What’s considered to be the best way of coming up with college applications or even an article? When it comes to personal learning, is how to be conversant from college examples that have worked out. Here are samples of college articles that have been compiled and are considered excellent. This especially applies when it comes to writing statement topics that are unique and peripheral articles like, “why should you be a part of this university?” and many more.
UC Example Samples
The UC article example called the annual chronicle
Distinctive Statements Examples.
The Peripheral article Examples
The peripheral Chicago Article Examples.
The Institute of Oxford Example Peripheral Article The “East Meets West” University of Michigan sample of a Backup Example.
This work will be good for many types of topics since it was written for the scholarship at the Institute Of California, Los Angeles. These are some of the UC prompts.
"Every person has about nine more hours to the deadline so let us make this possible." The room erupted. The editor of the school life magazine, was in pain because his sibling required two rounds of photo sessions and only had one shot of having the pictures termed as the best. With the brainstorming of the boy from the academic department and the girl from the art department, were able to come up with a good design for the cover while another group head to get information from people, concerning their work and views in school activities. Someone from the Arts shouts, "Make it work!" as props for the photoshoot are being pulled. Honestly, this is what has to be done for us to win the most impressive high school annual chronicle awards in the state and the in the country.
As if it were yesterday, I recall when I was in the sixth class reasoning how awesome it would be on the annual chronicle at my school. This club was comprised of 20 students, and It was remarkable how they were well aware of people from first-year students to seniors and even the faculty. Even more, they were well conversant with the extracurricular activities and students who would excel.
The idea of “theoretician of Metal Rock.”
The day that I came to perceive that I was not good at scoring tests nor a writer, but a metal rock theoretician was when I came to realize three factors:
As the debate went on, I came to see that humankind is a species that invests on time and resources to ensure they can cause destruction. I began to see the right light about human's existence in that tiny college classroom, and what`s more, I emerged as the first at the end of the tournament.
My name being called out to go and stand before the many another disputant, I felt victorious but still at that moment something was disturbing my subconscious. I could not brush off the feeling that somewhere on this planet, a nuclear bomb was being created and contributed to the list of great mayhem and doom. That was the period that I realized this planet is a subject that is foreign to me unlike beforehand.
Each Sunday morning, I would always awake to the scent of Allium Sativum and hot chili gravies. Going to the kitchen, I would meet my grandmother busy cut andelmin with salt, Allium sativum together with the sauce. This is how the Chinese dish was being made every Sunday where I lived. My grandma’s cooking took over the supper table as everyone loved having their plates filled with Kimchi. Well, those glory days soon came to an end, when dementia slowly crept into grandmother's head and wiped out her memories clean.
The case was so severe that when I asked her what my name was, all she could do was to stare blankly at my face. The tradition of having this meal every Sunday was no more until a day my mother came with fresh andelmin and gravy sauce from the grocery store. She went ahead and smothered the sprouts with salt, gravy, and Allium sativum.
That familiar smell of Allium sativum caused my grandmother to wake up from the rocking chair she was seated on at that moment, and go to the kitchen to help. That day, the smell of Kimchi in our house was back and once again we had the delicacy for supper, even though it wasn’t perfect.
This summer, the sight of grandmother’s gave me clarity. The disheveling of hair gave me a full analysis of how the disease aggressively developed. Oh, how I will miss the days when grandmother was like an artist who gave the andelmin with red allium sativum a work of art. As these words are written, I hope that those days will never fade away from my memory. A writer should do more job, but also it brings into the mind and captures what was taken away by the elapsing of time.
Black granitic rocks covered the coffin made of mahogany, and my turn had arrived to grab the shovel. However, I could feel shame inside me as I half-heartedly bid my farewell since I could not agree to the death that I had not anticipated it coming. Due to an awkward goodbye, I made my decision not to throw soil at her since I had not entered into terms with her death.
My parents disclosed to me how grandmother had Cancer specifically of the liver. At that time, I was only 12 years of age, and I became furious with myself because instead of taking care of her, I was busy playing games and watching TV shows. Guilt-ridden, I chose to involve myself aggressively in books because I came to know that knowledge is power and more so, I wanted to learn more about cancer.
