Pew, pew, pew! The lasers blasted from my futuristic laser gun. I stood on the porch and in the distance, was my friend Chris. I aimed the transparent gun at him, ready to win. “I got you now!” The shots fired from the series of noises from my mouth. We loved to play pretend as soldiers from 2239, the thrill of battle filling our minds. This was an everyday thing for us, every day was a different story with different characters and a different plot.

“Agh! You killed me!” Chris shouted from the sidewalk. He proceeded to hunch over and dramatically die from being blasted with a laser.

“Oh shut up, it’s not like you’re actually dead. It isn’t like we could actually die now. Actually, I’m gonna live ‘til I am 500 years old!” I said with pride.

“Uh, no you’re not. You’ll die before then.” Chris replied.

“What do you mean?” My head was spinning. What was he talking about? I never met anyone who actually died. I thought people dying only happens in the movies or video games. I had never been so confused in my life. Was he joking?

“Yeah, everyone dies. My mom told me that.”

“Nick! Come here!” My mom called me in, looking nervous. “Nick, I have to tell you something.” Sweat formed on her forehead. “Uncle george has passed away.”

“What?”

Patter, patter, patter. It was raining. The sky was bleak and grey, the air was muggy, and I was sweating in my little suit. I traveled up the stairs, step-by-step, each time, the grip on my hand tightening. I walked in with my mother, not really knowing what to expect. The carpet was a beautiful maroon red and there was a small glass chandelier in the middle of the family room. Family members and familiar faces were all around. I stayed quiet the entire time while my mother spoke very softly with the rest of them. Then, we entered the viewing room, and the atmosphere transformed in a split second. There was a heaviness in the room. Most of the family were gathered in the seats in front of the wooden box, however, there was someone-no, something else that wasn’t accounted for in the room. My mom’s grip tightened even more, my hands turning purple. We inched closer and closer to the wooden box, the heaviness becoming thicker by each step. Half of the lid was open. I peered inside, and saw something I would never forget. My first dead body. It was my uncle. Everything in my childish mind began to fall apart. My mother had mentioned that my uncle had passed away and gone to a place called heaven. I didn’t understand it, what does it mean? I was in denial. I thought death was in video games, and even then, you came back to life. The eternal sleep that the vessel of my uncle faced in his new home. He was a phantom, so pale it made me sick. Now, he wasn’t here, just a ghost in my memories. I reached and held his hand, it was ice cold. I stared in shock, my mouth slightly gaped. I wasn’t looking at my uncle anymore, just a box within a box. Warm streams of tears ran down my cold face. I shivered in devastation, fear. This couldn’t possibly ever happen to me…

Ding! The elevator doors slid open, the muffled scratching of metal against metal emulating from the small opening on the floors. My sister, my dad, and I stepped out into the hallway. There was tension in the air and I felt as if a plastic bag was forcibly wrapped around my head. In the hallway, there were stretchers pushed against the walls, the imprint of its victim clearly visible. Nurses and doctors frantically treading from door-to-door to help any patient desperately in need of patches and painkillers. We walked towards the end of the hall, where to the left of us was the front desk. “Dr. James to the I.C.U, Dr. James to the I.C.U.” said the nurse over the loudspeaker. The hallways reeked of hand sanitizer and a mixture of various cleaning supplies. As we inched closer to our destination, the sound of small wheels frantically rolling could be heard in the distance. A horde of nurses raced down the hall with a patient that had wounds deeper than the uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. Pretty soon, we were a couple steps away. I had made the mistake of turning my head to the left. An Asian woman laid in her stationary hospital bed, her blank eyes facing the ceiling. A man sat alongside her, hunched over, sobbing. I stared directly into a room of lost hope and a lost soul. In a split second, I turned away. Out of morbid curiosity, I looked into the room next to it, and I saw a black man with bruises all over and an elderly standing next to him, praying. I did not make the same mistake again. We were right at the door, the entrance to my aunt’s deathbed. A male nurse came out and advised us to wear scrubs before we entered. We all scrambled to put on the tight, light cyan blue jumpsuits and the white caps. I walked in, scanned the room and saw familiar faces, my two uncles, my cousin, and my two great aunts all with their heads bowed in gloom. And then, I saw my aunt, her eyes wide open and blank just like the lady from before. Her mouth gaped, frozen in shock. Her body was still living, but I could already see rigor mortis taking effect on her soul. This was true death. Not the pale blue body, not the gray pupils surrounded by a green hue, not the breath that fails to leave her mouth. No, death was the lack of a soul. Her soul had long departed her body and it was evident. I felt nothing holding her hand, speaking to her. I felt absolutely nothing from her, not her lively energy nor her warmth. I learned that day, Death doesn’t reap bodies, it reaps souls.

