In a world full of greed and selfishness, there is little compassion for those unlike our own. Many people believe that humans are the superior to all other species, but I do not necessarily agree. As poet and philosopher Sri Aurobindo once said, “Life is life- whether in a cat, or dog, or man. There is no difference there between a cat or a man. The idea of difference is a human conception for man’s own advantage”. It is sick to see how easily humankind can turn into savages once the concept of respect and consideration is extended beyond our species to include other animals.
I want to know how humans can hang a dead animal’s head or stuffed body up on their wall and call it a trophy. I want to know how the most squeamish of all women have no trouble covering themselves in furs of all kinds. I want to know how pet stores get away with selling dogs from puppy mills and why no one has yet to put a stop to the so-called sport of seal clubbing. How many animals have to be mistreated, abandoned, or killed before enough of the world takes notice? How many species have to disappear off of the face of the earth before we finally put a stop to the abuse? I wish I did not have to ask these questions. Because we should not have to fight for an animal’s right to be free from human cruelty and exploitation.
For those who ask what is wrong with hunting and circus enslavement and animal testing, I would like to pose for them this question: If there is nothing wrong with animal abuse, then what is wrong with cannibalism, racism, sexism, slavery, and the experiments Nazis performed on prisoners during World War II? Any objections? If yes, then consider this: Are the above actions wrong because the subjects involved were human, or because the subjects were harmed?
I know I might have come across as a crazy, radical animal activist thus far, but in order to truly show to you just how important the issue of animal rights is to me, I must be blunt and a little extreme. Simply put, I love animals so much more than I could possibly express in this essay, or in words in general. Nothing brings a bigger smile to my face than watching a happy little puppy romping around in grass taller than it is, chasing bugs and enjoying the warmth of a bright summer’s day. And nothing brings such deep heartache as does watching a beloved animal grow old and weary, too weak to let its spirit run free. An animal can be so much more than merely another creature roaming among us; an animal can be your companion, your closest family, and your lifelong friend.
My lifetime endeavor is to put a stop to animal cruelty. I feel that one of the main purposes for my life is to help fight for those who cannot speak for themselves. I dream of the day that the world embraces the fact that we are all God’s creatures and that we all have rights.
A Lesson Learned instant essay help: instant essay help
Throughout my life, I’ve always been impacted by the personalities of other people. Certain actions and traits of my peers have enlightened me to the good and bad qualities of our world today. Throughout my years in high school,my fellow students have always impacted my work ethic and outlook on life through the way that they carry themselves and how they handle their responsibilities. To present a specific example, there is a student whom I’ve shared several classes with over the years that embodies certain negative characteristics. For purposes of anonymity we shall call her “Martha.” Now in all actuality, Martha is a very sweet girl, but she has several mannerisms that have shown me how not to act. For instance, she is very disrespectful to her educators and her fellow peers. This disrespect is shown through the shallow and pedantic tone she uses when interrupting every conversation. In addition to her inquiries, the questions she interjects with are usually redundant or all together useless, wasting time in class and annoying students around her. She questions the details of the details, even going so far as to ask the
proper color of her personal notes. Because of the extensive nature of her concerns, she has become the but of many jokes, some even from teachers themselves, and the subject of school yard gossip. Her actions have have led me to the conclusion the some qualities are not desirable in a person, her dependence alone on others to make decisions for her makes me believe that she does not think for herself and does not live a full life. As a result of my observations, I have weeded out these qualities in my own personality, to ensure that I do not repeat her mistakes. As John Powell once said, “The only real mistake is the one from which we learn nothing,” and I have personally found that learning from the mistakes of others is just as valid as learning from you own personal mistakes. My goal in life is to be the respectful, independent, and positive example that people wish to follow and not to be the “Martha” for future generations to come.
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The vibration of voices caused the steaming water in my soup bowl to ripple across the plastic bowl until the wave was distinguished by an overlapping ripple. I shifted the bowl closer to my body, allowing my skin to absorb the heat from the soup as I breathed the smell of hot broth. Although I wasn’t fond of onions, I picked up the soup straddle to taste. I have tasted many of soup, maybe in the hundreds but I’m not particularly fund of any recipe. Not that I dislike like soup, I just haven’t found a soup worth a second taste. I love the way its smell, the feelings of a blistering steam hitting my pours in vapor form, and its unusual texture and appearance but not its taste. It’s hard to rationalize that soup has vastly impacted my life, the way I live my life, and the way I look at the lives of others but it has. Soup has made me the person I am today.
You can’t always tell what’s in a soup by its appearance, you must examine it, taste it whether you think care for it or not. You can’t say you don’t like a soup because of its name, you must try it; for every restaurant, store, or company makes that soup a different way using different ingredients producing a unique taste. People are virtually the same way. You can’t tell what a person is like from the way they look, you must examine them, get to know them, and befriend them before you can formulate an opinion about them. Just because you are close to one person named Sara doesn’t mean you will be found of every person named Sara. Like soup, everything in life must be examined for its true identity. You must research to find facts but not every piece of knowledge can be acquired regardless of whether that thing is a soup or a person being investigated. I know that I don’t know the answers to everything, but I’m not sure that anyone does. But isn’t that what college is for anyway; to investigate every soup, without judging its names or ingredients, to formulate a personal take on a number of different soups using experience?
"Rock-Solid Abs" argumentative essay help: argumentative essay help
When I was nine, one of my favorite things to say to classmates was,
“I have rock-solid abs. Really, I do. Punch me in the stomach and I’ll prove it.”
Few people took me up on this unusual offer, but those who did touch my abdomen were surprised to find that it was, indeed, unnaturally hard. One classmate even compared me to a robot. But truthfully, I did not have exceptionally strong abdominal muscles, nor was I a robot; my belly felt hard to the touch because I wore a back brace underneath my clothes.
In the summer before I entered fourth grade, I was diagnosed with scoliosis, a spinal deformity that, if left untreated, can cause crippling back pain and other health problems. Doctors told me that I would need to wear a rigid back brace for twenty hours per day, every day, in order to slow the condition’s progression. The brace, a cumbersome plastic body cast that wrapped around my torso, was designed to hold my spine straight while I completed my skeletal growth. At the time, nobody really knew how many years the treatment would need to last.
Within days of beginning my bracing regimen, I was distraught. The corset-like brace was so tight that I struggled to breathe, and every flight of stairs left me gasping for air. With my clumsy movements and unnaturally stiff posture, I walked more like a wind-up toy than a normal nine-year-old. I tossed and turned at night, kept awake by the pain of my aching back and my sore, blistered skin. My four daily hours of freedom were not enough; I longed for my old body.
The next few years weren’t much easier. One day in seventh grade, a friend pulled me aside in the hallway to tell me that someone had taped a sign to my back. Scrawled in sloppy handwriting on a sheet of lined paper, the sign read, “Kick me. I can’t feel it through my brace anyway.” I smiled half-heartedly at my friend and feigned amusement, but fought back tears as I walked away. I wanted my peers to see my strengths: my intelligence, my kindness, and my thoughtfulness. Instead, I felt that I was being defined by my disability.
It would be dishonest of me to claim that I ever fully made peace with having to wear a brace. Years into the treatment, I still hated that I couldn’t bend over to pick up a dropped pencil or get dressed in the morning without help. Gradually, though, I did realize that self-pity and anger solved nothing. I learned not to value conformity above all else, to be comfortable in my own skin whether or not all of my peers accepted me. I am so many things – a student, an artist, an activist, an athlete, and a person who has scoliosis. No one of these labels, on its own, completely defines me.
Ultimately, I wore a back brace full-time through the fall of my junior year. Doctors now believe that the treatment was successful and that my chances of having an adulthood free of back pain are excellent. I am especially thankful for this outcome considering that many children who develop scoliosis before age ten, as I did, do not respond to bracing and require invasive spinal surgery.
Having persevered through a long, difficult bracing regimen is not the type of flashy achievement that earns me the praise of others. Yet it is, in many ways, my proudest accomplishment. Wearing a brace every day for seven years fostered in me a humble, quiet kind of strength that I believe will serve me well as I move forward. I am no longer a person who quits easily. In addition, the experience gave me a powerful, albeit limited, glimpse into the struggles of people with disabilities. As the sister of someone who has Down syndrome, autism, and severe vision impairment, this was especially eye-opening. Challenges look a lot different when you’ve had a taste of them yourself.
Although I would never have chosen to wear a brace, I can now see that, literally and metaphorically, the experience shaped me into the person I am today. As I have come to appreciate, what holds us back and what propels us forward are often one and the same.
Less Than Spectacular Things About Me ccusa autobiographical essay help: ccusa autobiographical essay help
I could very easily rattle of my accomplishments. I could list them off one by one as they come to me, and I could dazzle you, I am sure.
Yet, people who write about the incredible obstacles they have overcome in their short seventeen or eighteen years are rarely believable. Why should my miraculous passing of a test, catching the winning touchdown, or single-handed effort to force the show to go on get me into college?
I am a rebel. A wild child, if you will. So, after much internal debate and several drafts of several different kinds of essays, I have decided that I will talk about all my less than spectacular qualities and quirks. I will talk about some random thoughts that have entered my brain over the course of time. I will even talk about things I flat out bad at.
I am horrible at every sport ever to exist. I am the last person you would want on your gym team because I will run away from any ball that is pelted at me. To catch it is defying instinct, and I am one with nature.
I have seriously speculated that my freshman year gym/theology teacher majored in dodge ball.
Math is my worst enemy. I once found “Jon and Kate Plus Eight” to be a great show because the title involves math I can understand. However, that they have so deeply complicated the equation recently is why, I feel, that I have lost interest in the show; they have made simple math into long division.
When I am not interested in something, I am completely gone. I can take a nap, have a dream, and analyze its meaning all within the span of one chemistry class. This is a true story.
I lie about things that do not need to be lied about. By the way, I am 5’8, have an IQ of 175, drive a spaceship to school, got a 1500 on my SATS, and had lunch with President Obama yesterday afternoon.
I am a procrastinator. The exact time I am writing this very sentence is 12:39 AM. I feel this may be because I work best under pressure. And, by pressure, I mean the looming fear and anxiety of failing to apply to colleges, never getting a job and living with my parents at 35.
I think intensely about what I say. Though, this tends to be after I have already said it. Oops.
I wrote, directed, and filmed a short movie for a local film festival. After much hard work and intense planning, all the footage had no sound. I was then visited by Charlie Chaplin in a dream and made a silent film.
In light of the recession, I have thought up a great business plan to make money. I am going to create a test that ranks your abilities that all high school students will take. Then college admissions officers, like yourself, will take into serious consideration the scores students get on my test. Students will pay a fee each time they take the test. Then I will offer preparatory classes and review books for astronomical sums so that they can improve their scores. I will also then offer therapy—for a cost, of course—to counsel the students who have a nervous break down trying to get a perfect score.
I ran for Senior Class President this year. In my campaign speech I told my fellow students the truth; I admitted that I could not provide them with a public health care option, bring peace to the Middle East, or lower lunch prices. I even went so far as to guarantee that we would have two days off from school each week. I lost.
I am desperately trying to be witty because I really, truly want to go to college.
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My room is my life and loves in effigy; research papers scattered across the floor, pictures of my friends on my wall, a memory box in the corner. But if this microcosm of my universe has a center, it wouldn’t be the trophies or the posters, it’d be a seemingly simple shelf in my dresser. This shelf is where my Harry Potter books lie.
I began reading the Harry Potter series when I was five. I was entranced when I read. I yearned for the quickening of my heartbeat during a battle scene or the pain in my chest from the death of a character. To this day those feelings haven’t changed. Words inflame me in such a way that once I start reading, I am addicted. It’s not just the induced emotions. Words are feelings; colors I can taste. They unite every sense and they unite every person. Words make me think, question and wonder. A phrase may be a different point of view, a quotation an entire philosophy. I have succumbed to the power of words and their power has leaked inside of me. It bubbles, burning to be used. Even if I wanted to contain this power I couldn’t. The words pour out, and in many different ways.