As the years went by, I started concentrating on my future, and I focused on silencing that which ended my grandmother. But above it all, I wanted to seek redemption in my grandparent’s eyes and compensate for what I had not accomplished while she was alive. However, as I took a walk just behind where we lived, I was hit by a to the reality of the matter that my path of redemption was second to my academic perfection. I came to understand that my life was so much bigger than my urge to try and be done with my guilt and I needed to change my perspective towards the globe and also to my fellow people. Due to this, I volunteered at an institution for cancer treatment so that I can uncover my path. I talk to patients whom I see are trapped by the diseases they have succumbed to and also who are caught in hospitals. An example can be Jane who is constantly reminded that she has breast cancer by the constant movement of medical specialists and also, she rarely comes out of her room, therefore, leaving her with minimal human interactions. I only needed to smile and greet her to see her face lights up with life.
On our first encounter, Jane disclosed about her son and daughter. She mentioned the group where she, and even her grandmother who had taken a walk even without waking up. Cancer may seem sturdy and unbeatable, but in truth, it's just a simple fraction of a person's life.
I went to work as a medical specialist and guide them to know that life is much bigger than just a little disease. I not only treat cancer patients but also offer them emotional support and mental strength to enable them to escape any interruption and help them to continue with their lives. This has contributed to me accepting the spade without having to bury my grandmother's memory.
When I was younger, I succumbed to my passion for traveling, and it started just after my grandparents gave me a chance to visit them in France. Right now, I have gone to 29 countries, and in each state, I've had an exceptional experience.
When I was five years old, I was amazed by the Eiffel Tower and its lights. Eight years old, I saw the iconic pyramids of Giza in Egypt, and at thirteen years of age, I was able to see the Great Wall of China. I was so amazed at the fact that the stones are still in place and yet they are a thousand years old.
Through this exploration, the interest of lifestyle and language came upon me. It all began in France when I realized that pronunciation was vital because I bewildered a store owner in Paris when I mispronounced “Rue des Pyramides.”
Interestingly, after learning many foreign languages, my vernacular language intrigued me. Also with the love of books, I was able to increase my English understanding. The most important thing which language contributed in my life was that, when I would speak to someone in their vernacular language, I would bear an interpersonal connection to life. I would connect with people on a more particular level.
Studying different languages of different nations in colleges is one of the activities that I found satisfying. This is because, I am well aware that it would aid me in future because I would never stop journeying to different places, and attaining fluency of languages that are of another country will only be advantageous to me. In the future, I hope that this skill acquired is the foundation, of my work. Whether it is in the translation of global business transactions or peace treaties between two different nations. Today, not on only do I have the urge to travel but also, I am into language too.
“Then Cain told God, “The punishment that I have received is too great for me to bear. I will be a traveler and a runaway on this earth, therefore, whoever indeed will find me, they will eliminate me.” This was Genesis chapter 4 verse 13.
This is a topic that nobody in the family is aware of. At the age of six, I hit my sibling with a gun. Luckily the gun I used was a toy. Until this very day, my elder brother is still ignorant of who shot him. After I am through writing this article, I will go and confess to him that is eleven years old. I had a green eye on my brother just because my grandparents would always shower him with praises that were endless.
At times, my grandmother would bother me to emulate my brother, but to me, John was more of a show-off. This is because he would taunt me whenever he would defeat me at basketball. Also, he would photocopy numerous papers of his drawings that scored high grades and stick them on a fridge for everyone to see.
At the back of my head, I knew that I wanted out from his shadow, but I did not know how since I desired to be transferred to a different school, but those efforts were futile. I imagined living in this nightmare until the year 2001 11th of March.
It was about 6 o'clock, and we as the combatants came to the Mountain of Kyung for our weekly battle. The recreation was straightforward; all you had to do was to eliminate your opponent, and by while doing so, you had to yelp “boom" before he did.