Introduction: I personally enjoyed the making of this essay, I loved writing the descriptive scenes. I feel like i'm better with writing descriptive scenes and creative writing than any other type. I'm really proud of my scenes more than anything, but I think I could improve on my reflections. Overall i'm really happy and proud of this essay.

Dating your best friend must be something different, especially when you know them so well, you know their deepest darkest secrets and they know yours. You both know you like one another but you could never admit it until you drifted apart.  

There he was standing right infront of me, giving me that “love at first sight” look. Each of his arms were in each pocket of his beige joggers, He was wearing a black floral tank top and was looking down at me. He was at least 5’11, his blondish hair was tucked into his snapback.

“You look gorgeous” he says. I smile and begin walking along his side as he holds my hand.

We walked into a pool hall called Seventy Five and found a seat all the way at the back of the hall. I begin fiddling in my purse and take out my charger to charge my phone. He lays his arm around my shoulders and we begin talking about what we’ve been doing with our lives as the waiter comes by

“What would you like to have ?”  

We both ordered drinks and he gets up to pay for two rounds of pool.

“Je ne sais pas how to play pool,” I say, and began laughing

He smiles at me and says, “C’est pas grave, doesn’t matter I’ll teach you, you won’t lose.”

I was leaning against the pool table as he was fixing everything. I was wearing a green crop top with a high waisted mini skirt from H&M with buttons running down the middle. My hair was naturally curled, loose big curls that spiraled so perfectly and evenly.

I could see him from the side of my eye staring so hard at me, it was all so crazy at the same time how close we once were and how we’re finally admitting feelings to each other but it’s like we never left.

“Salsa ready?”

He aims the cue stick at the ball and positions my arms and hands as he’s standing behind me bending over at my height, I turn around and stare into his eyes as he stares into mine.

I never forgot that moment, I never forgot him, and I never forget how it all changed. It marks a spot when lose your best friend because they hurt you. This is someone you always trusted, this is someone you grew up with. It was shocking, Shock like the shock I felt when I was told I might have had cancer. Last year I broke my ribs, dehydrated, had an inflamed liver, and a mass all at the same time. I couldn’t walk, breathe, sleep, sit, turn, stand, laugh, and 12 hour pain killers didn’t work on me. But Thank god I didn’t have cancer and I am back and healthy.  I’ve explored many different kinds of shocks in my life that really changed me as person.

Four years ago I almost died… It made me a stronger and a braver person than I was before. We were at JFK International Airport and ready to go back to Morocco like every summer. I couldn’t wait to see my family and friends and spend time with them. I was about 12 years old at the time, holding a baby blue suitcase ready to have the summer of my life. Who knew what fright was awaiting us that day.

The weather was completely different when we got to New York it was really windy and it seemed as though a storm was heading our way. I was wearing a white Nike hat, high waisted shorts, and a plain, white, cropped shirt.  

“Ladies and gentleman I am sorry for the delay, but we are now taking off,” said the woman over the intercom, thank you for choosing Royal Air Maroc,” she continued. “Please enjoy the flight,” she finally said before ending the announcement.

After getting situated I began watching Frozen with my little sister,

They gave the orders to the pilot to take off after keeping us in a plane for 2 hours because of the turbulence  

“Let it go, let it go I can’t hold it back anymore,” Elsa started to sing.

My head bannged into the ceiling, the food in the back spilled, and all I could hear were people screaming and crying. The flight attendants started running towards their seats to put on their seat belts.

“S’il vous plaît, calmez vous. S’il vous plaît! Calme toi!” said the flight attendants.

I couldn’t think, everything was going by so fast and I couldn’t register what was going on but all I could do was wait and see how it ended. If I didn’t go through this all I feel like I wouldn’t be the person I am today.

Introduction:

This paper, to me, was intended to express my fear and love of time. I wanted to demonstrate the fragility of a moment, and how something so meaningless to one person can be the result of a lifetime for another. I think that I did a good job using description and painting a picture for my audience, but I think I could do better at tying my ideas together in the future. I wish I’d done a better job of getting my message out the way I see it in my head because I think it got a bit blurred. My future writing will reflect that, but overall, I am pretty happy with what I created.

Small cafes and restaurants line the sidewalk. It is getting dark and we are trying to pick the perfect place to eat. A street light blares down on us and illuminates the concrete. At my feet, I see a man and woman together, in love, trailed by a sea of green. Smiles like no other envelope their faces, the corners of their lips creeping to their ears as they look out of the carriage to the brand new scenery. Above them, words stretch across the tree coated sky. One yellow followed by white, alternating like the sun peaking through clouds, reading “honeymoon in manhattan.” The couple’s gaze travels up and lands on the “moon,” awaiting their adventure. I reach down to get a better look, and realize that what I thought was a newspaper was really a stack of record covers. Beautiful colors and fonts and patterns lay abandoned on the street with their musical partners sitting neatly beside them. I let out a shriek of joy and stop my family.