Singing is the easiest way to relieve such aching. Lyrics are poetry exemplified with beats and cadence. When I sing a song, it isn’t enough to parrot. I picture a story, feel hope or experience pain. The words and I become one. Debating is much like singing. When I debate there is a beat, a pattern and my emotions run high. Originally, the lure of debating and arguing was the beauty and emotion of words. Once drawn in though, I found something else I truly cared for.
The Model U.N. team at my school is named The World Interest Club because we don’t want to be simply a “debate team.” We masquerade as delegates from foreign countries but what unites us is our love of discovering the world; its tragedies and its wonders. It was my love for words and language that brought me to this club but the connections within the world that mirrored the patterns of language were so enticing, that I fell in love a second time. And I owe it all to Harry.
The shelves of books in my basement are an archive of dreams and adventures imprinted on paper as well as my mind. But the Harry Potter series has a permanent room in my heart. My shelf holds at least three copies of each book, tattered and torn (but never collecting dust!), two copies in foreign languages, four companion novels, and, of course, my wand. This shelf was is childhood, and will never be forgotten in my future. From reading, I didn’t just gain a love of words or a new perspective, I gained a way of thinking. I discovered a love for fantasy, a love for the unknown and the impossible that has thrust me into a quest for answers and information. A love of learning, a love of thinking.
How my life changed gp essay help: gp essay help
I swiped my hair back as it fell upon my wet brow. In a hurry, I scrambled to my feet and looked around the dark, sullen room that used to bring me such exuberant life and happiness; everything was packed. All of my colorful clothes, all of my pictures, and precious memories seemed to now lay lifeless in a bland cardboard box. I had no time to think anymore than I already had, no time to weep or gripe- I just wanted to leave. I draped my worn-out, tattered blanket over my shoulders, and I tiptoed to my bedroom door.
For a moment I heard silence as I put my numb ear to the piece of plywood that separated me from the rest of the world. For that moment it was peaceful in my childhood home. Of course, that moment passed as quickly as it came; I suppose I hadn’t enjoyed it enough to make it last. It stung me like an exasperated wasp as I began to heed the ongoing, ruthless lashing between my mother and father. At that moment, the only thing that seemed to matter in that house was my parent’s opinions, and who would win the fight this time; it wasn’t me, it never was. Yet, as I heard their words of hate and blame being placed upon each other, I felt nothing. I guess emotions are complicated in that way. Usually, your heart breaks when something horrible happens to you or one you may love; yet, it was more my mental stability that shattered along with my parent’s divorce. Little by little I gathered my timid courage to gradually open my door. As my hand grasped that old doorknob, my complete hand froze as chills ran up my arm; the brassy metal felt like bitter ice against my burning skin. After a moment, my eyes strained around the doorsill as I gradually peeked out into the empty, bleak hallway. As I was about to take my first step out into the gloomy darkness, I heard heavy footsteps coming up the creaking stairs.
Now, I had never been afraid of my loving dad. He had always been there for me, and I presume that he always will. However, at this moment in time his steps seemed much quicker, and heavier than usual, as if he were in a hurry. Hastily, I began to slam my door closed; but of course, I wasn’t as speedy as he was. At that moment, I couldn’t help but look at his face which was a deep rose color. He looked me in the eyes with the look of a man with a broken heart. As I stared back, I noticed the tears swelling in his deep blue eyes. Slowly he was able to speak, the words almost hidden with tears, asking me what was to come of him now. Being 13 and slightly immature, I had no idea or chance to think of the right words that would, or could ever comfort him. I stared at the floor. My head was blank and my mouth was dry. His voice was desperate as he proceeded to tell me that he had no one anymore; no body in his life worth living for, and he might as well be done with life. He proceeded to whimper words of hate; Yet, I believe these words were towards my mother who had taken his home, wife, and now his daughter from him (or so his mind told him). His words and tears struck at me like a sharply bladed knife. I had no idea at this time that he was mentally unstable; all I was worried about was his present safety. As I stared him in the eyes, I noticed that they were swollen from the tears that consumed them. They were bright red with splotches of drowning white and deep blue. My face felt like it was engulfed in frenzied flames; my palms felt as though they were dripping, my knees were weak and shook from shock and exhaustion. After sometime of listening to my father badger his life, and snivel about how he thought constantly about taking a rifle to his head, I allowed the looming tears to fall.
In retrospect I learned how vulnerable a little girl could be during this tough time. However, I learned quite a lot about people in general, especially myself. I never understood how special life truly was until I pleaded and begged my father to keep his own. Each moment I beseeched my father, I thought of what would be left behind if I were to die in that moment. Every little thing in life (such as seeing the snow fall in the winter, or walking his daughter down the aisle) was examples I gave to my father. I believe that although these events of my parents divorce were a struggle, it made me a better person and forced me to become a more mature woman. This was a life experience that I could never possibly forget; but honestly, I don’t think I would ever want to overlook this period of my life. Some people seem to lead perfect lives, with families that stick together and tragedies that never pester their years. However, each day I look at what I do have, and give thanks for everything that is left. I still have my father, my Mother and both of my brothers, as well as my own life. I believe the future holds great experiences and opportunities for me, which is why I’m proud to write this essay. I know that if I stay positive, anything can drift my way- and with it, success will closely follow.
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It was February 7 2008. The moment I stepped off the plane I thought about the many possibilities, my dreams would finally hatch and I would taste the joy of successful life. I looked up the clear February sky, the stars seemed to be shining brighter than the airport’s lights. Suddenly cold February wind touched my face and made me shiver and the stream of my thoughts transformed. Sadness grasped me and I remembered the past. Right by me, I heard my sister whisper in my ear, “welcome to America”.
I was fifteen at the time, naive and flustered in the material life, concerned about the way I looked and the branded clothes people wore unaware of the challenges that faced me. The primary reason my parents came to the United States was me and my four other siblings. They wanted us to get a better education, live prosperous life and attain satisfaction of life that they never got. I knew then that our struggle begins here. We had to start everything from scratch again. I, being the oldest of all my siblings had to overtake a huge burden. I had to help my parents learn English and had to help my siblings pass the obstacles that I had once experienced. I also had to maneuver my way through hindrances, the sudden jolts and the abrupt stops. It is because of my parents that I decided to push myself hard and battle to achieve success. They looked at me as a reality to their dreams and I wanted to prove it to them or at least bring comfort to their life.
The first school I went to in the United States was Los Fresnos High School in Brownsville. I will never forget those eyes all around me that ogled me, some showed detest while others amazement. Maybe because of my hijab that I wore on my head and the image of being titled “terrorists” everywhere. I indeed was the only Muslim girl in that school and the first person from my family to ever go to high school. I met my councilor routinely because I wanted to get all twenty-six credits in two years so that I don’t waste any time and graduate when I am supposed to graduate. Giving credit by exams became my ritual. But I never backed up in the hope that I will achieve my aim and make my parents proud.
One of the many things I am grateful about is my ability to speak and write three languages fluently: English, Urdu and Pashto. I long to learn Spanish too since language is the key to communication and I want to pursue career such as Dentistry that would require a lot of efficiency in languages. There are instances when people come to a different country and forget their mother language, this never happened to me as my parents strictly told us that we had to speak the languages we always used to speak back in Pakistan.
As I now look back at my life I feel nostalgic but at the same time I see myself filled up with bliss. I remember the times when the rain fell on the unpaved roads the sound of it charged my nerves and the smell of the soil piled my nostrils and my lungs. The warmth of the sun seeped through my fingers illuminating the insides of me. The voices of my friends packed with excitement brought me joy. We used to run in the farms, lush green in spring, and then swing of the trees letting my legs scrap the trunks. Small things brought me happiness. I remember the Morning Prayers, the sound of Azan, the rich festivals and the traditional dances. Now that I look at the past, it just brings in me a sense of identity and cherishes in me my culture.
It is now me who will have to climb up the steps to reach success. Working hard is just not enough I have to make my own path and not let the greed to succeed consume me. I have to work in a way that will benefit not just me but the society as a whole. I want to dwell in a community that resides on love and purity. My purpose in life is not just to be a dentist and make money but to help the less fortunate ones and get love in return. This is the greatest satisfaction I can ever achieve. I also want to pluck off from its roots the differences that have been made through bombs and weapons and set an example for others to follow and in turn ensure a peaceful world.
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“What is the point in even trying? They are a stronger team than us,” Joe, our outside hitter, says. We found out we had to face Racine Horlick in the first round of playoffs at The Racine tournament. This was the furthest Arrowhead Boy’s Volleyball had made it in five years. “Come on, Joe. Don’t think like that,” I say as we walked over to our bench. As team captain, it is my job to make sure everyone stays positive with their head in the game. “They are ranked eleventh in the state and they play amazing defense. How could we possibly beat them?” Joe asks. “Joe, have you ever seen them play? You cannot count us out before the match even starts.” I knew they were a good team, but they were beatable. The match was about to begin and our coach calls us in to the huddle. “Guys, we have come a long way to get to this point and I am proud of you. Horlick is a strong team and they dominated their pool. I won’t be disappointed if we lose, so just go out there and play your game.” The team has given up. They assume we are weaker and are going to lose. As we walk onto the court, I call the team in for a huddle. I tell them if we play our game, we can win. The referee signals our first server to start the game. He sends the ball over the net and they spike it in our faces. Our guys were sure the match was over. “It is only one point and we can still win this match. We just have to keep our heads up and play strong,” I said. Racine shanks their passes and hits balls into the net while our team is getting one on one blocks and bouncing the ball. We take the lead and, in frustration, the opposing coach calls a timeout. In the huddle, our coach says we have a shot at winning. The first game comes to an end and we won. The second game starts and we rattle off eight straight points. We finish the match and defeat them 17 to 25. As a team, we overcame our disadvantage and fear of losing. I too learned a lot from this match. With leadership and determination, anything is possible.
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In May, my mom told me about a summer babysitting job. Not realizing the challenge ahead of me, I took it.
I remember my first day. Anxious. Excited. Not sure of what to think. Is he going to like me? What will I have to do? Will everything be okay?
Everyday was a surprise. Slowly, I learned to overcome the daily challenges of working with a child with Down’s syndrome. Even though Justin was seven-years-old, his intellect was that of a two-year-old. His emotions changed often throughout our day.
Going to their community pool, Justin started out cheerful and ready to play. But after he did something wrong, he would sit for hours and not talk. He would pinch a kid. Throw his toys. As soon as I stopped him, his mood changed. He acted as if I wasn’t there.
“Justin, do you want to go swimming?”…”Do you want a snack?”…”What should we do?”
No response. Some days it took only a joke to make him happy again. Other days, nothing I did could make him smile.
As the summer went on, I knew if it was going to be a good or bad day. Justin either had a welcoming, heartwarming smile, or he had his tongue out and was non-responsive.
On days he wasn’t excited to see me, I was determined to change his mood. Some days it took hours to do. I made jokes. That wouldn’t work. I got play dough out. That wouldn’t work. Patiently—I waited for some response. That would work. He just wanted me to watch Winnie the Pooh, his favorite character, with him.
The last day with Justin was rewarding. I finally felt accomplished. I got him to cooperate with me. He read stories—only with me. He watched Pooh—only with me. He listened—only better with me. I was important to him. He was attached. I knew how to handle each day. Each mood. Each emotion.
I now visit Justin at school. When I do, the teacher says, “Justin I have a surprise for you. Look who’s here.”
Justin runs up to me with his arms wide open. He says, “Lindsey!”
This is the best hug. He remembers who I am.
That summer influenced not only me, but Justin too. Two summers pass with Justin and the dedication paid off.
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Ever since I was old enough to dream, I have imagined myself soaring with the eagles. My love of flying has sculpted the way I live, and the person I have become. Two years ago that passion rocketed to new heights when I had the opportunity to visit Embry Riddle Aeronautical University in Prescott, Arizona. For a whole week I lived in a college dorm, roomed with a total stranger, and best of all… I flew!