After we were well placed, our captain would blow the whistle to signify the battle had begun. My comrade Shi-Ji and I behind a Eucalyptus tree we hid promptly awaiting orders from our “superior.” The companions who stood beside us died one by one falling clasping their “injuries" in "agony."
Heroically, I woke up took my friend shi-ji’s hand and rushed behind the enemy's lines to eliminate their leader. We finally reached their military hideout, which was behind the bush. Unfortunately, the captain who was also my brother was able to hear us, and he threw a "grenade" (which was a rock) and ran away. Angrily, I sprinted after him, and after several minutes of running, my attention was suddenly caught by the yellow sign written: "There are bear traps up ahead." I froze and watched as he fled and, at that moment, I wasn`t sure of what I was supposed to do.
I heard shots then followed by a second a piercing cry. On looking, I saw two villagers carrying him from the signboard. I can tell you at that moment, the panic that grew inside me made me throw away my toy gun and sprint off for home quickly. Days elapsed before my sibling, and I could have a conversation about the incident, and as the days became weeks, a weird feeling began to brew inside me; it was guilt. I even took the initiative to buy him his favorite chocolate toffee and labeled a note beside it saying, “love grandmother.” As I placed it under his pillow, I also folded his dirty clothes and slowly by slowly our relationship began to change for the better good, like sharing of our clothes.
This very day we are close friends, and every span of five days I have accompanied him during his visitations so that the doctor can have him treated of his condition called “Excessive Compulsion Disorder.” As his name was mentioned, I continued with the place I had left off in my notebook. Thirty minutes later, he came back with a bright smile on his face, “Can you imagine what the doctor has just told me?” And with curiosity, I looked up and smiled too.
I bowed to the ceramic god and emptied everything that I had swallowed. My mouth was foaming, and I felt like I was going to faint. The room began spinning, and my body could not cease trembling as I was trying to get some air. Five minutes before I was having dinner together with family drinking beetroot soup.
My mother asked the waiter whether it had any peanuts inside especially thanks to me being highly hypersensitive. The waitress had replied no, and I believed her. It all began with the neck being itchy and small humps that developed slowly by slowly. Quickly, I rushed to the washrooms to vomit thanks to my throat feeling itchy, and my torso massive.
I was fighting hard against the main component that was keeping me alive, and that is my body. When I was five years, I could not understand what indeed was happening around me because all I knew was the fact that I was ill, and my mother would relieve my pain by giving me something. I was one scared boy at that time, especially when I heard the fear in my parents` voices as I was taken to the ICU.
That experience made me fear eating, dying and even my body. As I was growing older, the fear had been substituted by paranoia. I would check any food given to me whether it had a sample of peanuts. With time, the fear evolved into antagonism. I would resent my body for being strange to me. With the frequent checkups to my sensitivity, I was inspired to be an allergy physician although I was only ten years old back then. What I wanted, was to discover a way to aid children like me so that no one could feel the antagonism and pain the way I did.
As I got more knowledge in the field of medicine, immune responses became my passion specifically how the body reacted the allergens. This summer that has just passed, I took a course that lasted a year on immunology at the college of Winchester. I got to know how our bodies have methods used in fighting pathogens. My goal to pursue the course in Biology was brought about by the interest with the shape of a human and how it functions. My hope and aspiration are that someday I will be in a position to help both grownups and young ones alike so that they may not go through the same acridity as I did.
I lived with the Johnson family from Kansas when I turned. Concerning the international exchange program, the host mother Mrs. Johnson was the one in charge of it. I had to babysit her son Cody, who was eight years old every day for about 2 to 3 hours. We talked about his school life, his friends and as a good friend, I listened to him. For fun, we would even play scrabble.
The second family that I lived with was the Dolores family. The father was a mechanic the mother an elementary school teacher who had just delivered recently. Therefore, we all did the same tasks together such as: watching TV, making pizza and even fishing on Sundays. They were such great people that even after two months I would call them dad and mom.
