Ithappened again today. It’s not their fault and I’m sure they don’t mean anythingby it, but every time someone asks, it adds salt to my open wound. I tryto avoid the question, yet it manages to track me down daily. “Are youplanning on doing gymnastics in college?” These words trigger emotions I tryto suppress. I’ve seen it happen to other girls, good gymnasts too, and now Ihave found myself in their position. I am just not quite good enough to competefor a NCAA Division I team. I lie in bed as I write this. I’m tired aftera typical day: I wrote an essay, studied for an exam and went to gymnasticspractice for four hours. Most nights I fall asleep the instant my head hits thepillow, but not tonight. The answer to that question continues to hauntme. No, I am not going to continue with gymnastics in college. No, I’m not goodenough. And no, I don’t need to answer this question anymore. My defensemechanism responds as if it doesn’t bother me, but I have to grit my teeth tohold back the tears. On nights like this, a few manage to escape. For solong, I thought I had made it. And yet, my collection of ribbons, medals,trophies and newspaper articles and titles of MVP and captain will all becomememories in the scrapbook under my bed. Newly mastered skills and the same cheapgold gymnast on every trophy have brought me a sense of satisfaction; although mywhole life doesn’t revolve around gymnastics, a good part of it does. What am I to do when this part of my life comes to an end? Who will I be when Iam no longer a gymnast? Am I ready to give it up? Don’t I need more time? Aren’tthere routines I haven’t yet mastered? I only wish I had as muchtalent as I have dedication. I never gave in to the urges to quit when thingswere rough, and now I feel like a senior citizen of gymnastics being forced intoearly retirement.
Super Ikonta buy essay help: buy essay help
Three hundred millimeter zoom. Black. Slightly bumpy ridged leather, bordered by painted black metal. The hard edges of the camera reflect the industrial design of a bygone era, the early post-war years. At the top, metal dials and knobs protrude from the body, tiny visible screws anchoring them to the leather and metal. The lens zig-zags away from the front of the camera, connected not by a metal bolt but by a delicate leather bellows, folded crisply. The dials – aperture, shutter speed, rangefinder – gleam in the reflected light. An inscription etched into the soft leather reads, “Zeiss Ikon Super Ikonta 531/2.”
Seventy millimeter zoom. The camera sits, nestled under the arm of my great-grandfather, Henry. The two are frozen in an old snapshot, fading with time, yet still the quintessential portrait of photographer and equipment.
Henry and his cameras were inseparable. Throughout his life, he toted them wherever he went, looking for photo opportunities. Even in his later years, when his memory had all but disappeared and he no longer took pictures, Henry still carried his cameras. They were an integral part of his identity.
We still have his photographs, some hanging framed on the wall, others – thousands of them – stuffed into shoeboxes in the garage. Whenever I flip through the photos, I feel a visceral connection to my family’s past, and to Henry through the art he left behind. Henry died in 1994, but his memory endures through his photography.
Eighteen millimeter wide-angle. I sit on the sofa, the yellowing snapshot in my hands. Ever since I took up photography four years ago, my family has compared me to Henry. “You’ve got Henry’s gift for photography, Connor,” they say. I hope that mine proves as lasting as his. Throughout high school, I have quietly chronicled life through the lens of my Canon Digital Rebel XTi, attending most school events for my school newspaper, camera in hand. Sometimes, with my camera bag slung over my shoulder, I feel like Henry, tromping around Orange County in search of the perfect photo.
Today, my connection with Henry is even stronger: balanced on my lap is his camera. After years of neglect, the exterior is not nearly as pristine as it once was. The black paint has chipped off the lens, the viewfinder is yellowed, the rangefinder filled with dust. The faint smell of my grandfather’s cigars clings to the camera. Since 1994, the metal flap containing the bellows and lens has remained sealed.
I push the release button and, with a snap, the bellows pops out, freed for the first time since Henry’s death. The lens and dials are just as shiny, the bellows just as crisply folded as they were in that old photo.
A few days ago, I took Henry’s Zeiss Ikon to a camera store. I desperately wanted the camera to work, hoping that years of disuse and neglect had not damaged it permanently. For the second time, the bellows unfolded, the lens gleamed in the sunlight. The shop owner opened and closed the shutter, tested the bellows for pinpricks. Finally, the verdict: “The camera still works.”
Before leaving, I ordered rolls of 120mm film for the camera. Soon, I hope to use it again, 53 years after my great-grandfather bought it.
Three hundred millimeter zoom. Black. Slightly bumpy ridged leather, framed by chipped, painted black metal. But this time, the camera isn’t in an old photograph; it’s in my lap as I sit on the sofa, connecting past to present, present to past, me to my great-grandfather Henry.
Korea, in My Perspective online essay help: online essay help
North Korea. many people refer to this nation as an ‘axis of evil’ or a ‘Hermit Kingdom’. However, to us Koreans, we consider them as our brothers who, unfortunately, fell into the rule of a tyrannical family. Although this issue of oppressive dictatorship may not be particularly salient to some people, I consider this one of the key issues that the world and the South Korean government must grasp in a path to end the repressive Kim regime. You may ask: why do you consider this important? For starters, my family still have family members still stuck across the border since the end of the Korean War. It pains me to watch my grandfather ache to see his sister, who, he almost met again through the North-South family reunion in 2010. Unfortunately, the plans for this reunion went through due to North Korea’s provocative action of attacking and sinking a South Korean Navy ship. In addition to this, many people in the South still consider North Korea to be in their blood and heritage (although many younger generations are slowly deviating from this). No other nations will understand this concept and perhaps will never understand it.
War is extraneous when there are also other solutions to this problem. One of the key solutions to this is the natural dissolution of North Korea. This is already being achieved through the effort of both Koreas to become United Korea. Although being a long and painstaking process, this method is the most efficient and peaceful solution available.However, the biggest conflictionin this process is the economical and the cultural factor. Both North and South have deviated far from each other to meet their standards. South has a booming economy and is very independentwhileas the North has a restricted economy, depending on China for most of its imports. These restrictions will causes major fluctuation in the economy if unification does occur and will likely cause panic in the market. In addition with the current command economy and its ideology of Juche (self reliance), it will never be able to follow it’s Southern brothers economy. Through this, the following must occur: Opening up the North Korean market and a mutual effort to bring up the North Korean economy.In addition to this, North Korea must also intake some of the west’s ideology and culture asSouth Korea built itself based heavily upon the influence of the west. When all these pieces of the puzzle fits together, the nations will surely be ready for reunification. With these factors in mind, individual efforts are also needed in achieving the reunification. People must keep an open mind about this process as it may be daunting at first. In addition to this, there must be efforts to help the process (reunification taxes and other factors) as it simply does not work out without everyone’s effort. This whole reunification process simply will not occur out of the blue. It requires cooperation from everyone in the country and out of the country.
All in all, the whole process of reunification cannot occur individually. It requires cooperation of all people and certain factors to fit in. However, these requirements are being achieved as the time passes. Many people in the South realizes the importance of the reunification and the well being of the nation as a whole. With this, both nations must utilize these positive factors before it’s too late and achieve the status of United Korea.
Compare 3 different Societies cheap essay help: cheap essay help
UAE Society: The Society of the United Arab Emirates is one of the recent developed societies that has achieved great developments in the last decades and could achieve a big fame in the world.
Kuwait Society: Kuwaitis have always been free to manage their affairs among themselves as they see fit and develop their unique cultural characteristics in their own way. The Kuwaiti highly developed social organization based on family, can and tribe, which provided the economic and political support necessary for survival.
Saudia Arabia Society: SAUDI ARABIA IN THE 1990s was a society of contrasts. After three decades of intense modernization, the country’s urban infrastructure was highly developed and technologically sophisticated. Excellent hospitals, clinics, schools, colleges, and universities offered free medical care and education to Saudi citizens.
