Emerging from the Shadows
She stands a staggering 5 feet 2 inches tall, weighs a massive 95 pounds, and has short, brown hair and brown eyes. I see my older sister Leslie. Others see a model of perfection. Don't get me wrong, my sister and I are close and have been inseparable since birth. My mother has kept pictures of us ranging from the time we shared a playpen as babies to just recently at Leslie's graduation. For seventeen years, we've shared every life experience imaginable, and we've dealt with the trials and tribulations that come with growing up. But in September, she left home to attend the University of California at Irvine, leaving me to face life alone. However, it gave me the opportunity to live life by myself as Ryan, instead of Leslie's little brother.
Since the beginning, I have gone to the same school as Leslie, and almost every year I got stuck with a teacher that she had had the previous year. Being only eleven months younger than my sibling made the memory of Leslie, being the bright student that she is, easier for my teachers to recall. Every September for eleven years I was greeted by all of my teachers with the same "Oh you're Leslie's little brother." This was really no big deal. The following year, my fifth grade teacher said to me, "Oh you're Leslie's little brother?" This normally did not faze me since it happened to me several times before with different people, but on this occasion, it was the same person. This upset me a little.
At first this association with my scholarly sister did not bother me too much. If anything I found it beneficial because I believed that it would help me build relationships with my teachers. But with each passing year, the little comments and remarks literally ate away at my identity. Comments like "You did good, but Leslie got a better grade last year," can easily destroy a child's self-esteem. As I became older, I started believing that I was not growing up as myself, but rather as the product of someone else. It almost made me happy to see older teachers leave and others take their place. Unfortunately, school made up only half of the problem.
The other half occurred in the one place where it really should not but often did: at home.
'The Storm' begins on a stormy spring day, with the protagonist Calixta at her sewing machine. She is alone, her husband Bobinot and son Bibi have gone to the store. Calixta seems to be a bored woman, confined to her duties as a housewife and mother. As the distant storm approaches she is unaware of what the storm brings, her former lover Alcee. Calixta allows Alcee into her home and opens her whole world to him. There is a connection between the storm that is going on outside and the storm of emotions going on in Calixta and Alcee. The weather sends Calixta into Alcee?s arms, he wraps his arms around her, and they can no longer hide their feelings for one another. They gave into their raging emotions and made love. Outside the weather was subsiding and Calixta and Alcee?s bodies felt relaxed and calmed. ?The rain was over; and the sun was turning the glistening green world into a palace of gems.? (1614) His face beamed with light like the sun. The storm inside of her was satisfied and for a brief instant Calixta felt liberated from her ordinary dull life.
In fifth grade, I had a teacher by the name of Mrs. Sera. Even typing her name gives me this cold feeling inside; she eerily resembles Miss Viola Swamp from the children’s book Miss Nelson is Missing. Viola Swamp was “the meanest substitute teacher in the whole world.” Mrs. Sera, on the other hand, my full-time educator and seemingly just as mean. She had a long pointy chin, a fairly large nose, and extremely thin lips that rarely ever smiled just like Miss Swamp. During this year leading up to middle school, I struggled in every subject: math, science, social studies, and language arts. The only parts of the day I succeeded in were recess and lunch. I remember one day, I had a test in science. I received a 23%. This is still the lowest grade
Writing a self-reflective tirade is perhaps one of the most difficult tasks to perform. I have found myself pondering this topic for an unusually long time; no one has ever asked me to write about my culture-- the one thing about myself which I understand the least. This question which is so easy for others to answer often leads me into a series of convoluted explanations, "I was born in the U.S., but lived in Pakistan since I was six. My brothers moved to the US when I was thirteen" I am now nearly twenty, which means I have spent half my life being Pakistani, the other half trying to be American, or is the other way around?
I can remember several instances in the past involving situations that concerned my brothers in relation to their education. My brother John and I attended the same elementary school. Since I was four grades ahead of him, he eventually ended up with many of the same teachers I had during my elementary school years. I went to pick John up from his second grade class as I did every day. One day in particular though, his teacher, Mrs. Janet Nitahara, who by the way was one of my favorite teachers, called me in to discuss John's behavior. When I walked in to the class I saw my brother sitting in the corner of the room in a chair. Mrs. Nitahara said that he talked too much and needed to learn how to be quiet and behave in class like I used to.
Frost's poem addresses the tragic transitory nature of living things; from the moment of conception, we are ever-striding towards death. Frost offers no remedy for the universal illness of aging; no solution to the fact that the glory of youth lasts only a moment. He merely commits to writing a deliberation of what he understands to be a reality, however tragic. The affliction of dissatisfaction that Frost suffers from cannot be treated in any tangible way. Frost's response is to refuse to silently buckle to the seemingly sadistic ways of the world. He attacks the culprit of aging the only way one can attack the enigmatic forces of the universe, by naming it as the tragedy that it is.
