In this essay I wanted it to somewhat be a new introduction for the type of writing that I want to be able to do in 11th grade.  I wanted to get out of my old writing habits and make it my goal to try something new this year. I think that I did a pretty good job in my first few paragraphs. I got my points across and used different descriptive techniques. Yet, I feel like I could’ve possibly carried that technique throughout the body of my paper more.

I don't want to write like this forever

   The ideas run through my head constantly, but I don't  know where to go from there. I can get a few sentences here and there and try to put them together but 50 percent of the time it's not simple for me.

   Sometimes it seems as if I have all the ideas in the world and can find a topic to write about in a heartbeat. Other times I feel as though my brain is like a math scatter plot. One point is way up in the positives and the other is low down in the negatives. While looking at all of my points on the scatter plot, I begin searching around trying to find a way for them to connect.

   I feel like when I have nothing to write about and my brain seems empty, I always resort back to a certain topic. I find myself not knowing and deciding to write about my Grandma. Specifically her death. I don't want to be that "writer" who only writes about the most sad and depressing moments that they've experienced.  I want to show that  I've experienced more than that. I don't want all of my writing to be about times that I've dealt with loss. There has been infinit of times when I've had the exact opposite of a loss and have gained and found like no other. Yet it feels like those bad times stay with you day in and day out. I seem to remember a loss 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, and 365 days a year.

   Yesterday's writing assignment felt like one of those days for me. I wrote a journal entry style excerpt. As much as I wanted to pick the most fun or the funniest memory possible, I couldn’t gather myself to do it. Instead the entry said,

   “They say April showers bring May flowers and I am more than ready for these flowers to bloom. I’m tired of the rain. I’m tired of the dreariness. I’m tired of the gloomy days. Can this last day of showers be over already. Tomorrow is the first day of May I hope for the sun to shine and the birds to chirp like all of the cliche things that you hear about in the stories. But I know it won’t be that simple. Today’s my last day here at my grandma's house before the new owner comes to pick up the keys later tonight. After 15 years of spending most of my days here and it being the family house for the last 40 years I’m distraught. It’s all going to be over. Everything is moved out ready for the new owners to move in. Yesterday we took the final pieces out of the house and all I remembered was my mom putting my grandma's silver antique tea set into the trunk of her car.

   The memories began to pour in. Always wanting to use it and have a tea party with my grandma. Wondering why it didn’t sing or dance like the tea set from Beauty & The Beast. Or even the times when I use to sneak and open the china closet door to pretend to pour tea but finding money hidden in the tea pot.

   Those memories led me to even more memories of when I didn’t mind the April showers. The memories that all took place before July 17, 2011. Before my grandma passed away. Back when when everything was ok. When everyday was a good day. Oh how much I pray for those days again to bloom like the flowers in May”.   

I don't want to write like this forever

   I was explaining a time when I felt sad, vulnerable, and confused. It was like a trip down memory lane. A time when change wasn’t something that I wanted to get used to. Everything that I became accustomed to was suddenly turning into the opposite. I believe that change is good, but when it hits you full speed while you're not paying attention, it become hard to adjust.

 But I want to grow as a writer and find a way to write like I haven't before. I want to dig deep into my memories and pick out the old fun ones that I can't help but smile about when I think of them. The memories that aren't so clear and I have to get the rest of the details from my friends and family. The memories that are so positive and will eventually surpass all the ones that involve any type of loss.

I don't want to write like this forever

  Maybe this is one of those moments. The writing assignments are being thrown at me left and right and that proves that it’s time for me to progress as a writer. With each essay I want to strive and create new ideas. Although all authors occasionally have trouble brainstorming ideas, no one wants to be a redundant writer. I want to take time out to think of the most unique things possible I don't want to be the writer who struggles with getting in touch with their writing and finding ways to be good at it. I want my writing to be able to flow out of me and onto my paper. I want my papers to be full of alliteration and the reader to not be able to hold back their anticipation of reading the rest. I want my writing to sound like lovely music to a trained ear.

​After writing this essay, I learned things about myself that I didn't realize. I learned in order for me to fully move on with my life and no longer hold a grudge, I have to forgive people who hurt and let go. I was really able to connect with this writing piece because having my best friend and boyfriend kiss was heartbreaking, but made the writing even stronger. I could have improved on my larger idea though, and reflected more descriptively. Overall, I am very pleased with my work. Enjoy!