The Trichotomy of Me my assignment essay help london: my assignment essay help london
Sometimes I feel as if I am three people inhabiting one body. I was born Rebecca M. in New York City and a few days later at synagogue I was also named Rivka, my Hebrew name. As a teenager, I rejected both these names and asked people to call me Becca. Now, at age 17, I contemplate how I will reconcile these three names but more so, these three identities.
Rebecca; the beautiful name on my birth certificate that I share with the ghost in Daphne Du Maurier’s novel, Kirstie Alley’s character on Cheers, and Pocahontas. Since I escaped the womb, the name Rebecca has been the name my family calls me. It is the name associated with all of my legal papers. It is the name my teachers call me, the person who flourishes in academia. Rebecca is my serious mood, the person who gets things done. She is the one who learned to read at age two, started tutoring her classmates in second grade, and facilitates classroom discussions. She is the bookworm, the brainiac, but unfortunately, the moderate. While Rebecca’s head is full of knowledge, it floats among cumulus clouds. Unlike her conservative and liberal alter egos, Rebecca is too concerned with maintaining homeostasis, getting good grades, and steering clear of all drama. She resists most societal temptations teenagers call “fun” by labeling them as foolish detractors. While sometimes a bore, prudish, good-ole-clean fun type of gal, Rebecca always means well and is determined to succeed.
Next we have Rivka, the conservative, religious Jew who is trying to come closer to her faith in hopes of being a better person. Most don’t know of her existence, as the only people who utter that name are old yeshiva teachers, Israeli relatives, and the occasional zealous friend questioning where her moral compass lies at that particular moment. She is the one who wants to dress modestly, give money to charity, help people with their problems, and guard her tongue from speaking evil. She devotes her time and energy after school to preside over her school’s Judaic Cultural Society and coordinates other Jewish Student Unions in the New York City area, serves on the regional board of her Jewish youth group, and learns the weekly Torah portion. Ultimately, she is the liaison between her secular and Jewish worlds, explaining the misconceptions of both to the respective parties, but also striving to serve as a good role model for her mentees.
The newest character to the bunch is the eccentric, free-spirited liberal named Becca. Becca emerged the summer before seventh grade at camp, eager to make a fresh start, earn a new reputation, and have more social mobility. She unfortunately was a closeted experiment throughout middle school, only known to that group of camp friends. Becca’s debut was freshman year of high school, though still unsure of the journey she was about to embark on, and not self-confident enough to tell the world. Joining the school literary magazine and Writopia Lab’s writing workshops really helped her gain more of a sense of self. In order for this new character to thrive, she needed to be exposed to new people and things. The bookish yeshiva girl soon befriended two gay peers who after coming out of the closet themselves, helped her unleash her true sociable self to the world. Becca became an activist and a leader. She joined her school’s Gay-Straight Alliance and the Write On for Israel journalism and advocacy program. She also became an intern at Columbia University Sociology where she worked on the Understanding Autism project. She was campaigning for causes that mattered to her, but at the same time was also releasing inhibitions, becoming more open minded and trying new things. Becca was the one who started going to art museums, trying new cuisine, and attempting to dance. In order to adapt socially, she had to be aware of her surroundings. She became increasingly interested in global affairs, cultures, and lifestyles. She is the energetic, confident young woman who makes connections and networks of people. Without Becca, somehow Rebecca and Rivka seem lacking, she provides that edge and true character.
These three personalities fight inside of me just like, oddly enough, Jacob and Esau fought inside of Rebecca, my biblical namesake. I have learned that it is okay to be different parts of you at different occasions, but nonetheless I am trying to brake down the walls of these characters and seamlessly be one personality. The way this will happen is to continue exposing myself to more culture both my own, and others, so that I can more fully appreciate what I have and be able to be all three of me at once. For now, I offer you three great people for just one admissions seat!
World Trade Center write essay help: write essay help
City lights, as bright as daylight, flashes outside the taxi windows. I was only six years old at the time, but I can remember the moment down to the last detail. The date is August 31st, 2001, and I have just arrived in the United States, my new home. My nervousness about starting a new life in America was my main worry during the majority of the taxi ride. However, as I slowly move through the city traffic, my eyes focus on two titanic structures. My mother informs me that those towers are the Word Trade towers and are the tallest towers in New York City and possibly in America. Within moments, I fill with excitement and am eager to visit these colossal towers. My mother, now filled with delight from my joy, promises me a future visit in a few weeks.
After only a few days, school begins and I start my first year in an American school. However, I quickly realize a major problem; I do not know how to read, write, or speak English. Fortunately, my young mind is welcoming of a new language as I begin to speak English in no time. While I am determined in learning my new language and motivated to adapt to my new home, I continue to think about my upcoming visit to the World Trade Center towers. I began to make a few friends, despite my troubles with English, and felt extremely confident with my new life in the United States.
My optimism however, quickly came to an end. As we all know, on September 11th, about two weeks after my arrival in America, the World Trade Center was attacked and destroyed by a terrorist attack. Although many of my friends and classmates were not directly affected by the attack, I was. Once I realized that the burning towers on TV were the same elegant and gigantic towers I saw during my first day in America, I began to break. My hopes of visiting the towers were instantly diminished, along with my motivation to settle in to my new country.
I was devastated and realized that the world is a dangerous place, full of evil and destruction. I learned, however, that disasters are part of life and should not hold me back from continuing my life. I also learned that dreams and hopes can be shattered in an instant and should be attempted before they disappear. With these lessons, I have recovered from the deaths of many family members and pursued many of my goals and dreams before time runs out. These lessons carry with me to this day and will stay with me for the rest of my life.