Finishing my scholarly interchanging program, there was a choice of going back home in Korea, but instead, I chose to remain in the United States of America thanks to my desire of visiting various places and getting to know people from different origins. Since I was no longer part of the scholarly interchange program, I had the load of looking for another school and a decent family who would host me. Luckily, after investigating for some days, I was able to find the Struis family from California, and they were a particular family. The mother who was hosting me, her name was Shelby,and she was a single mother who had three sons and adopted one Russian daughter. The children had warm food to eat always and were well-behaved everywhere they went. All of this was due to the upbringing of Shelby. My room was situated on the second floor, and the next room was the salon business which she managed at home.
The kitchen was like a bar; therefore, strangers visited every time, and this made me uncomfortable at first, but as time went by, I was used to it. For me the family was not necessarily the best, that is why I explained to them in a polite way that I intended to leave, and they comprehended.
The family of Scofield was the fourth one that I had an encounter with., Kimberly who was the host mother treated me as if I were her child. I was made to fix dinner, do the dishes, feed the two dogs Jackal and Hyde in every week there was a time for me to clean the bathroom area. There were also a set of rules that I had to adhere to, and they were: The family’s computer was out of bounds, and the lights should all be off by midnight. During the first months, it was hard for me, but in time, I got used to it.
With this family’s lifestyle, for me felt like I was a monk living deep forest. The dad who succumbed to terrible Asthma after the winter made the family want to go towards the hillside. To me, this was something that I did not expect and what was even worse, was that I only had a week to look for a new host family. So, with the help of my friend Daniella, I came to meet the family called The Dirksen family.
The Michaelson family was a family with three kids and each of them a different set of characteristics. Daniella loved black coffee, Jason loved energy drinks, whereas Janice the youngest of the siblings loved Lemon tea. The host mother, Dawn disliked winter and the dad Mr. Denver disliked summers. Anyway, the 28 months that I was around with those five families was short, but I learned a great deal from each one of them.
Cody taught me how to be observant and get lessons from other people’s character, Dolores taught me how to value the time spent together as a family, The Struis family taught me how not to judge women who are divorced together with the adopted children. The Scofield family gave me a lesson on how to be hardworking and responsible lastly; the Michaelson families taught me to appreciate another person’s different personalities.
Most importantly, I concluded that understanding people was required for anyone. Spending time with five different families Living with five families made me know that when a person wants to speak, you are required to recognize them. I also learned the moments where I am supposed to offer advice and when I should stop my activity and listen to what I am told. Through this experience, I was able to become adaptable and eager to change and be shaped by the families ahead.
The College Example of “Why The Chicken Crossed The Road”
I had planned to major in both fields of English and Architecture. In the class of AP literature, the teacher gave us a question which we were to write a unique response. The quiz was, “Why the chicken went across the road?” The “Allusion Of The Dugout” (which is Plato’s idea) was where my reaction was framed from, and it was as follows:
A green field that is perfectly trimmed to matched lengths, an expanse that was blue had ornamented with the clouds that were puffy and beautiful. The chicken gazed at this world carefully and noticed that it was an area with a well-polished steel fence. The man wearing a plain white shirt, and a pair of blue jeans, came to collect the eggs as the chicken felt a strange feeling of being indebted to him and also for providing him a rural livelihood.
There was a day when the rooster was happily eating his food as the gentleman was gathering fresh eggs. It noticed that man had left on egg behind and when it went for a closer look, it saw that this one was different from other eggs that it had seen. The chicken noticed a grey line on the egg and was amazed by how it became a cracked as the yellow head with a small beak, poked out. All of a sudden, a vast shadow descended upon them, and the very same nice man took the chick and went away.
Feeling betrayed, disturbed, and unhinged the rooster looked beyond the cage for the first time, and it noticed that there was a black land soil and with markings of yellow. In addition to this, it separated between the open field and the rooster. With curiosity, the little chicken went to the big mother hen and asked her to give more elaboration about what he had just seen.
The mother hen who was sitting at her throne of hay shocked the chicken for it warned him not to speak ever again of anything that he had seen or all their luxuries will be taken. In mistrust, the chicken froze and tried to comprehend what had happened. The man was indeed doing something wrong, and the mother chicken surrendered to what seemed to be cruel all for the sake of her comfort.
