good.” It’s different. You walk out in the open and wait for something to happen, like Kingdom Ka ready to blast you away, unexpectedly. Everything is so unexpected you don’t know what will happen next. Six Flags is a place to have fun, but to be careful about. This was not a Six Flag Great Adventure I pictured it will be.

“Omg, it’s so hot!” Walking in, waiting in line, just trying to get from point A to point B, the happy sun shines brightly. “Hi.” Gently I put my skinny, long thumb on the scanner. “Enjoy your day at Six Flags!” People pass by me on their way to Green Lantern, kids eagerly rushing to Bugs Bunny Boomtown. I pass a large, crystal clear fountain and a congenial gift shop. “Get close,” I overhear, as a family huddles for pictures together. The sound of the carts zooming through the wind hums in my ear. “Hi, do you guys want a family photo?” asked an employer. “No, we’re fine.” The cacophony of carnival game sounds; screams, shots, and dings, blend with the voices of people hoping they’d win. We walk on, loud music roaring through our ears competes with people trying to shout over the noise. Heading to the first ride, people accidentally bumping into us. Kids are crying. The smell of churros, pizza and turkey legs mixes together. “Omg! Look at this line, yo!” I shouted. All the rides are going to be long regardless, so we walked in. “Enjoy your ride on Green Lantern!” As the man smiled at us. No shade, skin to skin contact, the smell of sweat, which drowned the deodorant, and bugs roaming around us. In the distance, you can hear a girl’s voice, “All clear. Enjoy your ride on Green Lantern!” As time passed, it was our turn to ride. Everything was green, it looked like the wicked witch house from Wizard of Oz. As the cart slowly came back, the lady’s mouth which puffs up like a blowfish, then popped, she almost puked. They unbuckled their belts, while the harness slowly rises above their heads, as they exit the cart. The grey, dirty gate slowly opens, as 4 people from each gate get on the ride. I sat at the end of the cart, my friends’ sister sat next to me, Kobe, beside her was her brother, Dymond, and beside him was my sister, Yolanda. We all pull down the green harness and pulled it down to our pleasure, then attached the belt to the harness, there were only three clicks I heard, mines didn’t make a sound, but it didn’t come off when I pulled it. Eh! Who cares? The guy will check it for me. From the right side of my ear, a voice entered, “Everybody good?” Dymond said, shouting over the loud sounds. We all nod our heads. From both sides of the cart, two guys made sure we’re secured. The guys make it to our cart, in which he checked Kobe’s and pulled her belt which she was secured, then he pulled my belt and it was secured, or was it? The employees who slowly swung their hand side to side, thumbs up. “All clear. Enjoy your ride on Green Lantern!” As the girl said. Slowly as the cart moves, bumpy, adrenalin running, people screaming, “Omg!” Slowly as the cart makes its way to the top, lights, people, then suddenly… cart rushes down, people screaming on top of their lungs, hands grip to the metal bar, palms start to sweat. The tracks in which vibrates through the cart, to our feet, and to our mind. Reaching its highest point, slow, scared, screaming. Looking down, parking lots, lights, then… “Woahh!” The coaster twists and turns as if we were being twisted like a pretzel, the adrenaline freezes into a rage, the blood pressure that can’t decide what to do, the heart faster beats every second. Everything turns upside down, the blood that rushes to my brain, face drooping, hair dancing with the wind, then… blood rushes out of our brains and back to our feet. White lights which flash a couple of times, a picture. The black leather strap which held me into the machine suddenly passes out. The face of confusion, wondering why I hear metal clanking together. I look down, notice that the belt wasn’t secured and had detached from its partner. The ride was not done yet. Squeezing the metal bars, eyes shut as if there were spiders on my face, standing as still as a statue, heart beating so hard that I could hear it above the screams. This is it. Am I going to make it through the ride? Am I going to die? The cart suddenly stops, as if the cart instantly stops at a red light. Looking to my right, “My seat belt came off!” I said with fear. Suddenly, laughter, “You good?” Dymond said. What was so funny about that? I could’ve died. But luckily I didn’t. To hide the fact that I almost died, I covered it off with a laugh. The cart slowly making its way back into place. The harness then rises, I got off the seat, then make my way to the exit. My heart knows what my mind was thinking… thoughts and emotions started to fly into my head. Was it funny? Did they even care? Who knows? Hiding my emotions is something that I can do, in which they locked themselves up. “Alright, guys what ride you want to go next?”