Emerging as a Universal Student college admissions essay help: college admissions essay help
Growing up as a multiracial, first-generation American wasn’t always easy. In a small town, being one of the only Asian families had led to some ridicule throughout my younger years, but gradually I overcame the pain of isolation and difference as I inevitably became older. At times, I felt naked, I stood out and other children made sure I knew of that frequently. “So where are you from…no, where are you really from?” “Oh, you’re dad is from Korea…the good side or the bad side?” No one else got pestered about their ethnicity; no one else had to face suspicion from society for something they had not chosen. My heritage seemed to be the focal point of any insult or even praise. “Go back to China!” “Well of course YOU got an A.” When I was younger, it was hard to not feel a bit embarrassed by questions and comments like these, at times, even ashamed. As I matured though, I began to embrace my heritage, my identity. Questions and comments aimed towards it had little of an impression or impact on me. Yes, my father is from Korea…South Korea, and even if he was from North Korea, that doesn’t make him a nuclear chemist or an enemy of the United States. Such unthinking individuals, who had once left me shaken, only motivated me to aim higher, to grow more, and to become better. I became proud to have two self-made, motivated, and first-generation college alumni as parents, even though it put a lot of expectation on me. I was proud that my parents had achieved so much even while facing socioeconomic obstructions, and I wanted to achieve even more since I had so many more opportunities. As I soon became the eldest of four, there was more expectation, there was more pressure. Each of my siblings had their own niches, demanding ones. I felt guilty, I wanted to do more, provide more, give more to my family. I picked up a job to help cover my own expenses for my numerous activities and contribute to our economic situation. My father had worked a full-time job throughout high school at his grandmother’s Chinese restaurant on top of school, so why shouldn’t I be able to? So I picked up a job and I worked 7 hours after school on a daily basis, because in my mind, I was limitless and I didn’t want to fear limits, I wanted limits to fear me and to move out of my way. It was AP Chemistry though, that changed my attitude and revealed my altitude. It was the first time in my life that something didn’t “click” for me, and for the first few months I was in denial and insistent that I could juggle a job, extracurricular activities, and school. I didn’t need sleep, sleep was unproductive, it was unexciting, it was unprogressive, and it symbolized in my mind, all that I never wanted to be. If my father could do it, so could I. It only took a few months of sleep deprivation and struggling through AP Chemistry though, before I realized I needed to drop the job and pick up the Chem. I felt like a balloon that had lost all the air…the hot air. I had a limit, and the ridicule was nothing compared to the pain I felt by accepting I had a limit. Because accepting I had a limit, cracked my armor from the rest of the world. Scholastics were the one thing that had made alienation so bearable and it had always been my guiding light to a new environment, new opportunities, bigger than this small town, bigger than myself. Growing up, I was constantly told, “You’re an Asian Jocelyn, not a B-Sian!” but now I was worse, I was a C-Sian! Looking back, my thought process was so ridiculous, and more embarrassing than the ridicule towards my heritage. I decided though, I was not ready to give in on this goal of mine to thrive, to be limitless. I began staying after, staying till seven at night and then going home and practicing more chemistry problems. My goal may have been getting my grade up to at least a bearable B, but I soon became disenchanted with a number, or a letter, and fell in love with the learning. Somewhere in those long hours after school with a very patient and supporting Chemistry teacher, I fell in love with my progress, I fell in love with my surprise to new material, and I fell in love with my realization that I didn’t want my whole life to be represented by a number. By the end of the year, I had my A, on the final test, and the triumph I felt was indescribable, not because of the A…but because of my realization that I had not only gained a passion for learning, but a resiliency that would not only help me in a classroom, but outside a classroom, throughout life. This was not an ending, but a beginning. While I no longer would have to worry about AP Chemistry, I was ready to face new challenges throughout my community, throughout my life. Asian, “B-Sian”, it didn’t make a difference anymore, because I was ready to let more than a letter or number make up my identity, I was ready to become a universal student. My heritage no longer was going to damage me or solely motivate me, I was ready to motivate myself and I was finally ready to be inspired by the world that surrounded me. I wasn’t going to excel in future years to come to prove a point or to make an impression; I was going to because I loved to learn and because I wanted to make an impact. Growing up as a multicultural, first-generation American had introduced me to some daunting challenges, at some points it even was a real pressure cooker…but I believe I have been well seasoned and well cooked from my heritage and the circumstances I have been introduced to and instead of running from challenges or letting them hover over me, I am now ready to hover over them and to race them to the finish line.
Placing the Pieces Together common app essay help: common app essay help
I may have been born broken, but I grew up placing myself together piece by piece. The back of our burgundy van was packed with blankets, trunks full of clothes, boxed snacks, and my brother and sisters sleepy eyes bundled in their seats.”Where are we going, why isn’t Dad coming too?” I looked up at Mom for an answer. Her cheeks were glistening and tears were puddling in the crevices of her tired face. She didn’t need to speak any words. We arrived in front of a big white building with four rows of windows, and a woman came out to help settle us in. It was late fall, and my pink plaid high tops crumbled the leaves beneath them. I looked wide eyed at the tree above and thought, “I am just like you.” I knew that my family tree was losing all its leaves.
I found my high school, Nova, almost three years ago. With four jobs and four kids, my mother’s ability to get by took priority over my education. I had to decide to make it my own priority and through Nova I was able to create, structure, and pave my own unique road to learning. I took Women’s Seminar, where together we found how to love and celebrate our bodies in a culture that gives us one image of beauty. I grew through activism by breaking social norms that thrive off of racial profiling and narrow expectations of femininity and masculinity, and I found ways to maneuver socially and financially in a patriarchal culture. I chose to break the gender roles assigned to me by not shaving my body, praising rather than hiding my curves, and seeking higher education and knowledge independently rather than staying at home to cook, clean, procreate, and live a life that I felt would not suit me.
I found my passions because I was actually given the opportunities to freely do so. I took a class called Earth Justice and found the crucial importance of sustainability for our worlds future. I designed an ecologically smart apartment building that uses a green-only system, as well as a zine packed full of DIY projects to make out of recycled items. I built myself around a community I made a family out of, and through my classes I developed a love of philosophy that keeps me continually asking questions.
I moved out on my own a year ago. Not because I had to, or got myself into trouble, but because it was time that I started taking care of my mother by taking care of myself. I knew I had hard working hands and legs that moved so I put them to work. I kept a stable job baking 40 hours a week, going to class, paying rent, bills, and made sure there was food in mine and my puppy’s belly before we curled up together and fell asleep at night. Without Nova, none of this would have been possible. I was able to shape and balance my school work with my life at home, and finish what needed to get done in both places.
A few years back I walked down the street to the shelter I spent the beginning years of my life in. The front entrance was filled with trees. Big, brown trees full of life and green leaves each filled with experience, wisdom and stories of the roots they grew from. Still like them, my roots shape who I am and will keep me sturdy and grounded in my adventure through life.
One in a Million history essay help: history essay help
I remember that day – it was 2001 the year when the terrorist flew the planes into the twin towers – I can see the view clearly through my fifth grade class room windows, mean while my elementary teachers were talking about their degrees in college. Well of course, I don’t have the sightless clue about colleges, how it’s like, the work process, and even how to get into its superlative rank. But, I do know one thing. Colleges, as I heard of them, are till years always and colleges, as I consider them, are adult’s work – no room for ten years old like me.
My attention, and those of my classmate, was more focused on the 2001 plane crash than on my teachers. Few hours these people were still in bed and getting ready for work, the next thing they’re attacked by terrorist. The thought, that human doesn’t live long, gave me uneasy and skeptical meaning towards life; the fact that people comes and goes, got me thinking about the cognition of the human mind. It’s like one day, a perfect day, everything is going great , you got A’s on your exams, your girlfriend decided to go out with you, you graduated from a top university, and the list goes on. But what happen if (the word If is a powerful words, which can be used for analytical thinking and taking consideration between other alternatives) things don’t go as one anticipated? This is a question not many wish to bring about.
I read an article about varieties of disorder such as Alzheimer, a disease which one’s brain sizes deteriorates over time – eventually losing one’s identity. The thought of it sends chills down my body; as if you’re taking a shower and suddenly someone turn off the warm water. Yet this is not all, there are still other brain disease which can engender devastating results towards one’s abilities to progress in universities, as well as the world. You see, the way I think is different and is far from being rational to others. I believe genes play no part in one’s intelligent, despite brain disorders, and ethnics plays no role in some one’s true individuality. Even though my beliefs may seem irrational to some people, and it will be irrational if nothing is implemented to help those in need for remedy. I have always feared of becoming oblivious, I even started to drink grade juice, eat blue berries, exercise, and study every day excessively.
One day, one of my colleges planning organizing (CPC – Chinese-American planning council) hosted an AID Walk across NYC Manhattan Bride. The aim of this walk is to educate people; inform them to say “No” to Pressured Intercourse, how HIV/AID spread, the possibilities to avoid HIV/AID, and how to diagnose symptoms or where to call for mediate help. At first I was tentative of going; but I was told we’ll get prizes at the end of the event, so I decided to give it a try.
The day was extravagantly humid, around 92 degrees Fahrenheit, and there were a lot of other participants, which made it even more humid. We were separated by groups. I was grouped with two other participants; a young girls and a young boy, both around my age, and an elderly woman. We walked for quite a while, and the woman told us all sort of different stories back in her days, which range from politics, her family life, her achievements, her regrets, and the changes of the world as she saw them. Not only do her achievements motivate me, but her regrets helped me to understand my selves with integrity. All her stories seem realistic and inspiring, and she knows a deal about the world. So I have this temptation of asking her “What makes you join this AID Walk?” She told me, that she has a son whom has AID, and she has been in the AID Walk organization for couples of years now; she also said: “she can’t barely think, how the families would respond if their son or daughter has AID, and she wanted to education other, so they can have the knowledge necessary to prevent these Adverse Epidemics”. This is why the world, as I see it, have a lot to share, and the people , have a lot to give, I met in my journey will all help enhance my goal.