My group took part in activities ranging from learning about the history of aviation to flying in state-of-the-art pilot training simulators. At least once a day, I strapped into one of the world’s best training aircraft, the Cessna 182. Not only did I receive thorough ground instruction, but I also got to –yes– fly. In total, I logged five hours toward receiving my private pilot’s license. In that one joyous and oh-so-short week, my passion for aviation grew even more than I thought possible. Now whenever I see a plane fly over, I feel a sense of pride in the fact that “ I’ve done that.”
During my time in and above the Arizona desert, I learned not only about the mechanics and techniques of aviation, but also about myself, and about how I see the world. As I floated in that seemingly endless sea of air, I became aware of the variety and complexity of the humanity below me. On the ribbons of roadways, each tiny car carried people with hopes and dreams. I clearly remember thinking, “I wonder if any of these people has ever wished to fly like an eagle?” Then I realized that each must have his or her own dreams and aspirations. That’s what makes us each unique. We try to respond to something special inside us. I also realized that I was especially fortunate to be making my own dream come true.
Everywhere I go, I hear, “Do what makes you happy in life, and you will be happy.” It sounds like the standard advice, but I’ve really thought about it, and I’ve taken it to heart. I could care less about how much money I make, or what benefits I receive, or anything of that sort. I know that I am already in hot pursuit my dreams. And, even if they change, even if they don’t involve aviation anymore…I’ll always aim to fly with eagles.
Who is the Hero of "The Crucible"? write essay help: write essay help
In The Crucible, there are many opposing points of view make the reader speculate about who, the book’s true hero is. In my opinion, I think John Proctor is the true hero of this epic story. John Proctor fought valiantly for his wife’s freedom, his own freedom, as well as for the freedom of many others of the condemned. In the end, however, Proctor let the want of what was left of his good name to be kept clean to be his downfall. Even in the face of death though, John Proctor showed courage and confessed to witchcraft, which was the rational thing to do. John Proctor is one of the story’s most dynamic characters, and this is the reason that I think he is the true hero.
In the very beginning of the play, we are led to believe that John Proctor is a sinner and a feared man among the townspeople of Salem. John Proctor was having some sort of affair with Abigail, which we find out is called lechery, and we find this out while the two of them are talking in Betty’s room. John Proctor denies any involvement with Abigail, but Abigail then says “I saw your face when she put me out, and you loved me then and you do now!” This makes us believe that John Proctor is cheating on his wife, Elizabeth, and that he is an evil man. On the contrary, John Proctor does many positive things, which outweigh the sins he has committed. Will Abigail use this information to try to blackmail John or his testimonies in the court later in the play?
In Act II of The Crucible, we find out that Abigail Williams has charged Elizabeth Proctor of witchcraft. Is Abigail finally getting her revenge for John denying that he does not love her? Proctor is outraged when he hears this, and Elizabeth thinks that Abigail wishes to take her place once she is hanged, and John knows this to be true. Abigail Williams said that Elizabeth had sent out her spirit and made it stab a needle into her stomach. John Proctor believes that Abigail is trying to get revenge on his wife for throwing her out, and John Proctor swears that he will do whatever he can to prove her innocence. John Proctor says “I will fall like an ocean on that court! Fear nothing, Elizabeth.” From this we can infer that Proctor would do whatever possible to save his wife, even if it means he must confess about his crime of lechery. John wants to make sure that the court knows this, and to use it to say that Abigail is doing this for her own purposes. We can infer that John Proctor will do anything to make the outcome in favor of him.
In Act III of The Crucible, Proctor successfully gets Mary Warren, their housemaid, to testify in front of the court to prove that his wife is innocent. Mary has signed a deposition and tells the court that “It were pretense, sir.” Shortly afterwards in the court, we find out that Elizabeth had sent a claim to the court saying that she was pregnant. John Proctor is told that if his wife begins to show signs in a month, Elizabeth will be permitted to live for another year, but John Proctor wants to make sure that Elizabeth will be acquitted of all charges of witchcraft, and prove that the girls are lying. Proctor goes through all of the trouble of getting 91 other respectable landholding farmers to vouch that Elizabeth had no dealings with the Devil. Surely if someone tried as hard as John Proctor to prove that they or someone else were innocent and that so many people believe it, it must be true. John Proctor goes even further by getting Giles Corey to testify that Mr. Putnam prompted his daughter to cry witchery so he can buy their and when they are dead. From all of this we can infer that John Proctor is extremely perseverant and once he has his mind set on a task, he will follow through with it.
Near the end of Act III of The Crucible, Elizabeth still continues to try to defend John, even though he has already confessed to his crime of lechery. Soon after, Abigail claims that she is being “attacked” by Mary’s spirit, which assumed the guise of a bird. Mary becomes so confused and flustered, but she goes to Abigail’s side and said that she will no longer listen to the Devil’s man, referring to John Proctor. When Proctor is questioned about this, he says “I say-I say-God is dead!” Surely he has just condemned himself to hang now? He starts to act crazy, saying things that would probably make anyone believe that he was a witch. If Elizabeth Proctor confessed to him being a lecher, the outcome would have been very decidedly different. All Elizabeth wanted to do was to try to keep what was left of John’s good name pure, and it was too late for her to confess after he told her that he did so. Proctor has tried so hard to prove his wife’s innocence, as long as many others, but the sides had turned on him. He became a victim of the witchcraft hysteria, doomed to hang on the gallows. We all know that Proctor only meant well, but he had no clue that everything would turn out like it did. From this act we can infer that John Proctor can also be stubborn at times, but still continuing on the idea that he is extremely perseverant. It’s a shame that a man who tried so hard for the others to be condemned to hang because he wanted to keep his good name.
In Act IV of The Crucible, we learn of Giles Corey’s death by being pressed and of John Proctor’s hint that he should confess to witchcraft. This shows that John Proctor was capable of reasoning, so that he would have been able to live with his wife and their new baby after it was born. He understands that he should not die for something he didn’t do, which shows that he is a logical, albeit somewhat rash. When he is questioned, he still defends all of the others that were condemned, showing that he would try to make it seem that they were innocent, even if it made him appear guilty. John Proctor does not want to sell out his friends, for if he does, he knows that they will surely be condemned to hang. When Proctor is given the document to sign his name saying that he confesses, he refuses to do so because he doesn’t want to be used to prove the church’s point. He let his pride get the better of him, and he didn’t want to have his name tarnished any further. He tears the paper, and at this moment he realizes that there is still a shred of goodness left in him. He lets himself to be taken away to be hanged, and Elizabeth does not want to try and stop them, because she didn’t want to take away the good in him that he just found.
In conclusion, we can infer that John Proctor was the true hero of The Crucible.
Throughout the whole play we learned that he was capable of doing anything he set his mind to, and putting others before himself. John Proctor was a man capable of doing many things, including his pride and arrogance which have gotten the better of him in the end. He was an extremely perseverant man, and no matter what anyone else said, they could not stop him. He stood bravely in the face of death, knowing that he would go peacefully since he was finally able to forgive himself and found the good within him. This is the reason why John Proctor is the legitimate true hero of The Crucible.
My First Day in Laos college essay help near me: college essay help near me
After getting all of luggage’s, and get everything checked out, like our passport, and some other stuff I don’t remember. When walked out of the airport, the whole family was waiting for us to show up. After everybody gave each others hugs, they were deciding who was going to drive with who, then my cousin told everyone that he will just take me. After he told them that, we took off and my cousin threw me the car keys to his Honda. At first I thought it was for putting the bags into the trunk. When I was about to throw him the keys to the car, he told me “what are you doing your driving” he also said “don’t tell the parents”. At first when I got in the car I was nervous because that was my first time driving. When we left the airport we went to the family restaurant, because that is where everyone is headed.
When we got to the restaurant the whole family was already there so when we got out of the car, we got caught by our other cousin’s. We told them not tell but there was a price to it we had to give them 20 dollars each. Sitting there for a couple of hours. My aunt who lives in Laos told everyone it time to go to work at the restaurant. Usually they open earlier but they had to go pick us up. After hearing her saying it time to go me and my cousin were the first to leave so, I can drive the car.
At first in my mind that was the best part of the trip. But I knew there going to be more. When we got to the store me and my cousin had to put in the drinks in the fridge. When I asked if I could get a drink I asked, for a cup and he told me that they don’t put it in cups they use bags. When I thought about it at first I said that strange but when I saw it I thought it was pretty cool. As the time was about to hit twelve o’clock my cousin told me that get ready all the kids from school is about to come cause it’s almost there lunch time. I told them to wake me up in about 10 minutes. They asked me why am I going to sleep I said “because I’m still tired from the plane trip.” .
But before I know it I was already twelve o’clock. I was disappointed because I couldn’t get a little nap in I wouldn’t have mind to get a least 5 minutes would be fine with me. Then when I looked over to the front the door I saw a whole bunch of school students coming this way, and I asked my cousin “is it going to be like this everyday?” he said this is not that much people. Me and my cousin were in charge of the drinks. The restaurant sold all kinds of Asian food.
After hours of serving drinks. The rush hour was gone. I thought it was time to close up. Everyone looked at me like I was crazy or something. Then they told me that we still have dinner and it going to get even crazier because a lot of people order out. The time between lunch and dinner, I see people coming in and out. All I was doing was playing some games and chilling with my cousin. As I watched the people walk in and out I thought to myself is that we are lucky because some people in Laos live on the street and when it gets cold it feels like everything is frozen. After while somebody came and tapped me on my shoulder and said it time to go home and rest for tomorrow. I asked my cousin did I sleep threw the dinner rush and he said yeah you did.
So You Want to Be an Engineer? rice supplement essay help: rice supplement essay help
Even though my sister lives in Washington DC now, I still find myself marveling at the Discovery Channel – my favorite shows being “Mythbusters” and “Discovery Project Earth.” These programs hold my attention in ways that allow me to focus my aptitude for and interest in science and engineering. By watching “Mythbusters,” I have witnessed how a working knowledge of science and engineering can work as the foundation on which to build an exciting, versatile, and productive career in engineering. Additionally, the entire cast of “Mythbusters” constantly reveals their unique personalities and senses of humor all while carrying out their responsibilities. The ability to be creative, use my intellect, and maintain my sense of humor are very important aspects of my education and future career that I can see resulting from an engineering degree. Not only has “Mythbusters” served as a significant influence on my future aspirations, but so has “Discovery Project Earth.” This miniseries relays information about the new technology and methods that scientists are creating and utilizing to reduce global warming and dependency on fossil fuels. While watching each episode religiously, I became aware of my concern for the environment and its protection. I watched the new methods being developed and could picture myself carrying out research of this nature in hopes of making a positive difference in the world and in people’s lives. I realized that I do not merely want to skate by in life behind a desk; I want to accomplish something, to continually be intrigued by and interested in my career, and to make a difference in the world – all through engineering.
Additionally, I have never been shy about my passion for science and engineering as I have been involved in many science clubs and competitions throughout high school. The Junior Engineering Technical Society allowed me to think like an engineer and try to solve problems that engineers face on a daily basis. Then through the Toshiba NSTA Awards Competition, I worked with two other classmates interested in engineering to invent a product that would improve on past technology; furthermore, we actually received recognition as being in the top 10% of all entries. This project was very eye opening and exciting because I was once again given the opportunity to put on the shoes of an engineer. Not only did these competitions further my interest in becoming an engineer, but I began to realize that not many girls were involved in theses activities. This understanding seemed strange to me because I attend an all girls’ school where I am surrounded by girls interested in science. However, I realize that is not the case across the state and nation. As a result, I would love to change the stereotype that men are brainier and more adept at math and science so they should become engineers. Also, I have talked with my sister about her experience studying mechanical engineering in college, a very male dominated field. She felt a little underrepresented and that the men did not always take her seriously, but she says that this feeling motivated her to do better and prove them wrong in the end. Thus, I would like to change people’s minds about engineering as well.
Everyone wants to make a difference in the world; however, I believe that as an engineer, the possibilities to make improvements are far greater. Because of my sister’s and my teachers’ guidance, I have developed a true passion for math, science, and problem solving. Thanks to these amazing people in my life, I have focused my talents towards engineering and even more specifically on energy and the environment. In a world, where consumption of energy and natural resources is continually climbing, I believe that it is our responsibility to attempt to lessen this dependency on finite resources. As a result, I hope to make a difference by developing new, more efficient, and more cost effective technology that uses renewable resources.