Have you ever been betrayed so unpleasantly by someone you would have never expected to do so? The feeling of your heart crumbling into a million pieces, scurrying to your stomach and turning into butterflies. Knowing that the person never had good intentions since you two first met. A sweat breaks out like a disease and you just want to run far away from that person and the world. Personally, I have experienced these feelings more than once. Not only was it by someone I loved, but also by people I considered to be my best friend.

The only way one can be betrayed is if someone trusts or opens up to another person. Having someone you trust throw everything away like a useless piece of trash is hurtful, especially if it’s a person who you’d thought never leave your side. The feeling of a loss is distressful- regardless of family member, friend, etc. The main way to cope with a loss of someone you thought was your friend is to remember whoever you encounter in life is either there for a reason or a season, but you must be open to this and remember not everyone is meant to be in your life.

I was in the eighth grade. There were 7 other girls whom I considered best friends of mine, we called ourselves “The Crew”. Each of our parents knew the other’s. Everyone was close and no one could break our bond, which was as strong and sturdy as a leather belt. At least I thought it could not be broken. We told each other everything, and could open up about the worst and best experiences that we have been through. Those seven girls meant everything to me, and I could not bear the thought of losing them as friends.

I had a crush on this guy, Dom, since my eyes were first placed on his round cocoa brown face, which was in the sixth grade. He never paid me any mind at first, though, which was pretty embarrassing. After a while I began to lose interest because “spitting game” was getting played out like a repetitive song on the radio. Right when I was over him, at the start of eighth grade, he started to begin liking me. How coincidental. Me, being the weak, insecure, and naive person I was, jumped right back into liking him because I was finally getting the attention I had desired for so long.

Months passed after talking and we had finally decided to make our relationship official. This day, November 13, 2012, meant everything to me. Simply because that was the day that had started the small, yet noticeable, crack in the Crew’s bond.

One dreary winter day, I received a phone call from my boyfriend. His voice was quivering and I could tell something was bothering him.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, nervously.

“I need to tell you something.” he said, voice shaking like a massive earthquake

Those six words can either be the best news one could receive or the worst. In my case, it was the worst.

“Suzie and I kissed….” he said blandly.

After he said that, the rest of the words that followed were completely shut out. It kept replaying in my head like a scratched record. Those emotions began seeping in. Heart crumbling, evil butterflies, realization, breaking out of a sweat. Before I could even think about what to say, tears began strolling down my face, they were unstoppable. Not only was he supposed to be my boyfriend, but Suzie was supposed to be my best friend in the Crew!

A very wise man, known by Drake, once said “Tables turn, bridges burn, you live and learn.” Tables turning and bridges burning is exactly what happened in this situation. The tables had unexpectedly flipped on me with no warning by either my best friend nor my boyfriend. They both burned the solid, loyal bridge with me by going behind my back and plunging a 16 inch knife in it. The pain felt was both physical, emotional, and intellectual. Although this happened, life is about learning lessons. These lessons won’t always be learned the easiest way, there will be different trials that will break you down and build you back up. Yet, the key to succeeding in life is learning from the lessons and not making the same decisions that have no benefit to you.

Which brings me to the other question, what exactly had I done so bad to Suzie for her to do this to me? What motivates people to selectively decide on which knife they’ll plunge into their loved one’s back? Is it jealousy, envy, or even hatred? Then I thought, maybe she’s had a problem with me all along but placed these issues behind a mask just to get close to me. They say “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer” for a reason. I finally realized that the reason people betray is because their intentions were never pure from the start, which accurate in Suzie’s situation. In conclusion, going through the many lessons I learned from fraudulent friendships has honestly made me stronger as a friend and person.

It was the end of middle school. We had about three days left before graduation. Nikki and I had been officially dating for about two months now. Charlie, Nikki’s ex and my friend,  had begrudgingly accepted defeat. As for the rumors he spread, the ones about me being the Antichrist, had done whatever damage they could.  I was in math and Brian, a Caucasian, lackadaisical, stoner type, was doing that thing again. He stares at me from across the room. When I turn my head, we made eye contact. He doesn’t break it. His eyes are a turquoise green color. I usually break and try to focus on anything else, but comforted by the knowledge that I would never see him again, I decided to maintain eye contact. He leaned in, resting his head on one hand. I felt hot in the face. I was actively fighting the urge to look away. In waves I started to see him in a new light. His facial structure became striking. The unknowing dullness in his eyes looked happy and bashful. The urge to look away ceased. For the first time he broke eye contact. I should’ve felt good, successful, but I didn’t. I felt cheated. I should’ve felt victorious, but instead I was left with this feeling I can only describe as taboo.