Right now, you might be thinking “How can I contribute to your university?” Well you see, I’m not one of those students whom aspire only toward personal ambition, but I, on the other hand, instead aspire in something not many can even imagine. Which will corroborate with my next question; the sole question, for my entire life, is “How to live a triumphant and self-indulging life?” This question always thrive me to work harder, grasps into the endless void and hope that someday I’ll find the answer – the answer of the ,my mind, human mind. Now, please don’t get me wrong. I’m totally obliged in aspiring toward Psychology, right now my career path is still unclear and subtle. But, I’ll find definitely find something worthwhile to settle in.
I have heard varieties of ways to ameliorate one’s mentality and ways to alter one’s life for the better. And one way to eradicate the chain of genetic disorder is to use the process “Designer babies”. The process of “Designer babies”, technically take some else genes and modify that gene and implant any desired features; physical, and metal mechanisms, such as blue eyes, dark hair, height modification, so on and so forth. This procedure is extremely difficult to master; there is possible room for high percentage rate of failure. Not only does this motivate me, but it also help motivate me to obtain such acme position, which I can help find cures.
Over the years, I didn’t look at others and judge them on their first appearance, speech mechanism, and the way they think, but on how they respond to certain situations. The real art of human capacities lies within their mind, the way one thinks, the way one tackles certain problems, and the way one’s obligation differ from others. This is why I’m perfect for your school; in fact I can contribute plenty of different qualities, which only I (David) can contribute. This is what sets me apart from other candidates.
The Muses essay help from professional writers: essay help from professional writers
The Romans believed in the ancient Muses, the gods of inspiration and talent, descending upon mortals to guide them in writing, painting, sculpting, fighting, you name it, it was a nifty little muse tapping into the human mind. I understand this proposal. The sudden urges one gets to do something, the path to success is not always a thing of design or intention, it just sort of happens. People find what they are nasty at accidentally, of pure fluke, of pure unwonted desire; it is a burning passion to do something that makes absolutely no sense whatsoever.
These are the flings of the night. The callings of the deep the inner beast, the inner intelligence, sprung out of nothing towards the elusive something. The muses should be followed, some say. Others maintain that they are things of evil, twisting obsessions that pull you away from responsibility and true devotion to the just causes of the world. Suppose for a moment that they could be both, both benevolent and evil muses, the desires that string us along the various pathways of life. Think then on this, emotions drive us to say illogical things, pheromones detail for us the urges of our body. Physical demands to eat, drink, reproduce, raise our young, love our families all guide us in our choices and desires. These are not muses.
Muses take on another form of desire all together. These are the desires that allow man to stand out as an individual, as a successful and “fulfilled” man. We listen to these muses to acquire glory, prestige, fame, the same road to the high pedestal that all fight along. This path is of the evil design. It is structured to distract us from the real meaning, the real understanding. Understanding, of course, is a different stipulation for all of man, and cannot be found in one’s self by reading or learning. It can be helped along, but never fully realized in full effect, the belief and holdings of one’s personal self.
So how do we find the good muses? The healthy muse that encourages us to find self identity, the foundation of individual serenity we all must acquire to develop any kind of security, and acceptance on life in our own unique intelligence. Passion can be a hindrance and a rush towards the uncovering of the individual. It is the undefined urgings we should strive to grow, the secret little fascinations that should be opened and watered in full sunlight. Every facet of a humanity can be studied and written, but only the individual can fully realize the muse of serenity on the within.
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In kindergarten I met my first love. It was not an average crush, where I passed love notes for two weeks until I moved onto the next boy in my class. I fell hard and I fell fast, and it was not for a boy. At the early age of six, I fell in love with dancing, and I am proud to say it is the longest crush I have ever had. For the last eleven years, I have spent hundreds of hours at my home away from home, the dance studio. Somewhere along the way, the activity I began when I was a little girl has shaped my personality, and instilled qualities in me that I will have for the rest of my life.
When three thousand people filled the stands to watch my dance team perform at the state competition, my adrenaline started to flow and I felt right at home with the spotlight shining on me. As captain my junior year, I choreographed the kick routine as a theatrical show so that all our movements were controlled by one person on our team, a conductor. The cranking sound of a doll being wound up filled the arena, and I instantly transformed into a life-size puppet. As I hit the moves, I became unconscious as my heart pounded with every beat.
While we performed, there was no trace of fear or defeat on our faces that had reflected the crisis on my squad earlier in the season. Six senior members decided to be selfish and irresponsible by choosing alcohol over their team. After confessing to participating in this illegal behavior, they quit with no notice, leaving our team without a captain. My team’s enthusiasm for the season plummeted. The student body’s confidence in our talent was cut in half. However, I was determined to lead my team past this obstacle and became the new captain. I told them it is better to have eighteen girls with a passion to dance than to have six additional girls who were strictly there to wear the uniform at football games.
At the first practice after the seniors quit, my team’s self-esteem was low. As a leader, I tried to motivate my squad through example. I started to do extra work outside of practice to improve my kicking technique. In my room, I would lie on my bed, take my leg, and extend it until it was touching my face. Then, I would use my bed post to hold it in that position so I could improve my flexibility. My team respected me as a coach because I showed dedication. On weekends, I spent hours trying to make up a creative competition routine. I wanted my team members to like the dance and be excited to perform.
Before the state meet, I drilled the routines into the girls’ heads and constantly encouraged them to work harder. Whenever I critiqued a routine, I pointed out the positive aspects as well because I learned my team was driven by positive feedback. I would shout out names of people who were performing well during the dance, and the girls would respond with even more energy. Through my dance experience, I also found I got better by challenging myself. I incorporated new skills into the routine for state in order to improve my team’s technique. We wanted to prove to ourselves and our school that we could still be an exceptional dance squad without the girls that quit.
In the arena, I felt the energy of my team while we danced in unity to our last kick performance. I was so proud that we were able to rebuild our confidence and exceed our expectations at state. We were rewarded for all our hard work by placing in the top five. This experience taught me a lesson that I’ll never forget; if I have a passion for something, I could overcome any obstacle with creativity, motivation, and determination. No one could ever take away the love and joy I felt from dancing on that special day.
Waltz melbourne essay help: melbourne essay help
“This is how you Waltz” said my Dad, as he taught how to dance in my living room. My dad and I would always dance as my mom watched us, she could barely imagine that this is how I would dance “The Father-Daughter Dance” on the night of my Quinceanera. My Mom’s eyes would fill up with tears at just the thought that soon I would no longer be their “Little” girl.
I am very proud to be Latina and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
A special moment in every little Latina girl’s life is of course their Quinceanera. I have dreamt of my Quinceanera since the day my parents explained to me what it meant.
To have a Quincanera is to have the traditional mass to celebrate and thank God for allowing you to reach your fifthteen year, well and healthy. Most girls just dream about having a Quinceanera, but it never becomes reality. Their dreams never come true because either their parents couldn’t afford one or they got pregnant and the whole point of celebrating a Quinceanera is to let everyone know that you have made it to your fifthteenth year without losing your virginity.
Once I attend my traditional mass I must thank God and the Virigin Mary for allowing me to follow in her foot-steps. During the mass the padrinos have to bring up the traditional gifts so that they can be blessed by the priest. Traditional Quinceanera gifts are Jewelry like a ring, bracelet, earrings, and a necklace. After I receive my gifts my parents will present me to the society as a young lady and no longer a little girl. The mass is very important to have in any Quinceanera, because without God you wouldn’t be where your at today.