“Life is like a rollercoaster, live it, be happy, enjoy life.” Well, this is not always the case, life is like a rollercoaster: unexpected, anxious, and trusting. Trust is what you need in order to get on rides. Getting on a rollercoaster and expecting to have a “Six Flags Great Adventure,” turned into something I had not expected. After that mortifying feeling, I had no thoughts or words. My mind was blank and all I could hear was the cacophony of carnival game sounds. With a quick gasp, I thought to myself, no I can’t do this, I can’t trust these lies. I thought I was safe. To this day I think to myself what could’ve happened to me, the thought of holding onto my life couldn’t surpass me.

NTRODUCTION: My essay is centered around loss, I wanted to bring attention to the fact that loss is not something that you get over easily. I thought that a good way to do this in my scene of memory is to talk about a time I lost someone and how that affected me and how it still does. I am proud of how I framed my scene of memory and how I then tied that in with my development of larger issues. Overall I am proud of the fact that my essay had a nice flow and good transitions between the different parts. On my next paper, I would like to improve how I developed my larger ideas because I feel like I could have expanded on it more to really improve my essay.

Advanced Esasy #1: Loss

I remember the day that they told me, how the whole family was together; my brother sitting at the table with my sister. My parents standing up in front of the coach…I had just walked into my house, keys still dangling from my pocket, the house was quiet when I walked in, and my music was loud. I pulled my headphones out of my ears, music still playing, as I dropped my backpack onto the floor. I peeked into the family room and saw that everyone was there. I walked in and everyone looked up. My brother got up and just gave me a hug, as I looked over to my mom and saw that she was wiping tears from her eyes. My father reached across my sister to hand my mom a tissue. My sister glanced over to me and then continued to stare into the kitchen as if she had somewhere better that she wanted to be. Everything seemed wrong, nobody was acting like normal. I did not understand, I looked around the room, nothing was out of place, everyone was there, nobody was hurt, what could be wrong…All eyes were on me, then each other, my mom spoke first. “Mama…” she choked. My dad put his hand on her shoulder, as she started to cry again. He turned to me and said, “Grammie died last night.”

I looked down at the floor, then up at my mom, I knew this was harder for her than it was for me, she lost both of her parents, I am blessed enough to still have both of mine. I was ready to walk out, I was ready to go in my room and break something, I was ready to release all the anger that I had built up, I was mad at the world, mad at God, because I did not understand why this had happened. I did not understand why God would let something like this happen and why I could not prevent it, and why I did not expect it. I walked over to my mom and gave her a hug, I let her cry onto me, I just wanted to be there for everyone else, I knew that they all wanted to be there for me but I wanted to show them I was strong. When I got into my room, I shut the door, dropped to my knees and cried, I cried and cried and cried and just let everything out, and now sitting here in the same spot that I was when I first found out, tears are falling again.

I tried my best not to lose myself, I tried my best to come to terms with the fact that I could not take back what had just happened. This was not something that I expected. Eventually… yes I knew this would happen because nobody lives forever but I did not think it would be then. I didn’t think my whole world would explode, I figured it would happen when my world had already exploded but nothing ever happens how we expect it to. The day after I found out, I went to school, I did not want to let this stop me from continuing my normal routine, I even went to my volleyball game. I remember being on the bus crying, trying not to hide it so my teammates would not know, I did not want to burden them with my loss. I looked out the window hoping that if I pretended that everything was fine then it would go back to normal, but of course that never actually happened. It is almost a year later and I still have not come to terms with the fact that my grandma is no longer with us.