The following day, a man came to open the cage and a plan of escaping hatched. When the entrance had been opened without being seen, the chicken was able to sneak off. Looking behind, it felt pity for its fellow chicken since they had been blinded by ignorance. As the chicken prepared to cross the road, three trucks that were speeding made its heart pump faster. The chicken with courage got to know how to position itself accordingly in between the space under the vehicles and reached the yellow lines untouched. As the day ended, the chicken came upon the opposite side, and it came to his conscience that he had abandoned a twisted and constrained domain. This conclusion was made because at a nearby tree it saw the adult birds that were tending to their babies of which according to the chicken’s conscience, it was a natural order.
With the sun rising, the chicken told itself that it had now known the truth and must try to enlighten its friends and offer them this knowledge. This was in a bid to ensure that they would cease being ignorant and at that moment, the chicken decided to get back on the opposite side where the cage was.
Dear John, the acknowledgments at the College of Miami for staff, would like to provide information that your request is in danger. There is only one vacancy left, and it is either you or somebody else who is equally capable, to bring the matter to a resolution. With this in mind make your choice about this please:
Scissors, paper, or pebble. Once you do so, we will communicate promptly.
The response took:
Scissors is beaten by pebble; the pebble is hit by paper, and finally, the paper is beaten by scissors. Technically, when has a document pounded a granitic pebble? Do we presume that it covers and suffocates it into submission? Is the stone somehow put in a position that makes it unable to perform its primary task of dismantling the scissors? Come to think of it, and maybe it is a metaphor meant to represent bigger ideals. Perhaps the paper is the root in the idea of statesmanship whereas the pebble must be constituting coercion. Does this necessarily have to compromise animalistic force? Where then does the scissors in this symbolism lie?
Pebble, paper, and scissors is an example of how we easily cut short the expository so that we can make the game seem more straightforward to play. Because of this, we agree on things not because they are correct, but only because they are a route that is convenient so that things can be done. We readily accept narratives that are incomplete. This occurs especially when we are served excellently and overlook the logical gaps — stories which are incomplete especially during the moments they help as well. In a planet where the truth is known is very little, we tend to come up with stories which hide the claims of the fact.
Anyway, let me stop blowing things out of proportion from a game but to be honest, who would participate in a game where there is zero skill and the talent required is random luck? If it were up to me, that is not a way to agree to an individual. Research has proven that there are strategies for winning by making assumptions that are critical in the game pebble paper and scissors.
According to research, about 50% of the time the game is played, males will start with a pebble because it is symbolically associated with force and strength. Men unconsciously came up with a narrative that was irrational around gravel that was abstract, and when we singly cause impression that ranges from how the war came to be these gaps are unconsciously there. This is because, after this, we don’t know the history behind pebble paper and scissors.
Probably it is back to whoever created this amusement in the first place. Things could have been better if it were a 4th grader who was snotty but yet again, that would be another vague narrative.
I gaze around my desk with a dim light shining on a desk that is by the left corner, and there is a picture. It is in a frame and is about a family of Korean origin, buried beneath textbooks of US history and literature. Small documents of universities in America lie around haphazardly around the floor. The cold wind for December wafts an infusion that is strange and is characteristic of oriental noodles and pizza leftovers. At the back, beside the Zeppelin poster, there is a Korean flag hanging. I know that you might be wondering whether I consider myself to be American or Korean. Well, a year ago I could have answered “neither” if I were to be asked that question.
The moments of frustration and miscommunication in my life brought about the dilemma of whether I was a Korean or an American and this factor, attributed to my identity crisis. I remember queuing in the section of foreign passports in the airport of JFK; I felt like I was a foreigner in all places. This is because, I loved Korean dish called Kimchi and knew the Korean anthem word for word but still I also loved the American dish called Macaroni with cheese, and I knew the Red Chili gravy song, word for word.