Fairy Tales my assignment essay help: my assignment essay help
As children, my cousin and I played a game when our families met for dinner, creating stories about other customers. Often, we found a beautiful woman and made her a princess in distress, waiting for Prince Charming. Eventually we grew older and our princess stories became childhood memories. Last week, my cousin and I met at a Thai restaurant to catch up. As we talked, I noticed a young girl curled up on a couch. Her blonde curls were slightly covering her thick Harry Potter book and you could tell by her brown eyes that she was enraptured by the story. At that moment, the memory of our game resurfaced and I nudged my cousin.
“See that little girl?” I nodded in the girl’s direction. My cousin turned.
“What about her?” she asked, puzzled.
“She’s six. She has two sisters and a brother.” My cousin’s face morphed from a look of confusion to a smile at the remembrance of our old game. I continued, “She taught herself how to read. She has already read the entire Junie B. Jones series. This year, she will administer reading tests to her classmates because she is already at a fifth grade reading level. In second grade, she will earn fifty-seven “crowns” for winning every spelling bee. When she takes a spelling test, she will always add a bonus word, “supercalifragilisticexpialidocious,” because she is proud that she can spell it. She will bring home extra math workbooks. In fourth grade, she will be shy; however, she will create a game for herself that forces her to participate. As she grows, she will lose and gain friends, but she will not change herself for anyone. When she is in high school, she will be proud that she stayed true to herself because it will teach her to be independent and it will make her strong. She will continue to push herself academically. She will develop strong relationships with her teachers, who will nominate her as a finalist for a good citizen award. They choose her because they see her passion for learning and her determination. Most importantly, she will find she loves making a difference in the lives of others. She will be there for her friends when they need her, and she will be compassionate and trustworthy. She will be open to new experiences and, as a result, she will learn new things every day. She will go to college with a confidence in her abilities and the knowledge that she will make a difference.” I finished my story. My cousin smiled knowingly at me.
“Are you sure that’s the story about the little girl, Alyx?” she asked. I could see her flashing back to images of me as a little girl, waiting for her family to arrive with my own face in a Harry Potter book. I just smiled.
“Oh, and one more thing,” I added. “That little girl will never need a Prince Charming to save her. She can do it herself.”
Memories Last a Lifetime college application essay help online: college application essay help online
I believe in traveling and exploring, making memories, and living life. When I was a little girl, my family owned a beautiful, old home in the mountains of Vermont where countless weekends were spent. I was fortunate enough to have such a wonderful home away from home, where I could create traditions with my family. Although the house is no longer a part of my life, the moments spent there will stay with me forever and play a part in shaping who I am today.
I remember the distinct, yet indescribable smell that hit me smack across the face and ran through my body with familiarity upon entering the house. I remember catching salamanders in the pond with old, rusty nets and feeling the amphibians’ slippery bodies before releasing them back into their natural habitat. I remember feeling weightless, like superwoman, flying through the air on the giant oak’s rope swing. I remember the damp, clean grass under by bare feet, running up and down the hills of the backyard. I remember the sweet, maple taste of the mini doughnuts, baked fresh from the shop in town. I remember fearing for my life when learning to ski for the first time, crossing winter sports Olympian off of my list of possible future careers. I remember the coldest water I’ve ever felt in the Mad River, but swimming anyways, no matter how much my body refused to adjust to the frigid temperature. I remember every last detail down to the weird face mug on the mantel above the fireplace and the dining room’s eerie chandelier. I remember being carefree. I remember happiness.
Looking back on it today, I realize that I took those moments for granted. Now that I have gotten older I understand how lucky I was to have such wonderful experiences and a strong and loving family with me along the way. Of course I miss those days. I miss being a little kid, when by biggest concern was the fact that my nine o’clock bedtime would prevent me from being able to watch “Full House”. That is not to say I would go back for a second though. I now understand how important it is to live in the moment, because before we know it, we blink and life passes us by. We spend too much of our time wishing for the future, or longing for the past, instead of simply enjoying what is right in front of us. If we all took one minute out of our day to appreciate what we have in this very moment, the ride might be slightly more bearable. I am thankful for all that I have had and am ready to seize whatever opportunities may come my way. It is a strong upbringing and memories such as the ones made in our Vermont home that have shaped me into the person I am today and I wouldn’t change any of it for the world.
Sankalp my essay help uk: my essay help uk
Big bright brown eyes stared up at me, peering through long dark eyelashes. Small, tan arms found their way around my legs, encircling me in a world of warmth. A smile was etched from ear to ear with an unfaltering gaze. And, as I looked down, I soon found my expression to mimic that of the little boy’s, whose arms embraced me, so tight.
“Kaylee?” the child murmured my name in a slight Indian accent.
A hum escaped my lips as a signal for him to continue.
“I have something to tell you, but you aren’t going to like it.” Surprisingly, the grin remained plastered to his face, despite the dreadful words that sent my nerves on edge. Panicked thoughts began to swirl my mind, and anxious butterflies arose in my stomach as I anticipated the boy’s remark.
I squat down to where I could see the boy eye to eye. “What is it, Sankalp?” A gentle smile was graced upon my face as the words slipped from my mouth, encouraging the boy to voice out his words.
Little did I know that the next six words spoken would break my heart in ways that I could have never foreseen. Sankalp cupped his tiny hands and whispered in my ear, “I wish you were my mom.”
A week earlier I would have never reckoned that God would have used me in ways to connect with types of people whom I’ve never related with before. Sankalp and his family were of Indian descent. There was no doubt that they resided in the Hindu religion and practiced it wholeheartedly. Their belief couldn’t have been more divergent from my own, as the very essence of my presence in their city, in their neighborhood, in their lives, was to spread the word and love of Jesus with my fellow youth group. They worshiped many gods, while I devoted my life to one, true God. They follow the teachings out of the Vedas, while my only life guide is the Bible. They believe in Karma and the act of earning your way into God’s eternal paradise, while I believe that the only way to Heaven is through Christ Jesus. Yet, regardless of the disparities between our beliefs, Sankalp, his family, and I connected in ways that didn’t go unnoticed to the eye.
Sometimes, still to this day, I look back and question how was I able to create such a bond with Sankalp. I remember the epiphany that came upon me that final day as I looked into the eyes of that small 5-year-old boy People of all nations come from totally different backgrounds, beliefs, cultures, races, and religions. However these things minute to the ultimate thing we have in common; we’re all human. We all struggle. We all have our worries. We all long for companionship and crave love. We all wake up each day, wandering, searching, and sometimes even finding our ultimate purpose in this life. These are the things that make us human, and these are the things that allow us to connect with one another.
Thoughtful Opinions college admission essay help houston tx: college admission essay help houston tx
This essay was written for a college honors application which asked the student to
reflect on JFK’s quote: “Too often we enjoy the comfort of opinion without the discomfort of thought.”
In our Western culture, where individualism is valued and the ability to make one’s own decisions is stressed, John F. Kennedy’s quote, “Too often we enjoy the comfort of opinion without the discomfort of thought,” reveals an unpleasant truth about the beliefs and opinions we like to call our own.
The quote describes the carelessness with which we often take on new opinions. Much of what we know and believe has been taught to us by others, and we often accept this information without spending much time thinking it over for ourselves. A distinction must be made between the sharing of developed and proven knowledge and the sharing of beliefs and ideas which may differ among cultures, generations, and individuals.
Collective learning – our ability to learn from the successes and failures of others – saves us a great deal of time and effort. Without inherited knowledge, each person would have to figure out for themselves, for example, what kinds of foods are edible, what two plus two equals, how to construct a shelter that stands up. We know these things already, thanks to those who figured them out for us long ago. We can instead add to that knowledge, and have chefs, spaceships, and high-rise buildings. Progress can be made.
However, there is a darker side to this inheritance as well. What if our sources of knowledge – traditional or contemporary – are wrong or their ideas are no longer appropriate for our time? If we do not constantly contemplate and reassess our deeply held beliefs, there is no way forward. If people did not think about whether it was right for women to be treated as inferior to men – a belief that had been passed down for generations – we would not have had a women’s movement or a population that believes in equal rights for all.
In today’s world, we are constantly being presented with information, ideas, and beliefs that often contradict each other. Psychology tells us that if we hear an idea enough times, or if it comes from someone we respect or view as an authority, we will likely believe that idea. In these cases, we base our opinions on the opinions of others. We don’t bother thinking for ourselves; we just believe. This is exactly what JFK was trying to tell us. If individuals don’t consciously think about the information they are presented with, we become nothing more than parrots quoting the opinions of someone who in turn, parroted them to us.
I often find myself guilty of this. In the middle of a conversation, I’ll find myself nodding along with whatever my friend is saying. Yet later, when thinking it over for myself, I realize I have a different opinion. Figuring this out after the conversation is over is extremely frustrating. I have come up with my real opinion too late to engage in the conversation, and I am disappointed in myself for mindlessly agreeing with what was being said.
As I know from first-hand experience, trying to think through all the opinions being shared as you hear them is hard, as is having the confidence to speak up when you disagree.But it is only by forming our own opinions and sharing them, that we can we present our real selves, and help to advance the powers of truth and honesty.
Today, there is a lot of drama and controversy surrounding the term “fake news.” One of the most influential factors in the spread of inaccurate stories are people who believe whatever they read and then share the story without thinking about the facts or investigating the source of the story – especially if the story is agreeable to them. All it takes is one quick click of the “share” button on Facebook, and the story travels on its way to influence even more unthinking readers. This can have serious consequences, as more and more people read the untrue stories, take on the story’s opinions as their own, and begin to act on these inaccuracies.
If we just stop for a moment to think about what we read and hear and form our own opinions, we will be more thoughtful, intelligent, and creative people – but few take that time.
Yet we need not despair over this unfortunate habit of ours. In fact, simply becoming aware of it is the first step toward correcting it. Awareness is a prelude to thinking, and once we become aware that we tend to take on and hold opinions and beliefs without thinking them through, we can change that pattern of behavior. We can learn to experience and appreciate the “discomfort of thought” and to find in our minds some strong opinions we can truly call our own.
Boots of Clovers scholarship essay help: scholarship essay help
Walking in the cold. Stopping in the rays of the sun. Walking more. I shiver as a cool breeze nips at my exposed neck. I pull my notebook closer to my chest and lower my head to look at my boots. They are wet and speckled with grass and clovers. As I raise my head, I spot a tree in direct sunlight. I continue my walk until I am faced with this very tree. Perfect. I sit at its base, open my notebook and look around for something to write about. Thinking. Thinking. Thinking.
My mind is blank. Instead, my eyes wander, searching for something to write about. My eyes soon close as I lean my head against the tree and take a deep breath. The world seems to slow as I lower my head. The trees in front of me are lost in the golden hue of the sun that continues to rise.
After what seems like a few seconds, the birds resume their early morning calls, already ignoring the fact that I have invaded their area. As I sit there I think of how unusual it is for me to be here at all. I am a disturbance, a nuisance, an irritation to the surrounding nature. I do not belong. I stick out like a drop of blood in a snowy field.
The curtain of sun that once graced me, has now moved on. The one reason that I sat at this very tree is now gone. A cold breeze nips at my cheeks. I zip up my vest and draw my legs in to retain heat.I glare at the rays of the ever moving sun, as if I had some sort of control over it.
A tiny red squirrel makes its way from tree to tree, stopping once it has reached the one where I rest. It lowers itself down the branches, peppering my paper with droplets of morning dew. I look up. I’m immediately graced with the curious face of the tiny squirrel, no more that six feet above me. It tilts its head to the right and I do the same, mimicking its actions. The tiny squirrel takes off as I move to get a better look. Everything seems to go still as the squirrel hurriedly makes its way through the trees. I freeze as well. Just as quickly as it appeared, it is now gone.