The summer commenced, and I started my quasi experimentation. Later that year my grandfather passed. He had been suffering from Parkinson's disorder. His wife, my grandmother, had died from leukemia  two years earlier.

My grandmother never knew about my sexuality. This is partially because I didn’t know until two years after her death. I suspect that she wouldn’t have accepted it if she had known and I wouldn’t blame her. She grew up in the backwoods of Mississippi. Her parents were devout catholic farmers. Even though she worked to leave her old ways behind her, some things just stuck. She wasn’t necessarily homophobic but rather a homoskeptic.

When I was a child, my grandmother would take me to church. It was one of those big TV churches with the celebrity preachers. The preacher was a handsome man with California tan skin and shiny black hair.  There is one sermon that remains vivid in my memory.  Obviously the topic was marriage and homosexuality. My grandmother was apathetic  during his sermon. I thought back to her wedding and what that must of been like.

There’s a picture of my grandmother hanging above the staircase. In the picture she’s wearing her wedding dress, a white flowing gown with an equally white veil. The veil I s made of lace and forms flowers around the crown of her head.She stands before a decaying chicken wire fence covered in vines. A tall tree stands in the foreground, casting a magnificent shadow that gives the picture depth. Freshly cut grass covers her feet so her shoes aren’t visible. But based on her height I can Behind the chicken wire a glimpse of a sunny field can be found. The picture is originally black and white, but was eventually color tinted. Her lips are colored a baby pink, her skin a coffee creamer brown. Her smile seems painted on too. Her back is artificially arched. Her hands seemed calculated. they lie at her sides and meet between her hips where a banquet of white and pink roses is being tightly gripped. Her elbows seem dainty compared to her shoulder, broad from years of farm work . Even though her legs are covered you can tell her knees are buckled by the way she stands. The picture was taken by her young nephew, Tony.

My mother speculates that he too is gay. The rest of the family suspects the same, but chose to say nothing. They call Tony the lonely bachelor. He lives far away from the entire family, nuclear or otherwise. I’ve been told That his house is heavily populated with cats, but nothing else, no roommates or pictures even though he’s a natural photographer. Although I’ve never met the man and he doesn’t know I exist, I have some theories about him. I think he’s still in denial about his sexuality or maybe he doesn’t understand it. Growing up in Mississippi in the 60’s he was probably surrounded by homophobic and homoskeptic influences. That mixed with devout  catholic   influences could only result in self hatred and shame. He spent much of his time attempting to “pass”.  When he met his limit he ran away.

Although I live a very different life than him, I sympathize with him. If I wasn’t taught to be proud or strong, could I be reliving his life. Yes, I could have been just like him. Skepticism can be just as harmful as hatred.  

It was a lengthy sweltering summer, prolonged by the delayed school year. We were members at a new pool in Flourtown, it was okay, there were two pools on the property and they were never cold, the back pool was filled with salt water which really exfoliated your skin. The main pool had two slides and a diving board. All in all, the pool was a nice retreat from the scorching sun. There was only one problem-the pool was half an hour away from our house and we didn't know anyone there. I was a fidgety 9 year old and my brother was a busy 6 year old,  but very shy, once we got bored playing with each other we’d just sit on the deck. My mom got tired of entertaining us, so we visited a pool that my best friend was a member of. It was a temperate day in August and I was so ready to spend the day with my best friend, my whole family was ready to have a nice relaxing day at the pool. Wherever the pool was it was at least an hour away, but I knew it would be worth it. We finally arrived and walked through the threshold, immediately my eyes started to wonder. As I carefully examined the pool I was confused.

“Where are all the white people?” I asked aloud

“There aren’t any” Olivia, my best friend responded. We shuffled over to our spot on the lawn.

“Well what do you mean?”

“This is a black pool” I didn’t understand, but I decided to leave it alone, my parents were looking at me like I was crazy, and I could tell that no one else seemed to have a problem with it. Olivia dragged me to the diving board so we could wait in line for our turn, I was less than excited to jump when I saw dirt at the bottom of the pool. As I continued to analyze the rest of the pool I noticed that it was basically falling apart. The tiles were covered in scum and falling into the pool. The floor was rusted and some spots had caked on algae. I couldn’t help but attribute that to the only difference that I’d noticed between my pool and that one, the black people. I know how harsh that must sound, but let me give you some background.