The reception also plays an important role. First of all, you have all of your closest friends there with you to help make your special day just that much more special than it already is. You must have food of course to keep everyone’s energy up for the dance until 2 a.m., and last but not least you have your parents who helped make your dream become a reality and all of your family to help celebrate with you.
Your court and you must perform the waltz that you have been practing for months. Then your father must give you your last doll, which is a symbol of you leaving your childhood. After that your dad must slip on your new heels, and that is a symbol that now you are allowed to wear heels, make-up, have a boyfriend, and go out. Once you have your new heels on then your father and you dance “The Father-Daughter Dance”.
After you have been given your last doll and have your heels on, that’s when the dance starts. Most girls have a band or some have DJ’s, but some have both. Everybody asks the Quinceanera to dance with them, and they might dance around the dance-floor 4 or 5 times until they wear her out.
About half way through the dance, they will call everyone off the dance-floor to make a toast to the Quinceanera and cut the cake, then after that it’s back to the dance-floor to party until you can’t anymore.
Every young teenage girl dreams of a Quinceanera, but my dream will become a reality thanks to my parents who I can tell are more and more proud of me each and every day.
Megan. writing an essay help: writing an essay help
They say dreamers are born, not made—but here’s my question: how many of these dreamers die the way they were born? Reality beats our dreams out at a young age—only those who fight for their dreams ever see them fulfilled.
During childhood, I loved horses. Seventeen years later, I still love them. By age six, I dreamed of becoming a horse trainer. At age 17, I’m making it happen. Years of harassment, doubt, and obstacles have not taken the dream out of me. Strong. This is a word that means Megan.
I see parents handing their children everything. I see people taking, and never giving. I see people searching for shortcuts—anything to make the task easier. But I want nothing to do with it. I’ve been blessed with a good life surrounded by horses, and am proud to say there are hours of work and dedication behind it. I work six days a week year round. I’m a waitress, a cleaning lady, and a student. Determined. This is a word that means Megan.
It’s hard to find real people anymore. It’s difficult to discover individuals who like to claim responsibility, take charge, or be reliable. I’m not incredible at anything—I’m decent at everything. But who cares if you’re decent at lacrosse, decent in English, or decent at serving? Rounded people are overlooked, like pearls amongst a selection of diamonds. But I refuse to go unnoticed. Determined. Strong. Rounded. These are words that mean Megan.
On and off the Track argumentative essay help: argumentative essay help
Picture your self standing in a farm field in the middle of July. The wheat has been freshly cut and the noon day sun is beating down on the moist ground. It rained the night before so the field is very loamy, even muddy in some spots. Nature seems to be working together in perfect harmony at this very moment. All of a sudden, out of nowhere, screams a dirt bike charging up the hill with the power of sixty horses. The roar of the engine and the awe inspiring power bring a childish smirk to your face that you can’t seem to wipe off. The peaceful scenery quickly becomes an offbeat mess, as the ground is torn into a million ruts, and the quite afternoon is now filled with a fun and exhilarating father-son sport. This is motocross.
The man on the dirt bike charging up the hill is my father, Tony, who started riding when he was 16 and was one stepping stone away from turning pro in the early 80’s. Seeing my dad ride and race puts a smile on my face every time because it’s a unique experience that only a few have shared. Because my dad is one of the my biggest idols, seeing him on a motocross bike flying through the air and cultivating the ground is something that is hard to describe. It makes me want to be the best I can be at the sport of motocross and all other aspects of life from respecting other people to succeeding in school. Motocross, like I said, is a very father-son sport which is great because it gives me a chance to really get closer to my father which is important in my teenage years. While I’m on the track my dad is always there encouraging me and cheering me on, off the track he’s the same way but just with the other aspects of my life; school, friends, and family. Going to the pro races in Minnesota and Michigan were always a real treat and still are. They’re a time when the boys of the house get out for awhile and bond over a sport we all love.
The motocross circuit is one of the most competitive places on earth, people are always trying to be the first into that corner and across the finish line. Life, like motocross is also very competitive for example; college, careers, friends, women. Racing has taught me what I need to do to get to that top spot in life, how to work hard and not quit until you get there. My first experience riding was quite frightening. I was about 13 on a small mini bike when my dad said to go for it and hit the “big track”. So I did, the track almost made me drop a load, imagine jumps that go higher than the ceiling in the room you’re in, bikes flying past you and jumping over you. After a couple laps I said to myself, “this is what motocross is, this is what I’m gonna have work up to” I then proceeded to start twisting the throttle a little harder and start putting out some faster laps. I was doing great, charging corners and pinning long straights, until i decided to go hit that one jump I wasn’t ready for, but hey you won’t know till you try. As i was quickly doubting myself so I thought of the old motocross saying “when in doubt, pin it” and that is just what I did, held the gas wide open and hoped for the best. Well the best didn’t turn out, I did a nose-dive in the air and went over the bars burying my helmet in the dirt, the embarrassment engulfed me. The point is that the crash made me even stronger, having to go back to your bike after a crash that has left you full of embarrassment is no easy task. From that day forward i worked hard to get to the point I’m at now. I told myself that to be the best I’ve got to try new things and meet new people to all help me succeed on and off the track.
How Cotillion Changed My Life write my essay help: write my essay help
I knew when I was younger that I never liked ‘girl’ things over ‘boy’ things. Sure, I had Barbie dolls, and I played with them all the time, but I also had a marble set, toy cars, and toy robots that occupied a majority of my time because there’s more replay value in a marble set than a new outfit for Barbie.
Sometime in early elementary school, I was talking to my friends on the playground. They were excited about cotillion, which was foreign to me, so I asked them to explain. When they told me, I raised an eyebrow; I couldn’t imagine how they could possibly be excited to learn proper manners and the difference between seven-bajillion-zillion different kinds of forks, spoons, and knives. And dancing? Boring. “Why anyone would want to do that?” was expelled from my mouth before I could stop myself, and they all just stared at me like I was insane. We quickly moved on from the subject. Sometime later, I was talking to one of the ‘valley girls’, the prissy girls that wore makeup and had the pink shirts and skirts that were really short, even though they were only 8 years old. As we talked, I asked what was appealing about wearing makeup and being snooty. She shrugged, “I act like this for fun.” She didn’t actually care about looking nice, but she put on a show. I didn’t understand why someone would do that. I certainly wasn’t going to lie about who I was to get attention. Especially not by showing off that I was a girl. When a girl at my middle school shaved her head on the premise that she was lesbian, my mom told me, “I think she’s too young to be deciding her sexuality,” but my immediate thought was, “What about heterosexuals?” Who asks them, “When did you decide to like the opposite gender?” I had constant thoughts about gender and its associated stereotypes. I wanted to break the binary, more than I already did, so that’s what I started to do.
I began wearing, and still continue to wear, loose black t-shirts and baggy pants, I have short hair and nothing, in terms of product or accessories, ever touches it. I wear this clothing because it’s comfortable, but also because it blurs the line of my gender. Breaking this binary became a larger and larger part of my life. I’m not offended when the waiter calls me “sir”. Why should I be offended to be male? Why is being female offensive to men? It isn’t. (But it’s more than that; I also love the faces they make when I tell them what I want in an obviously female voice.)