The birds once again resume their morning chatter, as if nothing happened. They don’t seem to care that a stranger is in their home. I wonder what they think of me. Am I just another creature, like the rest that periodically make their way through here. Or are they, like the squirrel, curious, but just too scared to come any closer. I look at the trail that I had come from and rule out the curiosity, for these trails are mowed and maintained. These birds have seen a person before and think nothing of it. But then why did the squirrel stop? Was it because I stopped and sat in one place? Was it the disturbance of my entire presence? Was it just a baby squirrel, curious at everything new?
I lower my legs as the sun decides to peek out from behind a tree and grace me with warmth once more. I close my eyes and bask in the golden rays. The cheerful tunes of the birds make sure I don’t dose off. I open my eyes once again.
I look at the smeared lines of my notebook as something catches my eyes. A tiny green clover is stuck to the side of my boot. The leaves are pressed flat, like a newly paved road. The stem barely curves to the right and changes shades to a lighter green. I gently remove it from its place and twirl it in my fingers. I then let it fall to the forest floor. I think of that clover, yanked from its comfortable home of the earth, plucked from its safe haven, then discarded as if it were nothing. It seemed out of place on my boots. Just as I seemed out of place in this forest. It seemed like nothing.
I stand, brushing myself off . I step back out to the trail and look back to where I once sat. The grass that once stood tall is now flattened. It looks out of place. Like it shouldn’t be there, and I am yet again reminded that I do not belong here.
I walk down the trail deep in thought. No longer am I stopping in the rays of the sun. No longer do I tuck my chin, when a cold breeze sweeps through. No longer do I notice the cold seeping into my bones. I do however notice a foot print. It is mine, from the walk out. I stepped in a clover patch. Was this where the single clover came from? I do not know. But as I look at this footprint I am greeted with a lovely sight. Where the clovers are now parted sits a small tree frog, that has seemed to make the parted clovers its new home.
Taking Control research essay help: research essay help
Cars are taking over. Now before you dismiss me as a lunatic who thinks automobiles want to rule the world, let me explain. They are taking over the role of the driver. The amount of driver replacing technologies proliferating through the auto industry is astronomical. Lane departure warnings, backup cameras and beepers, auto adjusting headlights, and now cars can even stop themselves! When did the chair in front of the steering wheel and pedals become a passenger seat? Modern vehicles are training drivers to detach from driving. I know who, or should I say what, is to blame for this travesty. It is the automatic transmission’s fault.
I learned to drive in our family’s Volvo S70 and Acura MDX, both automatic equipped vehicles. But when the time came to purchase my own car my dad suggested I consider a manual, also known as a stick. This suggestion did not interest me in the slightest at first because there was sure to be a frustrating learning curve that would take months to get around. Six months later, I finally purchased my first car, a 2005 Nissan Sentra SE-R SpecV. Besides coming equipped with a tongue-twister of a name, this sporty sedan also came with a 6-speed manual transmission. By that time I had spent maybe an hour behind the wheel of a friend’s manual to learn the basic technique. But learning to drive my car constituted the first extended experience I had “rowing my own”. Much to my surprise, I was driving stick like a pro within a week. And now, I would not give up a manual for anything. A few months ago my younger sister bought her first car, a 5-speed wielding Kia Spectra5. We are now a house divided, the children driving manuals, and both my parents putting around in automatics.
Let’s examine these two transmissions purely for mechanics. Manual transmissions use a driver actuated clutch that connects and disconnects the engine from the transmission. A system of gears actuated by a shift lever composes the gearbox. It’s a relatively simple and lightweight design. Automatic transmissions use a torque converter assembly to couple the engine to the gears. This system works using fluid coupling, and has fewer parts than a clutch. But the gearbox itself contains a jumble of planetary gear sets and clutch packs. The computer uses fluid based actuators to activate different clutches and change whether the sun, planetary, or ring gear is being driven, causing the automatic to shift. Sound complicated? Probably because it is. Manual transmissions have far fewer parts which means less can go wrong. It also produces a lighter assembly, which aids in the performance and efficiency categories.
While the inner workings of cars fascinate me, the mechanics of a transmission are a little over the top for many people. But everyone knows how to have fun. The manual transmission creates a far more entertaining driving experience than an automatic. The driver has complete control over the gear selection in a manual. A driver can downshift, causing the engine rpms to jump and gain speed. Or they can go into stealth mode by shifting to higher gears and dropping the rpms low, making the vehicle soundless. Even on the big screen manuals beat automatics. Think about the Fast and Furious franchise. Where would they be without their repeated sequences of quick upshifts for more speed or downshifts to initiate a drift? In an automatic there are essentially three choices. Forward, park, and reverse. Choosing among those hardly constitutes exhilarating driving. Imagine the look on your friends’ faces as they cling to the door handles while you manually fly through gears and corners. Your expertise will surely impress them. True, this kind of driving is not as easy as the movies make it seem. An automatic is easier by far. Jump in and go, no hassle. A manual requires a certain amount of practice and skill, but so does riding a bicycle, and we all overcame that challenge. Log a few miles in a car with a stick and one becomes proficient at shifting. The “fun” choice in transmission is clearly the manual.
However, cruising the open road is not always about fun and games. An enormous amount of responsibility goes with driving a car, and the danger you pose to yourself as well as to others when you shirk your duty behind the wheel is real. For safety, manuals are a clear winner as well. With an automatic, the simplicity of the driving task, and the degree to which the car can take over the driving operation encourages the driver to let his or her hands and mind wander to other things. Guys can be tempted to shave, tie a tie, and drink coffee while cruising to an early morning business meeting occupies our attention. Women tend to apply lipstick, mascara, and other beauty products. These operations can require taking your eyes off the road, a huge no-no in the safe drivers’ handbook. Manuals, however, require much more attention. Gears need to be changed and clutch pedals need to be pushed. The car will not shift by itself. And since the driver is forced to pay attention to the driving process, these other distractions must wait. Though driving a manual may necessitate getting up earlier to finish getting ready for work, it is sleep well worth losing.
In the end, the deciding factors are factors are power and efficiency. I feel that the manual most effectively combines both aspects. When one wants to accelerate quickly, a manual gearbox allows you to hold the gear longer, rising higher into the power curve of the engine. Or you can downshift, bringing the engine rpms up rapidly and gaining more power. If efficiency is your goal, simply shift earlier, and keep the rpms as low as possible. With a manual it is possible to have the best of both worlds. Automatics however can only really accomplish one of these tasks. The car’s computer tuning decides whether the transmission will strive for efficiency or power. If you are looking for efficiency though, modern day automatics have become incredibly mileage oriented, even to the point where some surpass manuals. And a well-tuned automatic can accelerate as quickly as a manual off the line. They are capable machines, but they lack the ability to multitask. When seeking the perfect blend of performance and efficiency, the manual takes the checkered flag.
The difference between a manual and an automatic transmission is like the difference between baking your own cake and purchasing one from the store. Baking isn’t easy. It may take a few burned attempts or a crumbly, dry disaster before you get the delectable wedding worthy cake you had a craving for. But a certain pride goes into producing your own cake, just as pride goes into completely controlling your car. Even if it first comes at the cost of embarrassing stoplight stalls or a burned clutch. The real beauty in baking a cake though is in making it your very own. So the grocery store has 6 different flavors and 4 different frostings. Hey they even have sprinkles and chocolate shavings! But did you add a little extra sugar for sweetness? Did you subtract a little butter to spare your arteries? Or is your rum cake more rum than cake to make things interesting? Homemade cakes are one of a kind. They are made to fit your tastes, not a plastic container. Manuals allow you to craft your own driving style. Make it fast, make it fun, make it efficient, make it yours. Do not settle for an automatic’s preconceived notions about when you should shift. What makes it think it knows better than you? It is your oven, or your car.
Auto manufacturers insist on taking away our ability to drive. You cannot go more than a mile without the “helpful” beeping of that collision prevention sensor from hell assaulting your ears. Believe me I know. The backup sensor in my family’s Ford Excursion beeps about 20 times a second if you are closer than 5 feet to some object, which happens in every parking lot, and yes it is as annoying as it sounds. Literally. It is time to take back control. The car thinks it knows better than we know, but as long as we sit in that driver’s seat, we will be the boss. Manuals are being phased out in favor of the automatic. Car salesmen everywhere say it is better this way, that automatics conserve power and efficiency without damaging the driving experience. They would be misinformed. Manuals offer more power, efficiency, and fun while maintaining safety. The battle for the driver rages on, and saving the manual is the key to winning it. Because, to quote Car and Driver’s Eddie Alterman, “Little boys asking their fathers, ‘Daddy what’s the third pedal for?’ makes baby Jesus cry.”
Queen of the Library university essay help: university essay help
Thestubborn wheels on the dilapidated black cart squeaked disruptively against thesolemn stillness of the musty air. The soft thud of books being opened and thehiss of pages being turned permeated the silence, creating an odd, soothingserenity. This was my domain, my realm, my kingdom, for I was Queen of theLibrary. Well, maybe not, but ever since the first time I donned mynavy-blue vest and began working as a page, I felt a certain intrigue there thatmy friends failed to see. Led by my enthusiasm, three of them applied for jobs,worked a few months, and quit. People often made sympathetic remarks aboutworking at a “boring” library three days a week, and I would hide thesmile that tugged at the corners of my lips. Boring? My work was anythingbut. Amidst the softly falling dust and between the rows of tottering bookshelveslay a subtle magic, often unseen by rushed patrons frantically searching forbooks. During those hours of work, I saw glimpses of my life flittingbetween the dog-eared pages around me. As I shelved book after book, my eyes rancontemplatively over the spines of the ones I had read. My gaze settled onHemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea and I saw Santiago’s tenacity in strugglingagainst the fish and sharks. I marveled at the determination of this humble manand wondered if I, too, would have the same inner strength, the same unwaveringdetermination, the same nobility of character. Memories of last summerwent through my mind, reminding me of a struggle in my microcosmic world, astruggle in which I was Santiago and physics was the impassive sea, themagnificent fish, a fierce shark. I had taken physics at Yale and watched theother high-school students drop the class until only I remained with 20university students. Overcoming obstacles and learning valuable lessons ondetermination, responsibility and maturity assured me that I, like Santiago,ultimately triumphed. My eyes caught a glimpse of The Grapes of Wrath,a book which had left me uneasy and meditative. My worries seemed to pale incomparison with the tribulations of the Joad family. How could I complain aboutmoving across the state and having to adjust when the Joads moved across thecountry only to be cheated and disillusioned? After all, I had thrived in my newhigh school, but the Joads had failed in their pursuit of the American Dream.When I learned about the Great Depression in history class, the Joads loomed infront of me, reminding me to appreciate all my opportunities. As Iwheeled my cart of books over the uneven carpeted floor, I passed the sciencesection. I saw books on Einstein’s Theory of Relativity, black holes and quasarsthat I had enthusiastically thumbed through. My love of science, allied with mypassion for reading, beckoned me to sit and explore. Come sift throughour pages. You say you want to be a doctor? Read about Fleming, who inventedpenicillin, or Sabin, who invented the polio vaccine. We have so much to offeryou, the books silently implored. I quickly moved away before my hand couldgravitate toward those tempting pages. As I watched the swirling dustsettle back over the ancient books after being disturbed by my movements, I feltpast, present and future merge in the common medium of the library air. I musedover my past, reflected on my present life and speculated about my future as Iwarily watched a languid spider take refuge in an undisturbed corner. The soundsfrom outside entered this world in muffled, hushed tones. The air was saturatedwith magic.
The Golden Rule scholarship essay help: scholarship essay help
One day as a naive child, I asked my parents, “If you are supposed to treat others the way you want to be treated, why is anyone ever mean?” Everyone I know had had the golden rule branded into their brains ever since they could hear, yet, as some got older, the branding had obviously faded. Even as a young girl this phrase stuck in my mind and ever since then I have tried to live through it.