The elementary school I went to separated each grade into two sections: Enhanced and Immersion, kids who would be taught in Spanish. The students in the enhanced program were predominantly black, while the kids in the immersion program were predominantly white, I ended up in the immersion program with the white kids. I don’t know why my parents put me in the program, they just did, and I was happy there. Olivia was in the same class as me and I was making lots of friends, white ones.

It didn’t matter to me what race my friends were because my school always advocated for diversity. I was used to being around a rainbow of people, white, asian, black, hispanic, it didn’t matter to me. Until I got to middle school and realized how different I was from the other black kids. Fifth grade is when we started mixing the classes, I wasn’t excited. The reputation the enhanced kids had wasn’t good, they were always getting in trouble, the teachers never stopped yelling at them, kids were always getting kicked out of class, and the majority of the class basically lived in the dean's office. I knew they were troublemakers and I didn’t really want them disrupting my learning.

Once the merger happened everyone was less than enthused, enhanced kids thought we were know it alls and we thought they were awful. Although somehow we ended up getting along, no one switched friend groups perse but we could now talk to each other without judgement. The more I got to know everyone, the more I wanted to befriend everyone, I mean those kids looked like me and grew up with similar experiences. The more we interacted the more I realized that I should want to expand my friend group. I was always taught to have a diverse group of friends but somehow I had ended up with mostly white girls, which was great but there were some things that they didn’t understand about me or vice versa. Like, why did I wear my hair a certain way? Why didn't I get sunburned? Why couldn’t I blush? So I decided to start trying to hang out with a new group of people, people similar to me, I wanted to be apart of their rainbow of mochas, cocos, milk, and white chocolates.

Quickly I realize that I hadn’t made the best decision, yeah it was true that these people looked like me but they weren't like me. The friendship that I tried to develop with them didn’t fulfill me anymore than my other white friends. They were just as intrigued with my blackness as I was with theirs, so I no  longer forced myself to hangout with them and turn into their version of blackness.

Being black is more than just following the status quo, wherever I go and try to fit in I just don’t and that’s okay. My “black experience” has been shaped by so many people and places, I guess that makes me a melting pot. But I realize that it doesn’t matter if I go to an HBCU like Hampton or if I move to a black neighborhood, I may never be accepted into the conventional stereotypical world of blackness that I was conditioned into thinking was better. After a long and traveled road I am finally okay with the black woman that I am. Okay with the black and not so black features that I have, I’m okay melanin, okay with the nose, okay with the lack of rhythm, and okay with the global community of black people that I help represent.

Have you ever felt like you have left reality. Like reality has completely lifted off from your body, your mind wandering to a dark place all because you hear a siren. I’m frozen in place, my heart accelerated, my mind blanked, and as the seconds slowly ticked by the door opens. I utter the words, “Hey Grandma” and she replies with her tears. Ideas flooded my mind of what was to come, but I wouldn’t have expected to hear “Fox was gone.” I had no idea how to react to the news. I didn’t know what to do or even what to say. The rage slowly consumed what was once “Kareem’s body”, the air seemed to flow around what emotions seeped out of my draining self control. The world became quiet as I stood there pondering if that was the truth, wondering how could he just leave like that. It was close to my mom’s birthday and we went out to get this new necklace, a diamond heart with a gold strip around it, and now he’s gone. I leave from my grandma's house with an emotionless face. As I start to walk home, a single tear glides down from my eye, trying to hug my cheek but only taken away by my humanity, and then I hear the words, “It’ll be okay.” It was like a surprise presents that you never want, but the twist was that this had no return policy.

It can’t be escaped. Time moves on whether you like it or not. Life has ups and downs for you to juggle with. A constant tug-and-pull, a test of your strength to see if you can keep fighting on. It’s  never easy. Those may put on a mask to show what they want to, but on the inside it gets to them too. Whether or not you’re capable of taking the lost, eventually it’ll hit you that it’s the reality. It’s sad but apart of it all.

A little comfort can’t hurt for the short term, but in the long run it hits you hard. Knowing those you love, those who may have shaped your life will just be gone one day. You can’t stop the future from coming, but as they go, may others take their place to fill that void. Holding on to the past will only slow down the time it takes for you to move forward. Just know you’ll see them again. One day you will, but until then, just silence.