In elementary school, I didn’t like being called a female. On the ‘tests’ to see if you were truly a boy or girl based on how you showed your nails or something else stupid like that, I would hate when I got “Yup, you’re a true girl” and learned the tricks to always get “You’re actually a boy.” I didn’t like being categorized by something as trivial as gender, and as I grew older gender issues became more complex, so I asked bigger questions, like how people could love someone based on whether they were male or female. That idea of choosing based on body parts didn’t make sense to me. So I stopped doing it: I stopped judging people based on gender. I look at every person in the same light regardless of gender. I get to know someone before I start judging. How else would one know that the prissy girls going to cotillion might actually play Dungeons and Dragons, or that the MVP soccer player might go home and watch Dance Moms after practice?
Hell is Just a Social Thing essay help us: essay help us
Sartre once said, “Hell is other people”. Don’t you agree?
What causes us to do things we normally wouldn’t do? Sneaking out of the house at night, texting words you would never dare normally say, hang with the wrong crowd. Their sultry poisonous words of wrong somehow erode into our imperfect minds and cause a hormonal misbalance that creates another personality that wreaks the havoc. It is what others do and say to us that makes hell.
What causes emotional stress? He cheated on you, your best friend moved away, they all called you an ugly pig. We experience grief when a loved one passes away. People hurt when people hurt them. It is others that cause hell. Hell is a social thing. The more we socialize, the more pins we set up to be knocked down and the harder life throws that bowling ball. But without social interaction, there wouldn’t be a human species, no life, maybe even no Earth. So who’s to say that Earth isn’t just a compilation of Hell?
Life… The Before & After essay help writing: essay help writing
Growing up, I thought that Heaven was just a fairytale, and that Jesus and the stories from the bible were just stories that people like to tell.
I was born from a non-Christian family, but was adopted to a Christian family. Every Sunday, I would go to church with my parents and I would listen to what my Sunday school teacher say about Jesus, but at that time I didn’t realize that I needed to get save in order to get to Heaven. I thought church was like school, it didn’t really mean a thing to me. But as I grew older I became to realize that I was a sinner and that there was a missing piece in my life.
On December 24, 2001, I was swimming in our pool outside our house when I overheard my mom sharing the gospel to my niece. I didn’t understand what she was talking about, so after they finished talking, my niece prayed and I thought that was quite weird, so I waited until my niece left and I went inside the house to ask my mom what was that all about.
I would never forget that question my mom asked me, “Do you know where you’re going after you die?” at that moment, that’s when I realize I had no idea where I would go after death. I knew the right answer for that question, but in my heart I didn’t really know where I would spend eternity. That day my mom shared the gospel to me. One verse that I would never forget is Romans 6:23- “For the wages of sin is death; but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.”
Realizing that I was a sinner and that I needed Christ in my life, as a 5th grader of Capt. Price Elementary School in Guam, I received the gift of God and placed my trust in his son Jesus Christ.
I was happy about my new faith, but as I grew older, went to Jr. High and then Senior High, I started to lose my faith. I became in love with the world, I wanted to be part of it. During my teen years in high school, I started hanging out with the wrong crowd, I literally became a hypocrite. I had 3 or probably more personalities than any other person on this planet. At school, I was a person who caused trouble, gossiped, cussed, and did things that I knew was wrong. When I’m at home, I continue my sin but in secret. I started being rebellious to my parents, and then when I went to church, I pretend to be a good Christian.
I knew that I needed to repent and ask God for forgiveness, but I just couldn’t. I was too caught up in the world. Then on February 06, 2009, God gave me a lesson to learn. That night of Feb.06, 2009, God took my mother home. My heart broke with regret and I became bitter against God. I was only 17 years old in my junior year in high school. At that time I was being completely selfish, and I was so angry at God for not letting my mom live to see me graduate from high school.
My senior year in high school, I was still enjoying the world, I didn’t care what others thought about me, or how much I was hurting my family. Then finally graduation day came and I still hadn’t applied for college. During the summer that’s when I decided that I needed a way out of my life and I thought that going to a Christian college would help.
I ended up applying for Harvest Baptist Bible College, which was the last school on this earth I’ve ever wanted to attend. As I attended classes here, each day I became aware that I’d backslid and that I needed to return to God. Then Dr. Vaughan came and preached for our summit meeting. During that week, God convicted my heart. Two nights in a row Dr. Vaughan talked about forgiveness and obedience. Those two nights I cried remembering all the wrongs I’ve done, how I hated God for taking my mother and how I hated my mom for leaving without saying goodbye. I cried of my disobedience to my parents, and most of all I cried because of the sins I’ve lived in and realizing that I needed to be forgiven and how I nearly threw away all the things I’ve learned about God, how wonderful and merciful he is. On October 05, 2010, I rededicated my life to God. Since then, I’ve been yearning to learn more about God and wanting to be close to him. I thank God for being so merciful to me and for having other Christians to help me grow and help me when I’m going on the wrong path.
God has been working in my life tremendously; I’ve learned that forgiveness is not a feeling but a choice and I chose to forgive my mother, knowing that I will see her again in heaven some sweet day. I asked my dad for forgiveness, something that I’ve never done before.
I’ve seen how God has been working in the lives of those around me, and I know that wherever He wants me to be, He will lead me there.
The Perfect Blend instant essay help: instant essay help
Banana. Spinach. Greek yogurt. Honey. Soy milk. Separate, these ingredients are just average- but blend them together and they form the perfect combination for a smoothie. Like every individual, we all have our own distinctive elements that make up who we are. Success depends on how each is utilized.
Banana. Endurance. Four seasons of tennis, twenty-five mile Ride for the Arts, Tosa Fest 5K run. These challenges have encouraged me to persevere and work harder than I ever thought possible.
Spinach. Strength. Becoming an only child after my brother went to school meant stepping up my academics. By raising the bar and putting more time and effort in my education, I was able to fill the gap he left behind.
Greek yogurt. Bold. Whereas regular classes would suffice for most people, AP classes were challenges I dared to take. The rigor of normal high school courses was never enough; I preferred going above and beyond of what was considered average.
Honey. Sweet. “Kristen, you are the sweetest grandchild.” Although she shouldn’t, Grandma always tells me this. Not only do I mow their lawn each week, but I take the time to sit and catch up with them afterwards.
Soy milk. Unique. Being the only vegetarian in my immediate family, I’m the one who has to step out of the box to figure out a complete and nutritious meal without the meat.
Just like the ingredients in a smoothie, each separate trait in a person makes up for whom that individual is. However, having the right blend positions me for even greater achievements.
Thirty Seconds of Silence argumentative essay help: argumentative essay help
Staring into the eyes of my scene partner, I frantically beat against the black curtain that had suddenly closed over my brain.
“But the possibility for a cure was left open!” my partner repeats, wide-eyed and panicked.
The seconds seem like hours. This mistake is crucial. This mistake is devastating.
Once again: “The possibility for a cure was left open ….”
Nothing can ruin everything.
Here, at the national competition of National History Day, my group is up against historical performances from 49 other states and several countries. And my failure can put an end to eight months of nonstop research and rehearsal. My failure can make it all worthless.
I have been acting since I was six. Never before have I completely forgotten a line during a performance. I have four partners who have put their hearts and souls into this project depending on me, four people who worked tirelessly with me for the entire school year to get primary interviews, gather sources, and rehearse the performance over and over – and this is when I decide to draw a blank.
Finally my line comes to me. Not from behind that damn black curtain, but from behind our carefully constructed set. From my best friend.
“A consequence of that belief!” she shouts, knowing, as only she can, exactly what I need to continue the performance.
“A consequence of that belief is that people continued to search for a cure to a disease that didn’t exist ….”
The curtain in my mind lifts and I am back, reciting the lines exactly as we had rehearsed. After the final bow and our interview with the judges, there is nothing left to do but ask myself what went wrong.
The question tortured me for months. The answer? Nothing.
I made a mistake, one that I could not have predicted or avoided. It may have seemed disastrous at the time, but it helped me realize something that many people are forced to learn in places far from the sheltered suburbia I call home.