I guess that says something about how I deal with loss, about how we deal with loss. It is not something that is easy to accept or get over, in fact, some people never recover. I do not know if I ever will but what I do know is that things will never go back to the way they were, and that is something that we all have to accept. We can never truly grieve if we do not accept the fact that we can not go back and change what has happened. You have to move on, never forget the person you lost or how that made you feel but at some point, you have to continue on.

Introduction:

When I first started writing this essay, I had to evaluate certain portions of my life and see how they affect me in the present because I had a goal to write about something that I believe affect me in the present. So at first that I would write about music and how it comforts me, however, I decided to write briefly about my life as an African immigrant because this is something that is in my being, something that I will always have. When I finished my essay, I was really proud about my ability to emulate heavy emotions by only using words. Looking ahead into the future I hope that I am able to be more descriptive and egaging in my essays.

Essay:

Coming to America isn’t a movie, it’s a dream. For as long as I could remember all I ever wanted to do was to come to America, meet my parents, go to school, and become rich. Most of these dreams became a reality at the age of six. I was born in Lome, Togo, so when I was three months old, my parents, hoping for a better life, moved to America, leaving my sister and me to be raised by my grandmother until they settled down. My sister, five years my superior, vowed to protect me as my parents boarded a plane to the U.S.

So while I was growing up in Togo, I was always told stories about how one day I would come to America and finally meet my parents and become rich, due to my opportunity. After six years of living with my grandmother and cousins, one night my mother finally came to bring us to the U.S. I was sleeping alongside my sister and cousin when we woke in a panic to the frightening sounds of screaming and jumping. Benighted of the situation, I quickly concluded that the noises were coming from a witch, when in reality, it was my eager mother, ready to greet her children. Everything from that point on moved so fast and before I knew it, I was in America.

The days leading up to my first day of school in the U.S were exciting and filled with restlessness. I would go to my room and try to practice the English I had learned from my younger brother and Nick Jr. I would every so often open up my ‘Cars’ backpack to make sure I had everything I needed for the first day.

Soon enough it was the first day of school and there I was in a room filled with one hundred other kids, sitting on the gym floor waiting for my name to be called. I sat on the cool gym floor just like every other kid, I looked like every other kid in my uniform, I waited like every other kid, but I was unable to comprehend anything that was going on. I tried my best to recall the English that Nick Jr and my younger brother had taught me. The only thing that could come into mind was ‘Good Morning.’ I was sitting on the cool gym floor with a blank look on my face and decided that as soon as I hear “KANKOUE FOLLY,” I would jump up and will enjoy the perfect first day of school.

I sat there a little longer, the gym was getting quieter as parents and students left after exchanging final goodbyes. The gym lost its fire. It became a vacuum of distress and nervousness. A vacuum filled with fidgeting six-year-olds and irritated adults, suddenly I hear ‘Is there a Keekaw Folly in here?’ followed by ‘Keekoe, or is it Koukoon?’ I slowly got up, disappointed that pronouncing my name in an American school sounded like the mating calls of an exotic bird, I dragged my feet as I followed the name butchering woman to my classroom. Over a few years, I had learned English and tried to destroy all evidence of my cultural differences. I was now attending middle school and every so often someone would ask me about my accent, to which I would respond with a story about how I was born in Africa, in a small west African country named Togo. This would usually lead to the person, asking me some unwelcomed questions. “Have you seen a giraffe?” or “Did you live in a tribe?”

The drastic change in culture from when I moved from Africa to America was hard at first because I was unsure as to how I was going to fit in with the other students, despite looking like most of them. Deciding that the best way for me to fit in was to strip myself of my culture, I attempted to do so. I blamed the ignorance of my peers as the cause as to why I was concealing a portion of my identity, when in actuality hiding my culture allowed ignorance to persist, thus isolating me as the most ignorant person in the room. Culture and identity make people who they are, and everyone influences each other, so, your identity should be a reflection of who you are, not who the world says you have to be. In short, normality should never be favored ahead of uniqueness, the world will always have an impact on you as a person, and you will always have an impact on the world by just being you.

For this essay, my main goals were to address a few scenes of memory from my life that go over the topic of fear. I was most proud of my figurative language skills and my build-up of tension. I would improve describe each little scene deeper so that the readers feel like they are in my shoes.