“Look!” I say. “There’s tons of them!”

They follow to where I’m squatting and leaf through the antique records on the curb. We grab as many as we can hold, and carry them with us to dinner.

Back in Philadelphia, I pin up each record cover with care. They line the wall below my window and each one brought a little magic to my bedroom. Antiques are special in that way. They are from a different time, were used by different people, and bring their stories with them wherever they go. Who knows where these records started, but they ended up on the streets of New York, and now they’ve come to bring their stories to Philadelphia.

Time blows my mind whenever I think about it. There are different time zones, which means while I’m waking up, other people are fast asleep, others are eating lunch, and other people are going to bed. When I travelled this summer, I experienced this first hand. If I got up early enough in the morning, my friends might still be awake, and later in the day they would just be rising. All of this was happening at the exact same moment, but it was technically different times. How could it be two times at once? How does time stop? Why does time stop for me? Who else was wondering about this with me? I often think about the people who are doing the exact same thing I am doing but around the world, or people who have stood in the same places that I stand. Regardless of what currently covers the land, someone was there, someone came before me, and someone will come after without ever knowing I existed. These records made me think about their stories that I’d never know, and the one I will leave behind. Everything happens at the same time and people cross paths without ever realizing, and I want people to know where I’ve been. Not for my own fame, but because I helped someone. I want for someone’s life to have changed for the better because I was in it, regardless of if the world remembers my name. When I found those records, I couldn’t help but feel the connections they’d had with past owners. First kisses to the soft tunes of a musical soundtrack, angry nights spent listening to loud rock. The life events of another left behind and leaving their mark. When my time is up, I want my accomplishments to leave their mark so that I too can be remembered.

My essay

Introduction: My goal for this essay was to explain how I overcame a change in my life by connecting several memories and relating them to the present. I am proud of my descriptive memory scenes. I feel as if I was able to convey the important details without going on forever. I need to improve on explaining ideas within my reflection concisely. I tend to get caught up on how to express exactly what I am trying to say and it doesn’t work out.

We walked through the lush green garden to the small wooden back house, situated away from the street, behind the larger blue house in which my best friend lives. I walked beside her and another best friend, laughing and joking. We stepped inside. There were only two rooms, one with a bed in the corner and bookshelves with hand sewn dolls on them, and a little bathroom.

My friend walked over to the bed and plugged her phone into a speaker sitting there, and began to play music as we talked. She played some songs I didn’t know as the two of them sang to the music. I stood and laughed along as they made screeching sounds and jerked around as poor imitations of melody and dancing. As one song came to a close, she reached over and turned out the lights. The afternoon sun streamed through into the semi darkness, creating contrasting patches of bright spots on the floor as we held our own carefree party within the miniature house. The opening notes to the next song played, bright bouncing chords that were familiar.

“Ooooh I love this song”, my one friend exclaimed.

“I know, it’s such a throwback!” the other yelled over the start of the pounding beat. We continued to flounce around the room as the song went on into the catchy chorus, “no matter what you say or what you do, when I'm alone I'd rather be with you…” The way we felt was reflected in the way we moved; careless, free, nothing held back. We were comfortable in this oddly lit room, with each other, and the music. It was peaceful and chaotic, a physical catastrophe of swinging arms, a mental meditation free of worries. I was content sharing the happiness with my closest friends.

This juxtaposition of peace and chaos is something that I have experienced numerous times in my daily, social or school life. I used to be a very active person, as activity would calm me down. When I was in a chaotic situation, I would feel very relaxed. Another example of this is in the calm that I have felt while practicing or performing circus arts. I remember the thoughts that went through my mind while wrapping myself in fabric before spinning through the air.

A particularly hard trick I once learned was the triple star drop, during summer circus camp. I was so tired. My muscles had been aching for weeks and I could practically feel the pain I would endure in the future. I had lost track of my oxygen intake, didn’t know if I was breathing too fast or not at all. My body had been pushed past its limit, every muscle stretched loose and flexed taut, contorted in impossible movements. My skin was covered in stinging rashes and burns, the results of silken fabric that clung too tightly as it slid against my legs. Angry red scrapes lined my armpits and ankles from the rough rope. My hipbones were purple with bruises from the unforgiving metal of the trapeze bar.