Sweat dripping down my face and butterflies fluttering around my stomach as if it was the Garden of Eden, I took in a deep breathe and asked myself: "Why am I so nervous? After all, it is just the most exciting day of my life." When the judges announced for the Parsippany Hills High School Marching Band to commence its show, my mind blanked out and I was on the verge of losing sanity. Giant's Stadium engulfed me, and as I pointed my instrument up to the judges' stand, I gathered my thoughts and placed my mouth into the ice-cold mouthpiece of the contrabass. "Ready or not," I beamed, "here comes the best show you will ever behold." There is no word to describe the feeling I obtain through music. However, there is no word to describe the pain I suffer through in order to be the best in the band either. When I switched my instrument to tuba from flute in seventh grade, little did I know the difference it would make in the four years of high school I was soon to experience. I joined marching band in ninth grade as my ongoing love for music waxed. When my instructor placed the 30 lb. sousaphone on my shoulder on the first day, I lost my balance and would have fallen had my friends not made the effort to catch me. During practices, I always attempted to ease the discomfort as the sousaphone cut through my collar bone, but eventually my shoulder started to agonize and bleed under the pressure. My endurance and my effort to play the best show without complaining about the weight paid off when I received the award for "Rookie of the Year." For the next three seasons of band practice, the ache and toil continued. Whenever the band had practice, followed by a football game and then a competition, my brain would blur from fatigue and my body would scream in agony. Nevertheless, I pointed my toes high in the air as I marched on, passionate about the activity. As a result, my band instructor saw my drive toward music and I was named Quartermaster for my junior year, being trusted with organizing, distributing, and collecting uniforms for all seventy-five members of the band. The responsibility was tremendous. It took a bulk of my time, but the sentiment of knowing that I was an important part of band made it all worthwhile.
Secondly, two main places make up the setting in "The Storm." Friedheimer's store, where Bobinot and Bibi ride out the storm, is only briefly described. The store was made of wood and the reader gives an illusion of ordinary surroundings. Bobinot and Bibi sat on empty wooden kegs while they wait for the storm to pass. The house, in which Calixta and Alcee wait out the storm is in the country. Examples such as these give a mundane portrayal to the setting. The characters' names are of French origin, indicating that and the story takes place in Louisiana. Calixa and Alcee give the reader more clues on location when they mention Assumption, a parish near New Orleans. The descriptions of "far-off cabins and distant wood" create a feeling of loneliness and isolation. The house has a front gallery where Bobinot's Sunday clothes are hanging. While referring to all the other rooms in the house, the bedroom is described in detail. The bedroom door is open directing the focus toward the "white monumental bed, its closed shutters, looked dim and mysterious." This graphic description of the bedroom foreshadows the encounter between Calixta and Alcee.
Some say that mankind is complex beyond comprehension. I cannot, of course, speak for every other individual on this earth, but I do not believe that I am a very difficult person to understand. My life is based upon two very simple, sweeping philosophies: pragmatism in actions and idealism in thought. Thus, with these two attitudes, I characterize myself.
At this moment when I am sitting down here writing this, I suddenly think of this time last year when I was fresh out of high school, hearing about Berea for the first time. I sent my application to Berea with lots of confidence and hope, and I knew I was not accepted. College to me, as much as to many others, is so important. At the time I heard the news of my being denied, I was disappointed, but soon I realized that my failure was just among the many challenges that anybody has to face during their lifetime. Further more, I happened to know, later on, about the two other Vietnamese who were accepted. Having known that hardly ever more than one student from each country is accepted to Berea, I was so proud to know that the ability of Vietnamese students has been recognized and that, despite of the fact that our country still faces many difficulties, the students have been trying to reach high goals.
This story is set on a sultry afternoon in south Louisiana near Biloxi. The body of the story takes place in Calixta's home during a fierce summer storm. The atmosphere is charged with electricity and sexual tension caused by the storm and the unexpected arrival of Alcée Laballière who Calixta had not seen very often since her marriage, and never alone.
In literature, themes shape and characterize an author’s writing making each work unique as different points of view are expressed within a writing’s words and sentences. This is the case, for example, of Edgar Allan Poe’s poem “Annabel Lee” and Emily Dickinson’s poem “Because I could not stop for Death.” Both poems focus on the same theme of death, but while Poe’s poem reflects that death is an atrocious event because of the suffering and struggle that it provokes, Dickinson’s poem reflects that death is humane and that it should not be feared as it is inevitable. The two poems have both similarities and differences, and the themes and characteristics of each poem can be explained by the author’s influences and lives.
When I wake up to the ear-splitting sound of my alarm clock, and blindly search for the snooze button, a sudden thought dawns: "What am I doing?"
I also remember as young girl learning how to read and my favorite book that I could quote word for word was “Green Eggs and Ham” by Dr.Suess. I loved that book so much I still have that today. As I got older my love for reading and books started to diminish, I went to a private school for my elementary years and their curriculum was very intense. It was required to read a book from their approved list and complete a book report each summer before the school year began. Not to mention the numerous books reports I would have to complete during the school. At an early age books and reading was something I had to do and not what I wanted to do.
College Admissions: What motivates you to seek a college education Why is Berea College a good choice for you
The vivid imagery, symbolism, metaphors make his poetry elusive, through these elements Frost is able to give nature its dark side. It is these elements that must be analyzed to discover the hidden dark meaning within Roberts Frost’s poems. Lines that seemed simple at first become more complex after the reader analyzes the poem using elements of poetry. For example, in the poem Mending Wall it appears that Robert frost is talking about two man arguing about a wall but at a closer look the reader realizes that the poem is about the things that separate man from man, which can be viewed as destructive. In After Apple Picking, the darkness of nature is present through the man wanting sleep, which is symbolic of death. It might seem that the poem is about apple picking and hard work but it is actually about the nature of death.