I was nearly 11 years old and totally not excited for what tonight had to come. At this point in my life, my parents are divorced and I live with my mom Saturday through Wednesday while Thursdays and Fridays I am with my dad. A quick history lesson on my dad, he is a teacher for a school in South Philly. He has only one kid(me) and goes to the bar a lot like normal guys his age. Besides watching golf and football his only other hobby is playing music. He loves music, whether it’s to play, listen, or make up his own. For the longest time, he wanted me to get piano lessons. He tried teaching me but like any other father and son, being taught by your dad on how to do something will never go smoothly. It’s like telling a mouse to sleep with a cat, it just can’t work. But after watching him play this beautiful song Fur Elise, I decided it was time to give it a try. I was inspired, but since I told him that I will not learn if he was the teacher we had to think of another way of learning. After some thinking, we agreed that a piano teacher could come to our house and teach on our piano. Ding Dong the doorbell sounds. A jolt of fear and curiosity went through my veins as anyone does when they here an alarming noise. My dad gets up off the couch and heads left towards the door while I head toward the piano. We have a stand-up piano my grandmother gave to my dad when we first moved in. The piano is a dark brown with skinny legs and three pedals at the bottom. The white and black keys were dusty towards either end of the scale while there were greasy fingerprints towards the middle.

I could hear my father open the door and out of my peripheral, I saw a tall white man with long brown hair. I turned my head to the right and made eye contact with the man. He had a brown top hat and a brown coat, his eyes were dull brown with creases beneath his eyes. I didn’t get the jazzy pianist vibe I was imagining but more of a hipster vibe. He came through the antechamber of our house, past the couch and he approached the piano where I was standing. He greeted me with a nicer attitude than I thought he would have. “Heya Max! How was your day?” The man asked me. His eyes were wide open and his head was tilted. It was almost kinda creepy, he reminded me of a clown. “Uhh, alright,” I replied nervously. We then sit down together on the stool beside the piano just underneath where the keys are. Before we go into the lesson he asked me questions to get to know me, which reduced my anxiety levels. That was smart of him because the creepy hipster clown vibe I was getting was not working out. He later went on and showed me what sheet music looked like. I was confused and did not understand how to read notes, It was like learning another language to me. As the lesson went on my slight bit of adermation slowly escaped from me and my hands went cold and lifeless. It was only halfway through the lesson and all I could think about was how badly I wanted this lesson to end. My forearms were squealing with pain and my wrists were droopy from playing cords. The lesson was over and my takeaways were that I was not happy and I wasn’t interested in music anymore. My dad walked him out towards the door and gave him a handshake goodbye. My dad walked back towards me where the piano was. I looked at my dad up and down then proceeded the truth. I told him I did not enjoy any part of what just happened and I wanted out. He was displeased and wouldn’t let me quit this fast. After a few more lessons with me complaining at the end of each one, he finally let up and canceled the piano lessons altogether. After all of this, I realized I had a problem. My problem was that I give up to easy and I am scared of failure. I am scared of what people will think. I am not good with learning anything new besides when I am in school. I figured I had to fix that problem sooner or later. I decided on later…

It was the winter break of my first year at SLA. This new school environment was bringing out a different side of me. I was trying new foods, making new friends, and trying new hobbies. My hard thick skin that surrounded the insecurities got thinner as the school year went along. I became more confident in who I was and who I could be in the future.