Nothing can ruin everything.
No mistake or hardship can stop the world from turning, and dwelling on my mistakes will do no good unless I take the time to learn from them. There are calamities far worse than forgetting a line in a competition. I did not commit a felony, kill an innocent person, or lose a loved one. We may not have moved on to the final round of competition, but we did become experts on a topic that we were extremely passionate about, and we were able to show that commitment to our judges and peers despite the few seconds of silence.
I went on to compete in National History Day for the rest of high school, getting to the national level three times and placing at the state level four times. Each year brought with it lessons in research, time management, and perseverance. Yet none of it affected me quite as much as those few seconds of silence that June of ninth grade.
Since then I have failed my first test, gotten my first B+ on a report card, had three actors drop out of the show I was directing the day before the performance, and gone through numerous break-ups, breakdowns, and fall-outs. Those few seconds followed me, reminding me every day that I am not the sum of my mistakes, but rather the sum of the lessons I gain from them. Those few seconds of silence should not and will not define my National History Day experience, just as a missed homework assignment, a bad test grade, or a forgotten line will not define me.
Divorce history essay help: history essay help
It hurt knowing that my worst dream had come true, that my family wasn’t perfect. It was a few years ago, my dad sat me down with my little sister and told us that he was going to file for divorce. My mom at the time was in California recovering from another episode of alcoholism, and we hadn’t seen her for about a year. But surprisingly, I was relieved to hear that my parents had finally made the decision. Though I love both of them very much, my parents didn’t have the best relationship, and life at home with the two of them wasn’t something kids should have to go through. I was about to start boarding school and my parents were getting divorced, I was going to have split holidays, obligated visits with my mom, and less time at home. Being at boarding school helped get me away from all the drama and tension of the whole matter, but I often got lonely and home sick. With trying not to let my feelings get to me and having school to worry about, I had too much on my plate. But, with the help of my friends at school, at home, and my siblings, I’ve been able to come out of this a grown, more mature person. Nothing has challenged me more in my life then having to deal with my parents divorce, but I feel that it not only fixed a problem at home, but showed me a part of life that in-fact helped me grow and become more prepared for the real world. Divorce is unfortunate, but it happens to the best of us and we just have to learn how to move on and live with it. I’ve learned from the divorce that no one is ever perfect, I can’t expect the impossible from people, and I need to learn how to live with the way the world is thrown at me. I am a senior now in a Military boarding school, miles away from any family and I think that I’m living the life. I might have had some twists and turns in my life, but the best thing for me to do is just keep on rolling. Life might not turn out how we expect, but we need to make the best of what we have and live every moment to its fullest.
The Worst Beginning to Something Amazing essay help: essay help
I wake up to see a man in a white suit staring at me, and the sound of a young boy crying.Without realizing it at the time, that young boy was me. Then I remember, what seemed to be like a flash of light, with a bunch of pictures of me and random people fly by like a film clip rushing through my head. All of a sudden I hear my wife saying, “Why him? Why did he have to go so early?” With the sound of what seemed like dirt hitting wood above me. Then nothing…
This is life for most American men and women. They come into this world with no idea what they want to do in life, and before they know it, they are dead, and their life was boring and simplistic. Life to them is like a video game where they believe they can just “respawn” or come back to life as something or someone else, as if they never truly lived. This is the kind of life where their tombstone says “They never tried to accomplish anything.” Just imagine living a life where everything you do was not worth anything, and the only people who even think about going to your funeral are family members you believe that must go since they are family. That is the most tragic and painful torture I could ever endure, and that is something that I will never let myself have to go through. I want my tombstone to at least say, “He died trying, and never gave up.”
Well, my story starts out sort of tragic, but ends with a beginning to an amazing story and life. It all begins on a dreadful scary night in my old home town. My friend Summer screams out, “Run Chris. Get out of here!” Then with the horrible throbbing pain in my leg, I limp over to her and hold her in my arms as she collapse to the floor. I turn her over to see a sharp object impaling her stomach and a bunch of red oozing blood slowly pouring out where the object has entered. She slowly raises her hand and touches my face and says,” I love you…” with her final breath. This day I promised to myself to never let anyone die or get hurt because of my lack of strength and knowledge of knowing what to do. This day I decided to join the Marines!
Day after day, for years, I trained. Not just physically, but mentally. Waiting for the day to go and take my physical and mental test to be able to be a U.S. Marine.I worked my butt off to be able to have to knowledge to take the ASVAB and get the best possible score I can. I went to the gym and my martial arts to build my physical core up to max strength. Finally, I got a job and did any extracurricular activities I could so I could be well rounded and show everyone I could do anything they throw at me.
After years of hard work, I have almost reached my goal, and I can honestly say that I have never given up on my belief of living a full and joyous life. I can and will know that whenever my time comes, people will show up to my funeral because they know that I was a truly kind man, and did what I did for other people and to make their lives easier. Lastly, I can rest in peace knowing that my tombstone at least says, “He died trying, and never gave up.”
Green River Application Essay essay help cheap: essay help cheap
When you were a senior in high school, did you know what you wanted to do with your life? Well, I don’t. I feel that Green River Community College would be the perfect fit for my needs as a student. There are many reasons I feel this way, such as that Green River offers many different courses I would be interested in taking and I do not have to go right as I get out of high school.
Green River Community College offers a variety of courses which I would be interested in taking. This is great for me, because I am not really sure what I want to do with my life yet. This will allow me to take courses I am interested in, and discover more about what I like doing. It is my hope that this school will help me find a career direction I would like to take.
This school will also allow me to take a break between high school and college. I do not plan on going to college right after high school ends, but instead get a job and save up money for a year or two. That way, I can buy some of the things I want, but do not necessarily need, like CDs, movies, and books. Then, I can save money for when I move out of my parents’ house. During this break, I will also think about what I want to do with my life. Hopefully, I will realize what I want to do during the break, so I can take classes related to that career.
Green River Community College is a perfect fit for me. It will allow me to take time off school to earn money and take courses in a variety of fields I am interested in. Green River would be the perfect school for my personal needs at this point in my life.
Ocean Fears essay help tips: essay help tips
I sink fast into the ocean below. Like the auspicious hero in a bad adventure film, I undergo the same strange sensation of suddenly slipping into a pit of life-threatening quicksand. Unlike the hero, who is saved at the last possible second by a vine left by the divine, I continue to descend into the Pacific’s dark mesopelagic zone. The piercing teeth and bug eyes of various foreign ocean creatures leave me feeling increasingly anxious. One such creature rips through the water toward me, popping its mouth open before devouring me with a satisfying crunch. Then, as I have many times before, I wake from this reoccurring nightmare with the familiar and frightening sensation of being stripped of my own essence.
That occurred less than eleven years ago. Leaving my Taiwan home to live in America not only left me vulnerable to creatures of my own creation, but exposed me to an unfamiliar and seemingly bizarre world where my Hello Kitty satchel, traditional lunch box, and Chinese identity felt unwelcome. To others, this immigration was an opportunity. To me, it was a catalyst that transformed my perspective on life into a mix of the Asian work ethic and the belief in American dreams.
To gain entry to the top class, where my intelligent Asian friends were and where they garnered such respect and acceptance, my perspective on life became a mix of the Asian work ethic and the belief in American dreams. Spurring a modern Renaissance within myself, the philosophy I grasped inspired me to take ballet, sculpture, swimming, tennis, gymnastics, and horseback riding classes all in the name of taking advantage of the opportunities that were available to me. I stayed up all night teaching myself advanced math, reading Dunant’s The Birth of Venus, and contemplating symbolism in music. Because of trying times, I turned to God, keeping a strong and close relationship with him that has lead me to want to help others in hard times at the Baylor hospital, the children’s museum in Dallas, in Christian youth missions, and at my local church.