Recently, I saw the benefits of treating others the way I would like to be treated. Throughout my work with the St. Ignatius Teen Service Group, Key Club, and the Fellowship of Christian Athletes, I have been able to help so many people in various ways. For me, it was never about getting credit. I’ve always wondered why we need to keep track of community service hours in high school because if you really care about the people you are affecting, you don’t care about the credit on your end. As I was applying for colleges, I came across the teacher recommendation section and had to think of the people in my life that could describe my true character the best. I have been accepted to every single school that I have heard back from so far. I know I could never have said that without these people that have gotten to know me over the years. Being respectful and honest with the writers of my recommendation letters has allowed them to write respectively and honestly about me. If I had been rude to them, I know I would not have been given all of the opportunities that are popping up right in front of me.
“Watch your thoughts, for they become words. Watch your words, for they become actions. Watch your actions, for they become habits. Watch your habits, for they become character. Watch your character, for it becomes your destiny.” -Unknown. After reading this quote on a poster at my school, I began to really think about it and realized how true and important it is. If you are always good to people; if you always respect and share with others, people will notice. You will make a lasting impression in their minds that will assist them in their decision of how to treat you.
How I Became an “Old Man” my assignment essay help london: my assignment essay help london
“Sir‚ name and rank‚ sir.”
That was my most frequently used phrase during my first month in the United States at the Culver Military Academy. I was a second-class man (junior) but also a new cadet.
As a Chinese student who had never been to America before, it was painstaking to memorize the names and ranks of the “old men” (branch-qualified cadets).
“Sir, good morning, uh – uh – First Ser – Ser, uh, Sergeant uh – Puc, uh, Puccia, sir.” It took me forever to greet them in the hallway.
Feeling embarrassed, I wrote down the names and ranks of all 47 “old men” in my unit and sat on my bed for hours each day, reading my list and whispering, “Lance Corporal Turner, Color Corporal Weber ….”
“Tuck in your shirt! Don’t talk in the hallway! Square your corners when you march!” they would always bark at me.
Waking at 5:30 each morning, I put on my uniform, shined my shoes, swept the floor, and made my bed so there were absolutely no wrinkles. Then I stood outside my room, waiting for inspection. That was the reality of my career as a new cadet.
Because of my superior performance, I was the first cadet invited to Boards, the rigorous testing and inspection for a new cadet to become a branch-qualified “old man.”
The most important part of the process was the room preparation, so I needed to thoroughly clean my room and make sure every nook and cranny was spotless. I woke up at 6 a.m. that Saturday and got to work. To eliminate the dust bunnies hiding in the corners, I bought two bottles of Lemon Pledge. I pulled out the drawers of my desk and crawled underneath. Lying on my back, I sprayed and wiped every inch of the desk, including the underside, the drawer slides, and the legs. I did the same to my wardrobe, bed, and lamp; I even polished my room key.
The hardest part of the preparation was the floor. Dragging, pulling, hauling, pushing, I moved everything out of my room and into the hallway. Piles of dust hidden for years lay where my desk, bed, and wardrobe had stood.
After I had swept up the dust and mopped the floor twice, I opened my second bottle of Pledge. On my hands and knees, I polished the floor one section at a time. By the time I had backed into the hallway, my shirt was wet, my knees were numb, and sweat dripped down my cheeks faster than I could wipe it away. But the floor shone, almost too much. I soon realized how smooth, even slippery, my floor was – I had cleaned it with furniture polish.
“Hey, what’s up, Wu?” a friend asked as he stepped into my room. “When are you– aagh!” His feet flew out and
he fell flat on his back. I can hardly remember how many other boys fell. In a while, my room was filled with cadets in socks spinning like ice skaters.
I lay on my back in the hallway outside my room. “One‚ two‚ three … Go!” Jason pushed my feet and I glided into the room, staring up as the ceiling sped by. Wham! My head slammed into the heater.
Back to work, I shined my shoes until I could see my teeth in them. I folded shirts for five hours, kneeling on the floor with a steel straight-edge: “No, it’s still not exactly 8 by 10 inches.” I folded them, unfolded them, folded them again.
I spent 17 hours cleaning my room. I passed Boards.
I keep two empty bottles of Pledge and a steel straight-edge on my desk to remind me of that day. When I face huge academic and emotional pressures, the sight of the bottles keeps me motivated; when I feel contented and sated, I turn to the steel straight-edge, which inspires me to seek perfection. I bring this motivation and perfectionism with me as a member of Squadron Staff, supervising 138 cadets, leading my unit to be the best in the regiment, and getting straight A’s.
I keep two empty bottles of Pledge and a steel straight-edge in my room to remind me that I can accomplish great feats. .
Borderline Personality Disorder as Shown in Girl, Interrupted writing essay help: writing essay help
The movie Girl, Interrupted was released in 1999 and centered on the story of an eighteen year old girl, Susanna Kaysen, who has been diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder. The movie takes place in the Boston area in the late 1960’s. Susanna Kaysen, is the daughter of a prominent well-known economist. The story is based around Susanna’s personal struggles and when she was admitted into a mental hospital for what she called a “half-hearted attempt” to kill herself. Throughout the movie, she further describes what made her decide to check herself into the institution, what it was like there, and other thoughts she had toward the world.
Susanna Kaysen was admitted into Claymoore Hospital and was diagnosed with a borderline personality disorder. In the beginning of the movie she started off by saying, “People ask, how did you get in there? What they really want to know is if they are likely to end up there as well. I can’t answer the real question. All I can tell them is, it’s easy.” Kaysen continued on by explaining how it is very simple to slip into a similar universe, one that is invisible from this side, but once you are in that universe you can easily see the world that you came from. I believe that Susanna Kaysen met the criteria for a diagnosis of borderline personality disorder. The 5th edition of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual lists several symptoms of borderline personality disorder, and to be diagnosed she had to meet at least 5 of them (American Psychiatric Association, 2000). In many cases, a person that has been diagnosed with BPD and has arrived in a mental health emergency room have intentionally hurt themselves in one way or another, ranging from alcohol and substance abuse, delinquency, unsafe sex, and reckless driving (Coffey et. al., 2011; Sherry & Whilde, 2008). Other situations that can occur in a person diagnosed with BPD are shifts in their moods, having an unstable self-image, impulsivity, unstable relationships, anger, and physical aggression and/or violence. The first of the criteria for BPD in Girl, Interrupted, was having suicidal thoughts and doing things to contribute to a possible suicide by attempting what Susanna called a “half-hearted attempt” to kill herself by taking a bottle of aspirin with vodka. In the movie, she stated that she has a headache, which I believe could have been true to a point, but she also was feeling more and more pressure from her family and friends to be more “normal” and at the same time there was a fallout with the teacher she had been having an affair with. The second criteria was inflicting harm on the body by cutting or bruising. After she attempted suicide, she was rushed to the emergency room the camera angle switched from everybody frantically moving around to help to her wrists. She had bruises all over her wrists and she kept telling the doctors she didn’t have any bones in her hand. It doesn’t explain how she got the bruises anywhere in the movie, but I can assume it was by some type of self-harm. Physical discomfort offers relief from emotional suffering by “snapping” them out of their “emotional overload.” The third criteria was Susanna’s attempts to remain in the relationships to avoid feeling abandoned. Toward the middle of the movie, she has a flashback of the affair she had with one of the teachers and with a guy that she met after her high school graduation. In both cases, she was having unsafe sex and staying in the relationships so that she felt wanted and loved, and not rejected. The fourth criteria was filling the emptiness that was being felt by doing something she knew wasn’t right but gave her a thrill. Susanna felt as if nothing was going how she wanted it and she was the only person feeling that way. In the movie, Susanna and Lisa, a girl in the institution, decided to sneak out of the institution and go on a trip to visit another girl that had been there with them, Polly. Both of them knew they could get into trouble, but the continued on anyway. The fifth criteria was when she experienced a shift in moods and felt like she had no sense of herself at all. Toward the end of the movie, there was a time Susanna was convinced she wasn’t going to get better and she got defensive over what Dr. Wick was telling her about her diagnosis. She continued on and stated how “she didn’t care” and her new favorite word to describe herself was ambivalent because she said it meant she didn’t care anymore and she was going to do whatever she felt was right. Dr. Wick continued on and asked Susanna if she knew what the word ambivalent meant, Susanna replied, “It means, I don’t care.” Dr. Wick then told her that the word actually meant undecided or in two minds, kind of like thinking, “will I stay or will I go?” and then asked Susanna if she cared about herself. I believe Susanna developed these patterns more in adulthood, but everything stemmed from her childhood events.
There are several different views on how a person like Susanna could have developed BPD. One view that theorists have, is that an early lack of acceptance by parents may lead to a loss of self-esteem, increased dependence and an inability to cope with separation (Caligor & Clarkin, 2010; Sherry & Whilde, 2008). Children with parents that have neglected or rejected them, verbally abused them, or otherwise behaved inappropriately around them, have an increased chance of developing BPD. Multiple parent substitutes, divorce, death, physical and/or sexual abuse are also things that play a part in developing BPD. Sexual abuse is one of the most common contributors to the development of BPD and children that experience it at least four times are more likely to develop it (Huang et. al., 2010; Bradley et. al., 2005). In the movie, Susanna’s mom made a comment on when Susanna was a baby, she was changing her diaper and she turned around for a split second and that was when Susanna rolled off the bed and broke her leg. She said the doctor put Susanna in a full body cast and her parents went on a 4,000 mile trip with Susanna buckled in the backseat in the body cast.
There are also biological factors that could be contributing to BPD. Studies have shown that people with an overly active amygdale, a part of the brain that controls fear and negative emotions, and an underactive prefrontal cortex, a part of the brain linked to planning, self control, and decision making, can cause a person to develop BPD. More people that have BPD and that are more aggressive tend to have a lower serotonin activity than most people.
Most clinical circles today use the dialectical behavior therapy method. This method focuses on the cognitive and behavioral techniques such as homework, assignments, psychoeducation, improving and teaching social skills. It also focuses on the humanistic and contemporary psychodynamic approaches by putting the client and therapist’s relationship in the center of their treatment, teaching the client proper boundaries and acceptance.
Groups that use this method also help the clients by having them relate to others in the group and showing that they are able to receive support from them. Studies have shown that people that have been through this method have increased their ability to tolerate stress, improved their social skills, better attitudes toward life situations, maintaining a more stable identity and they are more likely to stay in the treatment. Other studies have been done to find that clients that take medications such as antidepressants, antibipolar, antianxiety, and antipsychotic drugs along with psychotherapy have benefited and fewer suicidal behaviors and hospitalizations have been reported.
If I were to treat Susanna, I would most likely use the dialectical behavior therapy to treat her borderline personality disorder. The reason I would choose this is partially because it is more commonly used today within many clinical circles and I feel that having her focus on social skills, the relationship between her therapist, others in the group, and herself, realizing that she is able to receive support from others, and maintaining a healthier life would greatly benefit her. I think it would help her refrain from contemplating another suicide attempt, participating in unsafe activities and it would help control her anger, depression and any other emotions she had been feeling.
The movie Girl, Interrupted was released in 1999 and centered on the story of an eighteen year old girl, Susanna Kaysen, who has been diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder. Susanna Kaysen was admitted into Claymoore Hospital and was diagnosed with a borderline personality disorder.
In order for a person to be diagnosed, they need to meet at least five of the criteria listed in the DSM. The first of the criteria was having suicidal thoughts and doing things to contribute to a possible suicide by attempting what Susanna called a “half-hearted attempt” to kill herself by taking a bottle of aspirin with vodka. In the movie, she stated that she has a headache, which I believe could have been true to a point, but she also was feeling more and more pressure from her family and friends to be more “normal” and at the same time there was a fallout with the teacher she had been having an affair with. The second criteria was inflicting harm on the body by cutting or bruising. After she attempted suicide, she was rushed to the emergency room the camera angle switched from everybody frantically moving around to help to her wrists. She had bruises all over her wrists and she kept telling the doctors she didn’t have any bones in her hand. The third criteria was Susanna’s attempts to remain in the relationships to avoid feeling abandoned. Toward the middle of the movie, she has a flashback of the affair she had with one of the teachers and with a guy that she met after her high school graduation. In both cases, she was having unsafe sex and staying in the relationships so that she felt wanted and loved, and not rejected.