Every year for Christmas my family and I drive up to my grandmother’s house in Valparaiso, Indiana. It was always good times over there until I saw an old friend laying beside the stairs. It was black and tall with skinny legs much like the brown hunk of dest I have back at home. My grandma introduced me to it she said she has been getting along with it quite nice and I was impressed by her songs. She taught me how to play one of the easy songs she knows and I caught on pretty easily. I was having fun! I could finally see how my dad could enjoy playing music. I was hooked, for the rest of the vacation, I would play for hours on end until my hands hurt. I played so much in that one week that my grandma taught me everything she knew, a whole years worth of practice that I learned entirely in one week. I was amazed at how easy it was for me to learn songs, I didn’t read the sheet music though. I would learn from demonstration and practice and play by memory. This might have developed some bad habits by not learning by the rules but the point was to have fun! Once the week was over and we drove back home my mom realized my interest in the piano. Later the next month for my birthday she gave me a digital piano with fewer keys than a normal piano. At that time I did not care. I was sick of only being able to play a couple of days a week while I was at my dad’s house. Once my new piano was set up I played every day for as long as I could. I learned songs from Beethoven in only a month after learning how to play. I learned songs like titanic after a few months then later that year I was learning multiple classical pieces all by memory. I became so good that I could learn any song I wanted within a week and play it perfectly by two.

This talent of learning songs fast became more than a hobby and now a passion. I continued mastering piano and still to this day I am still in love with the keys. I really do think that playing the piano opened me up to trying new things. Now I have conquered one of my biggest fears and insecurities, failure.

Introduction:

My goal for this essay was to talk about myself through connecting stories. Since this was my first big writing assignment since last year, I had to read over it multiple times to catch my small punctuation errors. After all of the editing work I have done, I am proud of myself for creating a piece that flows from idea to idea. This piece was edited carefully by myself and other people who also gave me their opinions about the writing. How I would like to improve my writing process for my next paper is to write a plan so I know everything I am going to include in my piece.

Essay:

I am awoken by two high-pitched beeps as my eyes slowly open. “Ladies and gentlemen, as we start our descent, please make sure your seat is back and tray tables are in their full upright position. Make sure your seat belt is securely fastened and all carry-on luggage is stowed underneath the seat in front of you. Thank you.” I gave out a yawn. When I shut my mouth, I realized I needed water.

I feel the plane slowly descending and that’s when something between the bottom of my thigh and my ankle started to throb. My brain was remembering what the lady said on the speaker. I had to stay in my chair with my seatbelt on. I moved my leg to get rid of the weird, tingly feeling and then all hell broke loose. I had a charlie horse. My leg was stiff and felt like a rock. It was straighter than a ruler and hurt like it was broken. My heart started to pump two times faster and my teeth were grinding against each other. Eyes of my teammates and random people were staring at me as I was dealing with this agonizing pain.

This isn’t the only time people looked at me strangely. I am known to my peers as one who observes more than one who is always talking. As I was quiet this whole plane ride, once I began reacting to this abrupt pain, it caught the eyes of the ones around me. For me to be comfortable in school, I have to see who’s around me and observe the environment I am in. When I am meeting new kids, I have to find out what they like in order to talk to them. “Simple and right to the point,” is how people describe me. When I finally do speak up, it means I have become comfortable and I find this is when people look at me normally.

Comfort isn’t a charlie horse in your leg. If you are unfamiliar with the term “charlie horse,” it is a bad muscle cramp which stiffens your leg and lasts up to around ten minutes. When you are doing something in the broad lines as exercising and not drinking enough liquids, this is when the muscle cramp takes over your leg.

It was during this moment when I learned that when you least expect it, something will happen that you can’t control. Since I was a child, I was taught to work for what I want in life. But, it’s instances like what happened on my plane ride that I understand that sometimes issues pop up but you have to keep going.

Another example of a situation where an issue arose was when I was playing with an older baseball team on a cold day in the fall. The freezing cold forced me to wear a thick hoodie under my jersey. The wind would pick up the dirt on the ground and spray the little particles at whatever direction the wind was going in.

During my first at-bat, I reached first base. The next pitch, I started to run to second and slide feet first to get to the base before I was tagged. Everything was fine until I felt a liquid slowly moving down my leg. I raised my hands in the air and asked for a time out. It started becoming uncomfortable so I pulled my high socks down to my ankles to see blood smeared all over my legs. Luckily it was just a bad scrape and not a broken leg.

This instance was lucky. It was out of my control to burn my leg on the ground but something worse could have happened. If my leg happened to break I would have been out for the whole season and maybe the next one. All of the work I put in—hours of sweat and blood in the gym working to prepare for something I wanted so bad could have been taken away in an instant.