It happens to us all. Whether it’s us personally or it’s someone close to us. I remember this one day it was me and one of friends. One day after school we decided to just walk around center city. Everything was calm, we were at peace, the world just seemed to move around us, but then she get a phone call. I didn’t have to hear anything. The only thing I needed was her clenching my hand and it was clear. She had told me that she knew that their time was coming to an end. Her mother, just barely holding a graps to reality, has seen the light. I never asked for the details but I knew she was sick. For the past few weeks she had been getting worst, and now it’s official. She had lost someone close to her as I had lost someone merely 1 month ago. I knew I couldn’t have the sympathy of losing my mother, but I still had it at the level of losing my uncle.

You never know what will happen in this reality called life. It’s full of surprises, full of twists, fulls of unforeseen events that come together to create your life. There is no real way to have full control of it all, but what you can do is just live your life the best that you can. Living in the past will not prepare you for the future, but understanding that those who once was has never left. Though you do not see them doesn’t mean that they aren’t still there. You don’t see them, but they still are real, they still live in your memories. That’s the best thing that we as humans can have. Our memories keep dreams, hopes, and our lives forever alive. Those who have an impact never leave if they will just stay there until you are freed. Until you see the world that’s unseen to the eye. The world where your life comes together and you can look back and hopefully accept your fate.

Throughout my life I had learned to accept the twist to my reality. You have to or else you can never live your life. LIfe is unpredictable, it has something for all of us, and we just have to live each day the best that we can. I wish that I didn’t have to lose that I loved, those you were taken from me, and even those that decided themselves. I just know that I will see them again one day so I just keep on living. My only regret is that I wish I could say, “...see you later.”

I don't think I had anything particular in mind with what to accomplish with this paper, but I had a decent story and I could be really blunt about the overall message without it sounding weird (hopefully). I think I did the story pretty well, as well as explaining the overall issue, though the transition between the two was awkward. 

To be perfectly honest, most of the time I’m doing anything, I just want to enjoy myself and chill out. There are very few things that make me want to be excited when I’m doing them, but the ultimate goal is always enjoyment or at least to be really chilled out. For me it’s escapism, which is either fine or bad depending on your philosophical or moral bend. To me, you’re coming into this world with nothing and leaving with nothing, so what else matters really but how much enjoyment I can get out of life?

So generally all I really do with my life is escape. I mean I have no moral qualms with it, and it is when I enjoy life the most, so escapism is a pretty go-to thing for me. There are some obvious drawbacks, which are lack of motivation sometimes, snapping out of it can even be difficult, though normally not a problem. So this story is just going to be one of those moments where I didn’t want to snap out of it, and one of the best times in my life that I can remember (a lot of that is due to escapism, so it may seem irrelevant to this but believe me, it isn’t.)

So over last summer my family and I finally got a chance where we were financially stable enough to go on a vacation to a place of our choosing, and since we had some inheritance leftover from my grandmother passing, we had some substantial wiggle room with the destination. This is one of the moments where escapism is rather important, seeing as my dead grandmother was the main reason we were going. To be honest she hated the idea of people grieving over her after she was gone, so do I, so I decided to simply not.

We finally decided to go to the florida keys, as it was as cheap as going to Wildwood, NJ (crazy thought but completely true). My dad was only present for the first half of the trip, but I can’t be honest and also say this was to our displeasure, as he was the main reason we were in the aforementioned financial problem. Again, escapism. I feel like the image that people get when they think of it is either being totally ignorant (ignorance is bliss), or being in a state with no worry. While neither are entirely wrong, they aren’t right either, it can be a much more subtle thing than that. For example, hear yelling, put on headphones and throw on music. It can really be as simple as that. But anyway, I’d say a part of the vacation where I saw this all a little more clearly was when I went snorkeling.

We had about 2 days left and I really didn’t want to go back to Philly. It was so laid back down there, people were either living penny to penny or off of retirement. Always so casual, no drama, people were just plain happy. So we decided to do something that we hadn’t really tried before which was snorkeling. I always imagined myself having that, “NOPE, NOPE, NOPE,” attitude about snorkeling but I decided to actually try it.

The ride over was as beautiful as the rest of the Florida keys, with pretty wildlife and scenic ocean views. We were going to a protected coral reef, so god only knows what I thought I was going to see before getting there. But when I got there I was honestly surprised. The water was more clear than it had been the entire ride over. I stopped looking at anything but the brightly tropical colored fish I could see 30 feet down. Once we got the signal to drop I didn’t even hesitate, despite seeing barracuda and sharks in the water.