Though I must say that my very existence has enabled me to bring out the best of two worlds and an example can be in my dorm room where there is a mixture of cultures, I have learned to embrace my dilemma as a diversity where I can embrace both identicalness in such a diverse community. So now if I were to be asked that question once again, I would answer proudly: "both."
Walking down a restless and busy street, I sense the glances of people. The chuckling and gurgles trickle down my skin, and as I try to ignore them, my attention is intercepted by the collective "Damn." A foreign person asks for a picture, and I end up taking photos with people who are entirely strange to me. At that moment I would wish that I wasn’t so tall and so that I would not get easily noticed or even. I could have brought my friend along to the movie so that we could easily blend in the crowd.
Attention from foreign people is nothing new to me, but questions about my height have been frequently asked in every interaction that is public. Most people would say that being tall is more of a physical trait and not a personality trait. However, as I review my entire life, I could easily say that height has indeed helped me define my character and made me set the person that I am today.
If I had an introvert character like that of my elder brother, I would have been uncomfortable with the attention gotten from the public. I grew to know that I am unbelievably tall and that I stick out to the horde literally and this began from when I was a young boy. During my days when I was younger, while playing baseball on many occasions, my birth certificate was asked because many people did not trust my age with my height.
At other moments some other parents would see me as a tyrant thanks to me being too tall for a person at my age. I had to be cautious if I wanted to play with the other children and in doing so, I became extra understanding and embracing. Of course, now my coaches are against my habit of being useful to people on the basketball court.
With time, I learned to be ever humble because being 7 feet tall; people would expect you to be a great basketball player. Because of that, I learned not to brag and also to work twice as hard as my teammates than my peers so that such expectations, could be achieved.
Being lighthearted is one of the attributes that my height made me become. Whenever people would crack jokes concerning my height, I would also chip in and laugh. I remember back in school; a girl fell her books on the hallway, and I squatted down to help her get some of them. As we were both standing, I could see the look on her face when I rose to my full height. She was so dumbfounded that her books fell again despite the embarrassment, we laughed, and I helped her get the books back.
These experiences have made me the man I am today. All sorts of people have approached me to have a heart to heart conversations and me; on the other hand, I have become more accessible to interact with all types of individuals. Looking back, I see all my encounters have made me grow confident while also boosting my self-awareness. Being a person who is 7-foot-tall can be a curse or a blessing but at the end of it all, coming to terms with who you are, is something worth taking if you are willing to live a life of happiness.
I am in this place because of my grandfather. He fought in World War 1 in France, and he was a soldier fighting for America. As his fellow troopers charged into the battlefield, he stopped to have his shoelaces tied for a brief moment. Those who had gone ahead had unluckily been blown into bits. Years afterward, there was still a war in Montenegrin, and the socialists came to his house. Due to the village being small, he was able to know the men that had been knocking on the door. Though he was familiar to the men, it meant nothing since because whenever they would see him, they would know the name America across the area where poor people had no rights.
As the neighbors were ransacking their house, his wife threw him a new pair of boots and tried to convince him to wear them. Because of the fact grandfather was unable to run, he refused to wear them. He did not wear the shoes because he was well aware that he could not run. I, on the other hand, wear my boots for comfort and not because I can run because I also can't run. The belief in life, equality, rational thinking, education, makes me the particular American citizen that I am. Of these mentioned, none can be costumes because I honestly have faith in them. Having been brought up in Belgrade, the first language that I came to be conversant with was Serbian, but this seems irrelevant since I have spent more years in the USA and my knowledge of English is superior to Serbian. As a family, we usually visit once every year, and I can tell you for one, is that I love living here. I love the sound of sheep here, and many more these things aren’t in my character.
Taking a few bounds from my nuclear family, I know no names of anyone, and when someone has fallen ill or get into trouble, they tend to either pity them or speak ill of them. In addition to that, we still don’t attend their weddings or celebrations and to be honest I am worried about myself and not about them. The Montenegrins and Serbs have histories that are complicated, and as I view my father's documentaries about the civil war, I am gripped weirdly with fascination and fear at the same time.