I am a heavy believer in living life to the fullest because I never know what can happen even if I think I’m in control. I treat every day and every time I’m on the field like it is my last. Lives of young kids are always being taken away from them from something they have no control over. Cherishing every small moment in life is important and staying happy instead of angry can positively affect your life along with the ones around you.

Introduction: For my essay, I tried to find the meaning and the affects that failure has and can have on a person and their goals. To find this answer I reflected on moments from my life where I had failed and wanted to quit because of my failures. I am needless to say very proud of my essay I think I took major failures from different aspects of my life and attempted to dissect those moments to find the effect that failure had on my life. One way I think my essay could be improved is to go more in-depth into what failure exactly is and how many people perceive it. I think next time my writing will hopefully be better than it is currently.

Tuesday Morning. I woke up at 3 o’clock with a sense of readiness to siege the day playing Ultimate Frisbee with my brothers. I made it to Von Coln field at 6 o’clock, walked through the early muddy dirt-covered field staining my new white shoes, I started throwing hoping I retained some of my practice from over the summer. I threw a flick and as the disk left my hand I felt nothing but sadness it just wasn’t where I needed it to be, I threw a backhand as I turned my hips and released I saw the frisbee leave my hand and curve to the ground. I realized couldn’t do the things I thought I could do and I was embarrassed and I had no idea what I was to do. “If you played last year you are with me and if you’re new go with Mr. Henkel. ̈” I followed Heinkel and the rest of the group hoping I would walk away from a better player who got back into the groove of things.

But I didn’t because at the time in my frame of mind I thought I was wasting my time doing something that for a certain period of time I wasn’t as good as I should have been I couldn’t pull it off, I had failed at something and after a while I wanted to quit because of my failure. I went home trying to search deep within myself to find out what I wanted to do and how I was going to bounce back after this setback. ̈ Satisfaction lies in the effort, not in the attainment. Full effort is full victory ̈ Is what appeared on my phone during my moment of self-reflection, As I thought back about my day I had to ask myself where you trying or did you give it you’re all. I took a small failure and I almost quit because for a brief moment I lost faith in myself and my ability to deliver the best that I could give. The more I sat and thought about this small thing that happened to me, I understood that the failures that result in quitting happen to many other people, but sometimes on a much larger scale. It isn’t rare for people to let go of their dreams or goals, quitting after not making it to the place they’re expecting to make it to. I couldn’t count on my fingers the number of times I’ve thought or wanted to quit because of the shame that I thought came with failure, but giving up for me is harder than trying. Failure comes from every aspect of life, work, sports, school, and hobbies, but it’s your failures that make you better. I remember my sophomore year in high school, I was taking Geometry and I remember people telling me that this class wasn’t going to be good or that I wasn’t going to be able to complete the course. Hearing all this I went into class not believing in myself and doubting myself because of what other people were saying. We had taken a standards quiz and I had received my grades for each standard and they were mostly all 3s which indicated I needed more practice and should go get help, I didn’t get the help instead I applied myself and removed the words can’t or won’t. I ended up taking another standards quiz and received close to all 5s. The point I’m attempting to make is that I know and fully understand how people’s words or a person’s actions can affect the belief you have in yourself. The idea of everything being easy is just wrong if you know your worth you’ve gotta go get what you’re worth and not blame your shortcomings on those around you. Recently there was an Ultimate Frisbee tournament the first tournament for all returning players and me, needless to say, was very nervous. As soon as we arrived at Holy Ghost practice began. I threw a flic and although is curved a little it was nice and my backhand that followed was a little too high, but it was straight I was ready to play no matter what setbacks came along with it. ̈Jasir!̈ Leahman shouted. ¨Yes.¨ I nervously said ̈Show it to me.¨ Out of the three games I was in three times which I ran for most of it while I didn’t get the chance to do as much as I would have liked to, I didn’t take it as a loss or as a failure I took it as a building block to improve and to show my worth to my team and myself. I have goals and dreams like everyone else and I fight for them because if you fight hard enough the dreams that you dream and the goals that you now wish to accomplish will eventually come to fruition.