Note: This essay was written to explain why achieving perfection may not always be beneficial. It shows that my love of cars was used as a means to push for success, but, interestingly, was detrimental to my academic career. I believe that it proves the point quite well, although slight refinement may help it a little.

Perfection

The smell of fresh carpet, and the lemony chemicals of cleanliness were especially noticeable that summer afternoon of 2009. As we walked to the end of the wide hallway double file, and began the stairs, our teacher told us we were free. Benjamin, Ali and I ran down the stairs and made our way to the Book Fair. As soon as we had made it inside, there were rows, and rows of books, pens, pencils and everything else ‘academic’ you could think of. As we turned to face the stacks of Guinness Book of World Records 2010, our eyes turned to the corner of the cover. Price.

Immediately, I put my hand in my pocket, and pulled out a couple of neatly folded bank notes. Two 10’s - $20 in total. ‘That should be enough’ I thought to myself, as I walked down the aisle. I made it to the ‘Alex Rider’ series, and picked up the first book ‘Stormbreaker’. It was about 10 bucks, so I had half left. I turned the corner, and saw posters - maybe a yard long and two feet wide. I perused the selection, and found one that caught my eye.

The blue and black outline of the car was artfully crafted. This wasn’t some ordinary car; it was shaped like a rocket. The whole 180 inches of the Ferrari’s width were crafted with gentle swoops of intakes, curvatures, and beautiful design. It’s sharp, triangular headlights, when matched with its ultra-low profile gave it a true Batmobile style look. Its overall sleek profile can only be really described one way… Imagine a triangular prism that slowly widens up into a flat, then curves back into a flat end. You then take this triangular prism, and slowly carve the edges away, till the sides are curved down. Using a saw, you cut vents into the corners, and add lights. The front grill is cut into the bottom of the triangular prism, and the whole design is removed of edges. The doors are added, and intakes are cut into the sides. When you are done this, take it to a master engineer at Ferrari, and they’ll finish it for you. What are you left with? An astonishing exotic called the Ferrari 612 GTO.

The second I picked up this poster, I walked up to the cashier, heart pounding with excitement. I stopped for a minute, and picked up an eraser, a few pencils, and a notebook. After buying everything, I knew exactly what I was going to do when I went home - draw.

Ferrari. Bugatti. Lamborghini. Those three brands were my subjects. Exotics. Similar to the academic subjects of Linear Algebra, Chemistry, and Philosophy, these were the most sophisticated of their individual topics. I studied, and prepared for my subjects to a master’s degree. Every single chapter of Ferrari, Lamborghini, and Bugatti were practiced until I got the A. With a pencil in hand, I used some pictures on the net as a reference. I used to first copy each individual line, in essence tracing the pics. After the overall shape was done, I used to repeatedly ‘learn’ the curves until I got it perfect. I used this method to put in the light reflections, and interior details of the cars. I studied the specific model of my manufacturer (eg. Ferrari F40) before I moved on to another model. This led me to perfect certain models to a 1:1 reproduction drawing; if angles, curves, and designs were considered questions on a test, I’d study till I passed with flying colors.

This love of faultlessness, and achieving the best, was a double edged sword. Although it pushed me to do the best I could do, it wasn’t possible with all the classes I had. It was truly difficult to achieve perfection when you had multiple assignments for 5-6 classes, all due at the same time. Also, I had been trying to balance drawing cars with perfectly completing assignments, and I noticed that I was slightly falling behind in class. More nights were spent awake, and I began getting late to school, because I simply could not wake up on time. I used to be an ‘A’ student, but now, this was dropping. Oddly, I remember the fragrant aroma of the classroom, and school, as a memory of my seeming failure. Although I had been emotionally, and mentally there 100% of the time, my body couldn’t keep up with this strenuous cycle of perfection.

Although some might argue that, in order to succeed, you must work as hard as you possibly can, I disagree. In order to achieve success, you must work smartly. Which assignments are due first? Which assignments demand more effort? I realized I had to work in a time-based schedule, where as though assignments were completed in order of their due dates. After doing this for a while, I was beginning to catch up with my peers, and establish my former rank.  I realized that the ‘top students’ were a group of teacher’s pets, and decided to fight the animals. In this strife, I worked to complete the assignment to the best of my ability, but in a time, and energy constraint. I worked in this manner until a month before school was out. My final report card was quite good, and higher then what I expected.