I noticed that the people who were strange seemed to be quite hateful. They would cry as they beat their chests at the Russian loss in the year 1938 during the battle in Kosovo. This type of nationalism is awkward for me, and I cannot behave that way though it was something that I found to be beautiful and passionate. The reason as to why I worry is because I cannot even help romanticizing about something in particular that can cause your life to be destructive or oppressive.
I keep telling myself that they are not me and I may be right because they are only part of me. Yes, they can be like a small silver, or a chunk in comparison to the American nature inside of me hence begs the question. If the shoes my grandfather tied do not belong to me, then why do give into thought about them so much?
My arms were covered in blood, and my head was dizzy. I was hardly breathing because the air around me was filled with the cries of men and iron clashing with iron. As I looked to my left side, there were three well-built men not any older than 20 years, busy trying to kill one another. To the other hand, there was a man in his late sixties with a missing arm, and he lay there dead. My comrades were pouring out in full transgression as they were in full retreat. With every ounce of courage that I had remaining in me, I shouted as loud as I could for my brethren who were dying.
Reality came slapping hard, and when I came to blink, instead of a battlefield that was chaotic I was in the auditorium, instead but I was not alone. The other individual was a very tall British guy with a personality that was terrifying.
He was my instructor, but I baptized him my "Shakespeare coach." This was because of no single mistake no matter how small could have escaped his ever-sharp notice. "There is no chance that I am ever going to brawl for you,” he told me. “Repeat it once more!"
As I went offstage to try repainting the picture, I came up with an urge to be victorious in every word that I would utter against the French, every delivery and passionately, I fought, but unluckily I was cut off again by my coach. "Well, there is a chance that I am going to fight alongside you, but there is no chance that I am going to perish for you. Excite me. Say it as you mean it. Try again." I did it again, and he cut me off despite putting in everything that I had, I did perform hundreds of times more again with each time the quality was depreciating, and finally, my rehearsal had come to an end because we did all we could for the day.
Stepping offstage, I collapsed in my chair feeling defeated and furious. I reached out to my pocket and retrieved a bracelet that was handed to me for inspirational purposes by the one in charge of the drama department. An eagle was crafting on the outer side and the inside, there were words crafted “To yourself be true. “I knew the reason why I was here, and I had to prove to myself that I was in a position to accomplish something great I was a fearful kid with a smile that was crooked only because I had speech impediments and I could not pronounce my words correctly. Joining the theatre surprised many people, but for me, all I wanted to do was to sway the crowd with the sound of my voice. I wanted them to experience happiness, laughter, and joy but the first time stepping on stage, I was ten years old then, terror gripped me. But with time, I got used to it to the extent that I even got a chance to perform at the Lincoln Center. I remember rambling, and the how calmness in me felt when all my nervousness had suddenly evaporated.
In the moment of failure earlier on, I was not able to see the light because my brain was foggy. In addition to this, at that moment, I had imagined myself at the center of the stage performing in that spotlight, pacing and shouting to my men heroically and I charged headlong into war tasting victory.When I looked back at that reminder, I felt something click. If Henry the 5th never lost hope, I too wouldn’t forget it either. So, I went back on stage to continue with coach “Shakespeare.”
Avoid any eye contact and keep your head down. I tried my best not to attract any at the bus stop that was darkening. Silent shadows danced about as my heart would pump quickly, hoping that I would be in a position to survive for the next 30 minutes because in my life, I have never been this late to go home and this became my first time to see street urchin at the bus stop. The sun had already set when a man who had earlier on fainted, woke up to get drunk. One of the drunkards would scream curses at another as they all stumbled around. Another drunkard had no arm but had the nastiest stare that I had ever come across. I tried feeling empathy for him but couldn’t help feeling terrorized and fearful.
After 10 minutes passed, a shadow came from one of the opposition forms and perched close to me. Due to the dim light, I squinted to look at the wrinkled face before me, and I thought to myself, "Thank God for a kindred soul that is enduring just as much as I am."