The fourth criteria was filling the emptiness that was being felt by doing something she knew wasn’t right but gave her a thrill. In the movie, Susanna and Lisa, a girl in the institution, decided to sneak out of the institution and go on a trip to visit another girl that had been there with them, Polly. They knew they could get into trouble, but the continued on anyway. The fifth criteria was when she experienced a shift in moods and felt like she had no sense of herself at all. Dr. Wick was explaining her diagnosis and Susanna stated how she didn’t care and did her own thing for a little longer before realizing it wasn’t right.
There are several different views on how a person like Susanna could have developed BPD. One view that theorists have, is that an early lack of acceptance by parents may lead to a loss of self-esteem, increased dependence and an inability to cope with separation (Caligor & Clarkin, 2010; Sherry & Whilde, 2008). Children with parents that have neglected or rejected them, verbally abused them, or otherwise behaved inappropriately around them, have an increased chance of developing BPD. I believe that Susanna’s development of BPD started when she was younger but developed more as she got older. I also believe it’s because of the lack of self-confidence that Susanna had growing up and once she got older that affected her BPD.
If I were to treat Susanna, I would most likely use the dialectical behavior therapy to treat her borderline personality disorder. The reason I would choose this is partially because it is more commonly used today within many clinical circles and I feel that having her focus on social skills, the relationship between her therapist, others in the group, and herself, realizing that she is able to receive support from others, and maintaining a healthier life would greatly benefit her. I think it would help her refrain from contemplating another suicide attempt, participating in unsafe activities and it would help control her anger, depression and any other emotions she had been feeling.
Susanna’s behaviors in the movie Girl, Interrupted are consistent with a diagnosis of borderline personality disorder, most likely contributed by events that happened in her childhood and an overly reactive amygdale, and which could be treated by the dialectical behavior therapy.
Becoming a Lawyer essay help free: essay help free
Justice is something that needs fighting for. Without it, this world would be a mess. There would be serious trouble in distinguishing the bad from the good, and the fair with the unfair. Laws are in charge of making sure that justice is practiced in certain situations. The absence of a legal system would permit terrible injustices upon the most vulnerable members of society. Having this in mind, we can see why anyone with a sense of justice would want to be a lawyer. Lawyers have the responsibility of protecting the innocent, ensuring that people get equal chances, and defending rights.
Schooling is very important to get into law school. The first step is studying hard in high school, getting good grades, and getting a good score on the College Board /SAT. This is helpful in terms of getting into a good college. Most law schools require having a bachelor’s degree prior to enrollment, so choosing what to study for that is the second step. These undergraduate studies don’t have certain specifications, so what a person studies for their bachelor’s degree does not affect his/her submission to law school. A person can choose to either study subjects that are considered to be traditional preparation for law school (such as history, English, philosophy, political science, economics or business), or areas as diverse as art, music, science and mathematics, computer science, engineering, nursing or education. After choosing what to study before law school, it is important to maintain a good point average. A person’s performance during those years (like maintaining good grades and good point average) is key into entering law school.
Entering law school per se requires a couple of things. It is important to look into the deadlines for law school applications. The sooner a person applies, better are the chances of getting in (applications are abundant, especially around the deadline date). Another step is registering with the Law School Admissions Council (LSAC) and for the LSAT online or by mail. The LSAT is offered four times a year in every state, usually at major universities. One can apply to take the test through the LSAC, and the LSAC submits your scores to the law schools you apply to. The last step would be selecting a law school. When making the selection, one should look for American Bar Association (ABA) accredited schools. The rest depends on a person’s own likes and needs (some may like large schools, others small schools, etc). Law schools tend to be competitive, so researching and comparing beforehand is not a bad idea.
Some may consider funding a problem. It is clear that law schools are expensive, since tuition can range from $5,000 a year to more than $35,000. Something else to have in mind is the overall cost when including books, lodging, food, transportation, and other living expenses. Yet, what makes studying affordable are the various economical help options available when entering law school. For instance, one can apply for grants (money given by the Federal or State government). Grants are usually rare and require a long application process, but they are not impossible to get. Another option you can apply for are scholarships, and these are usually awarded for academic excellence. Lastly, one can apply for loans. There are two types of loans: federal loans and private loans. Federal loans are based more on the student’s needs and are harder to get, and private loans usually require good credit.
Becoming a lawyer is no easy task. It takes time, effort and perseverance to succeed. If a person has a passion for justice, fairness and the law, no matter the circumstances that person will endure until the end. Apart from the money earned as a lawyer, the true joy and satisfaction is knowing that you helped the world become a better place: a world with justice, equal rights, and fairness.
Firsts summary and response essay help: summary and response essay help
As a child, those first experiences in your life are always memorable. You know- your first step, first word, first haircut. Then, once you’re older, the first time you have *** is the biggest first in your life. People fail to take the time to appreciate all of those other, less known, but equally important firsts. Matthew G. was the reason why I experienced some of the most memorable times of my life.
I met Matthew G. in the summer of 2009. He was the nephew of the farmer with whom I lived and worked for during the summer. The two students from my high school who went to this farm in past summers both told me they thought I would get along with Matthew the best. Of course, this made me excited to meet him, but with my luck, the first time I met Matthew was a couple weeks into my stay and for one minute, literally. The next time though was when I got to go over to his house down the road and see his newest baby chicks. You can say that Matthew is the “chicken guy”. Now, I normally don’t get excited about chickens, but these were all black and very tiny.
Matthew is a great guy. A person can learn a lot from him, I know I did. He is very smart and likes to tell you little fun facts about random things. I am just as smart as he. He helped me remind myself of that. Matthew has really bad asthma. For this reason, he does not smoke or chew tobacco, but I don’t think he would even if he didn’t have asthma. He has also learned not to drink. It was refreshing to have met someone who didn’t have any of these habits. I don’t drink or smoke, but many of my peers do. Matthew doesn’t have a girlfriend, and unlike most people our age, he knows that he doesn’t need one to be complete. Actually, he is happy being single, and I like that attitude. The more I talked to Matthew one on one, the more I saw I could relate to him. It is nice to meet someone involved in situations similar to your own. While he has a hard exterior, he is a nurturing guy when it comes to his chickens. That is also a nice quality to find in someone. Matthew has impacted me through his influence. His energy helped lift my spirits. He taught me how to stand out more and be comfortable with myself, but he also helped me fit in with my new family and friends during summer. He is goal oriented and knows where he wants to go to college and what to major in. I want to be able to have a plan, just like him and still be able to have fun.
Matthew loves to cook and his two specialties are lasagna and zucchini bread. I am not a fan of zucchini, so why would I ever eat zucchini bread? Matthew made me try a piece of his first loaf of the season and I was surprised to say, it tasted delicious. He even made his famous lasagna one night after me begging him for weeks. I take after my father in my I love for lasagna, so of course I needed to taste this amazing recipe of Matthews. The whole family appreciated Matthew making the lasagna for me because they all love it. This wasn’t only a treat for his family. Everyone in town knows that my farm family doesn’t cook, so this was a free meal for me and I did love it. I also got to eat some of the cherry tomatoes from his garden. Over the past few years, I have had the pleasure of eating fresh grown foods, and now supermarket tomatoes just don’t taste the same.
One night not far into the summer, Terri, my farmer, was not going to be able to do the night milking. I still had to work, doing my daily chores, but Matthew and a young man named Andrew, were taking her place milking. At the end of the night, when Matthew was going to take me home, the car wouldn’t start. That night was the first night I learned how to jump start a car and what an adventure it was. We would get the car to start, and it would stall out again. We even had to go to his grandma’s to take her car back to his house. Eventually, the car worked continuously.
I had never been to a drive in theater before this summer. Knowing this, Matthew invited me with his friends to see a double feature of “Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince” and “The Hangover” at the drive in. Matthew’s two friends kicked both of us out of the car. Even with having to sit outside of the car, in the cold rain, it was a great experience. Matthew and I had a lot of fun laughing and watching the movie, even though we got wet and had trouble hearing parts of the movie. On the brighter side, it was another first for me. I also had the pleasure of attending my first bonfire to which he was nice enough to invite me. What I remember the most about that night was the shaken up can of soda being thrown into the fire. It exploded and flew many feet away, landing somewhere in the field. Matthew found the burned can and kept it as a souvenir.
Thanks to Matthew, I saw my first shooting star that summer. I have been to the “country” before, so I have star gazed. But, I had never gotten a chance to see a shooting star. For some reason, I always seem to miss them. Matthew had been trying to show me one, but the skies had been cloudy for a while. Then one night we were outside the barn talking, looking up at the sky, when I saw the star shoot across it. Matthew asked if I had seen that one, and for once, I did. It was beautiful.
Since the town of Pattersonville is not far from Cobleskill, many people attend the annual Cobleskill Sunshine Fair. Matthew was going to the fair and I convinced him to take Billy and me with him after an afternoon of loading hay into the barn. Attending the fair added another first to my list of firsts. Apparently, Matthew doesn’t go to fairs for the rides or games or shopping tents. He goes just to walk around. We did get to look at all the show animals though, meet new people, and I even stole a sip of his slush puppie. Overall, it was an exciting night. I even got to go to my first Park and Ride along the highway. It was after seeing the movie, District 9, on my last night on my farm, that Matthew, Billy, and I went. While going to the Park and Ride might not sound exciting, it was still new to me.
On another night, we watched one of his DVDs, “Dejavu,” which I had never seen before. Since I seemed to fall asleep during the movies I watched with him, he made sure I stayed awake to see the end. It was an entertaining movie, and Matthew came up with some funny jokes relating to it that we recorded on my phone so I can listen to them whenever I need a laugh. I milked with Matthew a couple nights during the summer, went grocery shopping with him a couple times, went swimming, drank chocolate shakes, and watched an after fourth of July fireworks show. While they weren’t firsts of mine, they were still moments I will remember.
He did help me have a lot of fun this summer and laugh a lot. A friend recently told me that they believe it is hard to find someone who has impacted your life with whom you were never intimate. Well, Matthew is a great example of this. He and I were never intimate, but I will always remember those firsts from this past summer. I do talk to him every once in a while, but even if we don’t always keep in touch, I know that he has impacted my life, and I am lucky to have met him.
Reading bed time stories. my essay help uk: my essay help uk
The boy crinkles his nose in response to the smell of the musty, antique odor from the well-worn book, the faded title of Harry Potter enscripted on the cover. The little boy, ten years old at most, sits on the couch and begins to read the book. He is lost in his own world, in a world of wizardry, sorcery, and magic. Two, three, four, five hours fly by; the boy refuses to even eat dinner, refuses to even lift his eyes for a second from the book. He reads until he is finished, until the hunger of not food but imagination is nourished. He sets the book down and glances at the clock. It’s past 1 o’clock and there’s no time to ask his parents for dinner. He goes into the kitchen to fix himself a midnight snack.
Ever since I was a child, I remembered how much I loved reading. Reading was a stimulant; a positive outlet in which I can express my imagination and journey into an uncharted world of a book. Born as a second generation South Korean, I was raised in an environment in which my parents struggled to settle in the American culture. My parents were awkward, strange, and different. Their limitations as immigrants impacted me; often as a child, I was alone, quiet, introverted. Growing up in a household where I was forbidden to speak English, it was a struggle to understand fully the meaning in the words of the books I read. I yearned to understand the depth of the books I read but the words challenged me, almost taunting me that, like my parents, I wouldn’t be able to overcome the situation I was placed in. But I worked hard. Every week, I went to the library to check out new books. Towers of unread books that came home every Monday became a scattered rubble of accomplishment by Friday afternoons. Slowly, but surely, I became a better reader. Pretty soon, I was the fastest reader in the class. People would look at me in amazement as they saw me read 500 page books in a matter of days. But I believe the greatest accomplishment was reading every night to my parents. Every evening, we sat down together in our dimly lighted living room, and I read to them; the irony of the fact that I was never read bedtime stories and read such stories to my parents. Like a wizard chanting from his bible of witchery, I too read aloud to my parents, casting the spell that harnessed the magic of another language. And slowly, but surely, our vocabulary grew. My parents were finding it easier to communicate with others; for me, grammar quizzes became a breeze.