Looking back, I’m thankful to my parents for putting me through those copious social and academic adversities. Because of this experience, I’ve come to understand abstract concepts beyond my years, have found somewhat of a balance between two diverse cultures, and discovered that I’m pretty happy where I am. Last weekend, I watched my brother at his soccer game, helped him with his Kumon homework, had a long conversation with my father over Taiwan politics, and went on a walk with a close friend while discussing early Greek art, who’s voting for whom and where we’ll be in ten years. My identity has now become a combination of all my diverse encounters in life.
The ultimate lesson I’ve learned from this experience is evident in this old, tried- and-true Chinese proverb: “A frog in a well knows not of the ocean.” I don’t believe I understand the whole world just yet, but I’ve crossed the ocean, lived somewhere outside of my ‘well’, and discovered in the process, a world of dreams and possibilities instead of nightmares.
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When I was seven years old I started to lie about my life, it didn’t matter who I told these lies to, whether it was an adult, friend, or someone I just met. I always had to make my life seem interesting and fascinating to others. I remember lying about an ice cream shop a bike ride away from my house, when really I lived deep within the woods and only had a few neighbors near by. There were times when I lied about my nationality, and I even made up fake friends and family members and gave them exotic lifestyles that they shared with me. When I was nine, I met a boy a few years older than me, but to me that made him seem so much older. He had such an exciting life.
His parents, though they weren’t in a relationship together, gave him whatever he wanted without him asking for it. I remember him having a great fashion sense for an eleven year old, and he had been to so many different places. It was arranged for him to go to Germany to stay with his mother over the summer; I would ask him endless questions about Germany, feeling so jealous and fascinated at the same time as he explained the food and the way people talked. The day that I saw myself clearly was the day we had been walking up my long driveway one evening.
I was telling him a made up story of how my big cousin (nonexistent big cousin) helped me sneak out of my house to go went swimming in the near by lake, when he cut me off by asking, “Why do you lie so much?” I laughed and shrugged at his question, not upset with being caught in my lie. I said, “I just like to make my life seem more fun.” He rolled his eyes and shook his head at me, with his reaction to my reply, I started to get defensive.
Right when I was about to ask him why he rolled his eyes, he said, “You don’t have to lie so much about yourself,” “My life is boring,” I replied. “Your life is so much more interesting, you’re always having fun doing things I could never do.” With that, he shook his head again and became quiet for just a moment before he said, “Your life is a lot better then mine, you have parents that are together and are always around, you only have one brother with the same mom and dad, you’re always around your family, and they like to be around you.
You have one nice house, not a bunch of houses you live in for a little while and then move again and the only reason I’m allowed to do all the fun stuff is because my parents just want to keep me busy all the time,” he said lastly. I didn’t know what to say to him, I wasn’t expecting the reality of his life, and as a nine year old I felt extremely awkward. Looking back at him then, I realized I really did have a great life; if not interesting, then normal. This was something he clearly wanted. As promised, he left for Germany in June. What he said to me that day always stuck with me. I didn’t lie about my life or my family anymore, because I realized that my life and my family were so much better than any lie I could have made up.
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The novel Wuthering Heights takes place in nineteenth century England, a time where social class held utmost importance and the characters in this novel were no exception to that standard. The effects of the extreme importance placed on social status on the characters is seen throughout the novel. These social pressures effected the character’s sense of self, and more importantly, their relationships and love. Heathcliff had the most trouble fitting into the prim and proper standards of the English high class society when he arrived at Wuthering Heights. Many of the family members shared negative opinions of him except Catherine, who herself once belonged to the lower class. The relationship between Heathcliff and Catherine ended on the basis of the negative views of Heathcliff and his lack of high social class. In Wuthering Heights, Emily Bronte illustrates how Heathcliff and Catherine are effected by the importance of social status.
Moreover, the effects of social class had the greatest impact on the two main characters in the novel, Heathcliff and Catherine. Heathcliff appeared poor and unkept but when Catherine saw him, she knew she loved him. But there was also Edgar, a handsome and wealthy man who Catherine also experienced feelings for. When choosing which man she would marry it became clear that the high social class of Edgar outweighed her true passion for Heathcliff. “It would degrade me to marry Heathcliff now; so he shall never know I love him” (Bronte, 82). When asked why Catherine loved Edgar she explained it was because he was handsome, young, cheerful, and wealthy. “I shall like to be the greatest woman of the neighbourhood, and I shall be proud of having such a husband” (Bronte, 80). Catherine was concerned about her reputation among the other women she knew, although Nelly knew that, in reality, Catherine’s true passion and love lied with Heathcliff. Nelly questioned Catherine on her acceptance of Edgar’s marriage proposal because she saw that Catherine wanted to marry him for all the wrong reasons. Catherine knew this as well but fear kept her from admitting to herself that she loved someone who could possibly ruin her social class and reputation. “My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath- a source of little visible delight, but necessary” (Bronte, 84). Even Catherine herself recognized her true love was Heathcliff saying that while he may not be handsome and socially acceptable, she needed Heathcliff. Catherine’s impression of Heathcliff came not only from herself but from the opinions of the strong minded people around her.
Furthermore, Catherine was not the only one who held high social standards, especially when it came to Heathcliff. From the moment that Mr. Earnshaw arrived back to Wuthering Heights Heathcliff was not greeted with open arms, ”Hindley hated him, and to say the truth, I [Nelly] did the same” (Bronte, 42). Hindley’s strong opinions on Heathcliff influenced Catherine. The impression that Heathcliff made was that when he first walked into Wuthering Heights looking disheveled, the first sign of a person in England with low social class. Everyone at Wuthering Heights saw Heathcliff as a “dirty, ragged, black haired child” and a “gipsy brat” (Bronte, 41). Because of these conceptions that the English had during this time, almost all of the family members at Wuthering Heights wanted nothing to do with Heathcliff.
Accordingly, Catherine also tried to convince her sister-in-law, Isabella, not to marry Heathcliff. She feared the same thing for Isabella that she did herself, she did not want her to lessen her reputation by marrying Heathcliff. She called him “a half-civilized ferocity” and yet again mentioned how he would degrade her (Bronte, 96). Edgar, Isabella’s brother also very much despised the idea of her marrying Heathcliff. Edgar did not want someone of Heathcliff’s status to have the rights to the land and the fortune of Wuthering Heights and the Thrushcross Grange. He did not believe someone such as Heathcliff deserved so much and thought Heathcliff only wanted status and wealth. All of this hatred towards Heathcliff stems from the views all of the characters share about the importance of social class and keeping a good reputation. Neither Catherine nor Edgar cared that Isabella actually loved Heathcliff. The social importance effected Heathcliff that his relationship with Isabella stemmed from revenge. Heathcliff wanted to exact revenge on Edgar and Catherine for their marriage, since Catherine chose Edgar over him. Heathcliff knew that by having relations with Edgar’s sister he could obtain his revenge. Heathcliff knew of the hatred towards him caused by his social class.
Therefore, the major theme that runs through the novel Wuthering Heights, is the effect of social classes in nineteenth century England. The social standards of the characters create havoc in the lives and the relationships. The relationship most effected by these views of social classes is that of Heathcliff’s and Catherine’s. If not for the skewed view of social importance Catherine would have married Heathcliff over Edgar. Catherine had a passion for Heathcliff but in the end was negatively impacted by the strong, narrow-minded opinions of Hindley and the others at Wuthering Heights. Another relationship involving Heathcliff was also looked down upon due to his low social class. The main character, Heathcliff, has the negative conceptions of social importance impact him the most throughout this novel.
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