She then asked me whether I missed the chance to board a bus and with my squeaky voice, I answered her, “yes.” Her voice was like that of a smoker, but she still spoke well. “Where are you headed?" she asked as her eyes reflected off the dim light. "Home," I answered again in my squeaky voice. She then continued with the conversation on how she used to live in her car and how she was able to drive up to San Francisco. She mentioned that she loved to travel, to help out people and going to church.
Honestly the more we talked, the more I forgot what was surrounding me since I was enjoying her company. Before I could even learn more about her, a homeless person who was drunk interrupted our conversation and asked me to lend him money.
I was not entirely comfortable; hence I refused the idea of giving him because I remembered the advice given by my friend that I should not give money to a homeless man but give them food.
He even elaborated that if I am to provide them with money, they will use it to buy drugs and I with my innocence accepted everything I was told and implemented it.
We talked more with the lady, and due to hunger, my stomach growled. At that moment, the lady offered a boiled egg from her jacket pocket, but I declined politely. When the bus approached, the woman went to the other side and came with a sleeping bag and a bag pack that was when I was in a dilemma because she was homeless!
From that day I learned an excellent lesson. This was that one should never judge a book by its cover. I have opened my eyes to the fact that using drugs, missing limbs, all of these were just the symptoms of a disease called sad lifestyle. More so, this disease would only harm the people who lived in it. The lady showed me that I should look more profound than the top layers in all situations that I come across. Though now I have a car, I still cannot forget the lesson that I learned to expand my empathy boundaries and be open to all sorts of people or even eat a boiled egg from a stranger’s jacket pocket.
As I tried to evade people like a running back in the NFL, I found my way to the train fortunately since it was a rush hour for everyone there at 40th street. By listening to music, I tend to isolate myself from the noise around me so that it may never seem to be out from time slip in real life. A time-lapse, according to photography, is the sequence that is played at average speed. It gives a person the effect when the time has begun to move faster. An underground tunnel in Chicago that had a time phase whereby thousands are walking in a single moment, around you. That particular afternoon, the optic series was lower than the fixture rate. As the squalling train echoed, the crowd struggled their paths to the doors that had opened, I fought my way through towards the train that was full, and I began to get worried that the train would leave me in this underground cave.
A tall blond girl was standing in front of me who suddenly misplaced her steps, and it would have cost her life. Quickly from my jeans, I pulled out my arm grabbed her before the worst came and hoisted her up. Naturally, I placed my headphones on my shoulders and asked if she was okay. This not any love story or tale of heroism, but it seemed that the moment had just arrived since I had polished something that I was not used to.
I thought that we could easily connect, but 10 seconds later, I went back into listening to my music because I could not reveal my courage. I stood there contemplating what to say, but nothing came out.
It usually is too easy to say that you will do something only to find it a little bit difficult to accomplish it. From what I have learned is that life is about taking risks and not hiding behind metaphorical walls. On a personal note, I have no struggles especially when it comes to adventure since I have jumped from over 60 feet tall cliffs. However, I dislike being judged the moment that I mess up. Unnecessarily, I believe that life is too short and therefore one should live without any regrets. That is why my music is a platform where I can buy more time and also can be a haven for me to think out my next move.
About a minute later, my eyes for some reason, were fixed upon her as she was leaving the train coincidentally when the train was starting to depart from this destination, I saw her through the window looking at me, and she said thank you.
Silence covered the whole place in New Orleans. It was on a calm Saturday morning when the insects were scampering back to their burrows. I lay there in bed tossing the ring that I was given as my birthday present by my friend Jessica back in the fourth grade. After a few minutes, I quickly rushed down to grab breakfast when I noticed my parents packing busily; something that seemed odd. That was when I heard the announcement over the radio that a hurricane will soon sweep this town and therefore there was a mandatory evacuation.
Quickly I packed my toys together with my younger brother, and since the roads were congested, we had to seek shelter in the hospital. This siege had made us remain indoors for a significant amount of 11 days. Afterward, we were rescued on swamp boats but the 11 days changed me. I was motivated to study and become a doctor so that in trying times such as these I might be in a position to be of assistance.
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