Maybe I was so calm because my brain was flushed with blood. Maybe I had no space in my mind for worry because it was filled with the list of every move to make, every transition into the next position to be executed flawlessly. I had no time to think about what would happen if I fell because I was reviewing my checklist, going down the lines one by one, making sure everything was in place. But I did it automatically anyway; the right side invert, right leg hook, left arm reaches down, loops around the left leg, lift up and out, scoop fabric up and invert again, now do it all again, and again, right leg, left arm, left leg, now wrap around, once, twice, okay. I had done it. My mind was clear as I readied myself for the drop. My body was upside down 30 feet in the air and I’d never felt safer. This calmness is what led me to become so passionate about circus arts. It was an escape, an opportunity to clear my mind. Circus was being in the moment.

A year ago when these activities were taken away from me, everything was reversed. For a time I spent my days sedentary. I was not allowed to walk or even wheel my own wheelchair. My unexpended energy bottled up inside my head since I could not let it out through movement. It rattled around in there, sending my thoughts everywhere in disarray.

Now, I sit at the front of the fitness room and watch thirty kids jump and stretch and sweat. They come into the room solemn from other classes, systematically filing in, a sense of refinement around the way they move. Throughout the next hour, they begin to smile more, laughing as they complain of sore muscles and how the class is “killing” them, and it seems that as they move they let off steam. This is not to say that I am sad now. This is to say that upon reflecting over these memories of movement, I have realized how I have adapted over the past year. I have learned that discontent and restrained resentment need to be released somehow. I have developed new ways to let my energy out, most commonly through writing, drawing, reading, or working. Nostalgically analyzing my past has shown me how different it is from the present, but not that it is better either way, simply different. Change has come, and phases have gone. Maybe I will soon be able to return to circus as I have to dancing with my friends and simply walking. If I don’t, I can still remember the serenity of hanging upside down preparing for my favorite trick.

Introduction

My goal for this paper is to share my story with others, so that they can understand why I am a certain way. I want people to know, how it is that I started speaking the same language as everyone else. A part that I am proud of is where I explain how it was going out to try to get help from others and how I felt. Something that needs improvement is that I should add more details and be more descriptive. Also, I should try to reflect more and try to connect it with my larger idea.

Never let anything get in your way

Daily, we go around, pressured by obstacles thrown into our path in order to make us give up and quit. My parents are both Mexican, so they grew up learning spanish, and weren’t taught english in their schools. They decided to come to the US in order to provide a better life for themselves and for their future family. As I grew up, the language I was taught was spanish, so it was difficult for me to communicate with others. Eventually, I started going to Pre-Kindergarten, but it was a difficult time for me because I couldn’t understand the teachers or my classmates, so I wasn’t learning anything. There were many times when I would cry, because when it came to recess, I would be playing by myself because I had no friends because of the language barrier. I would sit near the tall princess' castle, picturing myself as the princess living in a magical land filled with happiness and everyone getting along. When it came to homework, I didn’t understand what was on the paper, and neither did my parents, so we would have to go out and ask others like our neighbors for help.

At the time, I used to be super embarrassed, because I hated having to go to the same people over and over and ask them for help. At times, I felt dumb because I was the only one having trouble in class. However, thanks to my mom always pushing me, and to my pre-k teacher, little by little, I started learning more and more English. One day, the teacher announced that we would be having an end-of-year celebration, where we would present a play to our parents and other students. The teacher said, “Everyone, we’re going to be having a safari themed play. 1 person is going to be the guide and everyone else is going to be some animal.” I was beyond excited to learn that I had been chosen to narrate the story and be guide. I practiced everyday, and finally, the day of the play arrived. I read every part carefully and at the end, everyone got up and applauded me. When it was done, many parents and other teachers came up to me and congratulated me for my wonderful reading.

If it weren’t for my determination and the extreme support from my parents, I probably would’ve never gotten this chance to be the reader. Thanks to them and to the resources presented to me, I was able to learn English, and then move on and help my parents with it. Ever since those days, I’ve learned to give back to those that were just like me, using my english to help others out. For example, I would be the one to help my siblings with their homework because my parents didn’t understand. I’ve also been an interpreter to my parents when it comes to appointments or meetings, I help translate. I’ve also helped some of my parents friends with translating things and helping them understand.

I’m thankful that my parents decided to learn english, because it’s helpful now, so that my family members aren’t only relying on me for help. From these experiences, it’s shaped who I am as a person, I’ve become independent because I’ve basically had myself as my “teacher” and I don’t often ask for help because of how often I did when I was younger. Sometimes we take the safe road on many things, instead of wanting to take risks. It’s probably because we are scared of what those risks might lead to, we are scared of failing. As I’ve grown up, I’ve had many decisions to make where I knew that taking a risk, stepping up, and not giving up would help me accomplish things. I thank God for giving me the strength to never give up, He had a reason for my struggles and a gift for my faithfulness. As Confucius says, “Our greatest glory is not in never falling but in rising every time we fall.”