Today a boy sits down on his bed and opens up Brave New World. It’s his second time re-reading it. His mother knocks on the door, asking in tolerable English what he would like for dinner. That boy is proud to have Asian-American parents who were patient enough to learn English from a young boy, and who were wise enough to teach their son to read at a young age. Today, that boy wants to pursue his interest in literacy a step further. He wants to one day become a journalist and journey to Africa to teach the impoverished villagers and children how to read and speak English. He wants to give the gift of literacy to others like he had given to his parents.
Ivan’s Impact common app essay help: common app essay help
Living on the Florida Emerald Coast, one comes to view hurricane season as a common occurrence. It is not unusual for a family to have several full gas cans and an economy-size pack of bottled water stored in their garage all summer. Many people could find the hurricane evacuation route in their sleep, since they often choose to follow it several times a year. However, those people are only the first kind of seasoned hurricane veteran. The second kind is the risk-taker, the person who chooses to stick around when a storm rolls through. Like so many others, my family is one that has never evacuated for a hurricane; however, my mom and I had our doubts when category four Ivan was predicted to hit right on our doorstep. On September 15, 2004 we left our home in the mandatory evacuation zone for my grandfather’s house just a few miles away. It was where we had stayed during every other hurricane without a hitch, but that was the night that our luck finally ran out. A tornado seriously damaged the house. My grandfather was upset to say the least. In any case, I was determined to help him cope with the potential loss of his house by preserving the memories within it.
The three of us spent the early part of that evening watching the hurricane draw closer on the Weather Channel, and once the power went out we listened to the radio’s storm reports. Around nine o’clock I considered going to bed; the rain had stopped earlier and the wind had died down. The big, bad hurricane seemed to have blown itself out. A few moments later I was cowering in the hallway, sure that the walls were about to come down on top of me. A deafening roar shook the house. The tornado had ripped away the roof and carried it off. Slowly, a few spots on the ceiling began to drip, and over the course of an hour those few spots multiplied until it seemed like the entire living contained an indoor rainstorm.
As he realized the extent of the damage, my grandfather began to panic. The storm had picked up again, but he still ran out into the blistering rain and wind to see how much of the roof was left. Once we got him back inside, I thought that he was going to have a heart attack. I had never seen him so scared, and it was certainly not doing my own emotional state any good. Mom finally convinced him to lie down in his room, though we were not sure it would be dry for much longer. The leaks had progressed from the living room to the dining room and the hallway. Water began to run down the walls. It soon became a race against time to protect what was salvageable. Some people may view taking the time to save material possessions as shallow, but I hoped to preserve those items with sentimental value, such as the decades of photos, the souvenirs from foreign lands, and the belongings that attest to my grandparents’ 49 years together. Just the idea of losing those things was obviously overwhelming for my grandfather. If the house could not be saved and he had to move, I wanted his new house to at least feel like home. I still feared the storm, but more than anything I feared the aftermath.
The next morning dawned bright and cool. Thankfully, my family weathered the storm, though the same could not be said for the house. Nails and wooden beams were all that remained of the roof; not one shingle was left. Inside, the furniture and carpets were all saturated with foul black water. The plaster ceiling was cracked and heavy with water. The structure my grandfather’s house was in shambles, but inside many of his possessions were safe and dry. My mom and I had worked tirelessly through the night, and, in the end, we had saved that which could not be replaced: cherished memories from my grandparents’ life together. The preservation of my family’s past, present and future is what ultimately dulled the heartbreak of this tragedy.
The Sweet Side of Bittersweet free essay help: free essay help
After 21 years of marriage to the United States Air force, my family has lived in and experienced a variety of communities and cultures. My Father, a now retired lieutenant colonel, has served the air force his entire adult life. Attending Nursery in Texas, Preschool in Alabama, elementary school in New Mexico, Middle school in California, ninth and tenth grade in Alabama, and eleventh and twelfth grade in Fayetteville, Georgia has molded me into quite an adaptive individual. Despite all the amazing aspects of living as a daughter of the air force, moving has made it bittersweet. Tears, stress, and a dash of excitement engraved the moving days into my memory. As the last box was crammed into the moving van, we said goodbye the dear friends that have made our time at that base so special. Although the goodbyes hurt, they forced us to trust that God had a plan, a plan for us to Prosper and lift us up. And as we pulled into our new home after several claustrophobic hours in the car, the restless little butterflies occupying my stomach reminded me of the new beginning that this home offered. New friends, new schools, new churches, new communities, and entirely new cultures proposed a chance for me to learn more about myself, and encouraged me to reach out to those who have to experience new for the first time. Attending college in the fall of 2013 will be yet another new for me, and I look forward to the chance to reach out to the fellow freshmen and offer a chance to make this adjustment together, because the first new ought to be a good one.
College Essay rice supplement essay help: rice supplement essay help
Waiting in line at American Eagle, scrolling through Twitter, I read, “Does anyone know who was in the car crash in Delafield?”
What? No, this can’t be happening again. First JT, then Patrick. And now more?
I look to Grace. “Someone was in a car crash.” That’s all I can say.
She looks at me in disbelief. “Who?”
I scrolled through the Twitter newsfeed to find out more. About 30 minuets later, after endlessly searching, I find this: “It was T.J., Kody, and Ian.”
No, I don’t believe it. This can’t be true.
Tears come out of my eyes. I turn to Grace again to tell her the news. And seeing her face react brings a new wave of tears.
I’m in a public place. I can’t cry here. Looking at Grace and my family’s exchange student from Spain, I think. Stay strong, Shelby.
“Let’s leave,” is all I can manage to say. The drive home gave my mind time to wonder.
I’ll never be able to laugh with Ian because of his endless parade of jokes. Or make fun of him because I convinced him to let me paint his nails and put him in a dress. No one will experience T.J.’s ability to make an entire class laugh again. And Kody’s kindness and humor will never be shared.
The days after were very unclear. I couldn’t process these boys, whom I knew so well, were gone. I refused to cry, because I wanted that to have hope that they would still be here. But they weren’t here. At the funerals, when I saw their lifeless bodies, it registered. They were gone.
Three funerals. One week. I never want to experience that kind of emotional duress again. But because of them, I’m more determined to do what is best for me. I’m more determined to move forward with my life, learn from my mistakes, and work hard to make them proud and excel in what I want for my life. I’m more determined because they didn’t get to do the things they wanted to do in their lives before it ended.
Pet Peeve “essay help” site:edu: “essay help” site:edu
A pet peeve is “something about which one frequently complains; a particular personal vexation.”(www.dictionary.com) For example, someone’s pet peeve could be their neighbor’s cat running through their backyard.
When, first coming to Culver as one of the “new cadets” of the school, I was told I had to keep the line of my shirt, edge of my belt, and zipper of my pants all in one continuous line down my body. Having minor obsessive compulsive disorder (OCD) about cleanliness and order, I enjoyed having that rule. What I didn’t know, was that soon a simple military rule at school, would become one of the biggest pet peeve’s I have.
One time while I was visiting my mom in California, I went to a meeting with her; and the presenter wasn’t fallowing the dress line of his clothing. He could have been presenting about how I could earn a million dollars from my couch, or even that he found ancient facts that the world was going to end next year. The only thing my mind and eye’s were on was the misalignment of his shirt, belt, and pants. It almost became an itch under my skin, I couldn’t stomach to see the sloppiness of his clothing, but at the same time I couldn’t peel my eyes away…I was stuck. I just don’t see how someone cannot place the lines of their shirt, belt and pants together. It looks proper, cleaner, and even more professional; you don’t look as if your blind mom had to dress you that morning.
As with every rule, this one has exceptions. If you are not wearing a button down shirt then you don’t have a line to put in place, just align the belt and pants. And same goes the other way if you’re wearing some pants that might not have a zipper line. Also, some belts don’t have edges or straight lines to them. These belts NEED to be centered on the zipper line, when centered; the shirt line should follow through and align with the zipper.
I don’t care if your shirt, shorts, sock, or even your shoes don’t match. I don’t care about accessories, color, or style. JUST ALIGN YOUR SHIRT, BELT, AND ZIPPER FLAP! You’ll look like you have control over yourself, a sense of cleanliness, and professionalism. Something so simple has so many benefits if done properly.
The Freedoms of the USA easy essay help: easy essay help
I believe we live in the greatest nation in the world. We have more privileges and freedom than any other place in the world, yet we are still a controlled and peaceful country. We have the rights of freedom of speech, religion and pursuit of happiness which many people from other countries only hope for.
We have seen and heard of people that try to come to our great country illegally. We try to stop and punish these people. All you need to do is try living a day in their shoes. Many of these people live in a country with high poverty and crime levels. They long for a higher and better way of life. Many of their government officials are wealthy and corrupt while the common man struggles to survive. We, as an Americans, have the right to the pursuit of happiness. We can be anything we want to be if we dedicate ourselves to working toward that goal.
Take time to look at the kids around you. Some of them may have family problems and personal struggles but can you imagine that somewhere, kids in other countries are blowing themselves up for their leaders. We all know that we have it great living in America, but really deep down inside, do we really appreciate it? We need to take time just to pray for the leaders and military of this great country.
America still has many problems such as illegal drugs, inner city crime and some prejudices. These are things that we as a nation are striving to correct. We may still have a way to go but we are moving in the right direction. Even though we are not perfect, there is no other nation in the world that compares because of our great freedoms!
Writing and Nerdfighting essay help 123: essay help 123
Because of John Green, I want to be a writer. He and his brother, Hank Green, self-built their YouTube community, Nerdfighteria that promotes curiosity, creativity and collaboration. With Nerdfighteria, John Green wrote his best-selling novel The Fault in Our Stars. Its clever John-Updike-and-David-Foster-Wallace-influenced prose dealt with Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, sums of infinite series and love. Teenagers worldwide discussed these themes via sites like YouTube, Tumblr and Goodreads, inadvertently connecting a generation.
Its success showed me the significance of books and media. Specifically, it brought passion and critical discussion into my high school.
Picture this: my back is a question mark against my cold classroom chair. My head is down and I’m reading White Noise by Don Delillo. I’m dressed in jeans and a band t-shirt. The quote, “No one sees the barn” runs through my head as I half-listen to the tepid class discussion. Suddenly, everything changes.
“We have no reason to fear oblivion” says a student, “I learned that from John Green.”
The class becomes abuzz. Hands shoot into the air and excited comments explode like fireworks out of students’ mouths.
“I’ve read John Green, too!” says a girl in the back.
“Looking for Alaska is one of my all-time favorite books!” adds another girl.
I look up from White Noise grinning. I raise my hand.
“What do you think Pudge learned by the end of Looking for Alaska?” I ask.
I’m answered with a variety of perspectives.
“He learned how to madly love a girl and move on.”
“He learned that how we idealize human beings is often not how they actually are.”
“He learned that people die searching for ambiguous answers. But in order to escape the ‘labyrinth of suffering’ you need to pull yourself out.”
A passionate discussion follows. Silent students speak. Peers voice their interests. The discussion shifts from John Green to personal experience, politics and culture. Analysis of tattoos, Woody Guthrie, Rage Against the Machine and the “Walking Dead” are thrown into the mix.
Each student’s chance to voice their interests makes them more eager to learn.
Afterward, four students check out The Fault in Our Stars from the library. I lend my copy to three students. Nerdfighters share educational Vlogbrother videos with their English, history and science teachers.
From this experience, I learned solitary acts such as writing, reading and video-viewing can become social acts. They allowed our teachers to connect with us and students to connect across mutual interests.
They are doorways to the world.
That’s why John Green made me want to be a writer- I want communities like his to continue. Maybe one day my stories will serve such a purpose. And maybe they won’t.
But I’ll always be a Nerdfighter. I’ll always be ready to learn something new.
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.
True Love college essay help online: college essay help online
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.
Realizing write my essay help: write my essay help
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.
Social Status essay help fairfax: essay help fairfax
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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