For some time, I had this on my mind that hardly I would find a carriage or a cycle-rickshaw outside the station, for the time on my wristwatch was quarter past six and the train had yet to cover ten to twelve miles of distance to reach the station. I was en route to Bilaspur, some eighty miles to the northwest of Kolkata. On a Sunday evening, Mr. Seth, my neighbor, probably a few days before the trip while were having coffee at his bungalow, told me that the place is very tranquil and one may find themselves feel at home. We were discussing the way we slog at our respective offices and how a vacation to an unknown place would make us lively again. The concluding part of our discussion reminded me of the invitation I had received from the …show more content…
Before I could pick it up, my fellow passenger, the one with the Horn-rimmed spectacles booted it away, getting my phone smashed to pieces in the process after it hit the wall on the other side of the carriage. I flung my arm to catch him by the shoulder, but he ran out of the carriage door at lightning speed. With little to do, I got on to my feet, dusted the dirt off my shirt, lifted my luggage and my dismantled phone before making my way out of the carriage. The platform looked more like a graveyard than a place where trains were likely to halt. Even if they did, like the one I got off from, they must have stopped for a few minutes for the passengers to exit and afterward whistled off to the next station. The platform consisted of the station master's office and a long old wooden bench for the passengers to sit and wait. The place was dimly lit. A lantern hung from the pole erected near the station master's office, but the station master was nowhere to be seen. He must have set off for home after doing away with his …show more content…
Whereas, the bench was of little use to the passengers because the droppings of the birds had already occupied the
This autobiographical narrative is a collection Bharati Mukherjee’s experience returning to India with her Canadian husband who is also the co-author. They both separately wrote about their experiences in the country and the daily life for it’s people. The book focuses on these two contrasting points of view and cultural backgrounds ("Days and Nights in Calcutta , Bharati Mukherjee”). It is rated four stars out of five on Amazon.com.
I am an undocumented student at UC Davis. When I am asked a simple question such as, "describe your personal experiences", I ask myself: Where do I begin?
At the age of seven, my life changed forever. I was no longer living in my native country; I was now a fragment of the millions of immigrants who come to the United States in search of the American Dream. At the time, my father had recently lost his job and my mother was unemployed, which caused incredible financial stress for my family. My father decided to risk his life crossing the Rio Grande River for our family to have a better life and greater rewards.
Oh, how I love to clean! I would have never imagined me cleaning my bedroom for the very last time. I remember vividly the last look I gave that empty bedroom of mine. There were sudden flashbacks of the memories I had made in that house, rather it was helping my mother cook or raising my kitten, my entire childhood was spent in between those walls. Several tears were cried in this house, like the time I about lost my grandfather due to a heart attack, or the several laughs I had with my friends at each one of my birthday parties that were hosted here. I kept looking around my house and couldn’t help but notice the door in the kitchen that
A bright sunny spring day, the bus lane in filled with a bunch of bright yellow buses.”Bye” I said to my friend as I walk onto the load noisy bus. Walking to my seat trying not to bump my violin into anything. I get to my seat near the back of the bus. I set down my violin first than my backpack leaving me barely any space to sit. I get up a bit from my seat to look through the window cause my violin case was in my way. After what seemed like forever I open my fairly new backpack to get my phone because of my lack of entertainment. One problem, my phone wasn’t there.
The panic. The anxiety. The feeling that my heart had skipped a couple beats and I didn’t know what to do. I don’t remember the last time I felt so nervous or anxious about anything, but this experience surely would have won “Most Embarrassing” by a landslide. This is how I felt almost every single time I did something that could be considered even slightly awkward or embarrassing.
As an undergraduate student, I always longed for different ways to enrich my cultural experiences, whether it was trying to learn a new language or watching documentaries and movies in foreign languages about different cultures. However, the only action that really added to me was years later when I made the decision of moving to the United States to pursue a higher degree. The shift from being a member of a high context culture such as my home country –Saudi Arabia- into a low context culture such as the United States was highly rewarding. Even though I have read about the difficulties of the transition process and how that many people could find the adjustment process really challenging, experiencing it was different on many levels. Some of the difficulties that I have went through was experiencing what it feels like to be the different, or the alien to be precise. Also, I have dealt with stereotypes about my identity; many people found it confusing to be a Saudi/Muslim woman who does not wear hijab or the head cover. Morover, I noticed how language can be an obstacle sometimes in simple situations such as asking for directions wherever I am lost. Suddenly, asking for help never seemed so arduous.
We have all had an event in our lives that feels like it will define you for the rest of you life. Early July in 100 degree heat made it a marvelous day for baseball. We’ve played in this heat since 10 A.M. and just finished playing our fifth straight game vs. Rollingstone. Now we just have to win two more games against our rivals the Byron Bears, and we would get to take home that shiny, gold trophy that has called our name since the moment we arrived. My life experience playing two high pressured games shows my nervousness in the first game vs Byron, in the second game vs Byron, and in the end of the game.
A change of scenery helps to sort things out. Portland, a green city and much more laid back than the San Francisco Bay Area was just what I needed. It gave me the space to ponder and to think more like an artist and less like an art historian. Even as I seriously tried to develop projects, write grants, and act as though I was still into it, the art history part, I wasn't and as it turned out, I wasn’t successful doing anything in Portland but gardening and raising chickens, signs that I needed a change.
As I stepped down the stairs I noticed my father holding up his phone to capture to take pictures. He looked at us with a big smile on his face The cherished moment was quickly spent due to a tight schedule.
Writing, is one of the most fearful and over thought piece of work. I personally, grew up struggling in writing and I had to find out how to write a “perfect” essay as I was looking forward to pursing a higher education. Throughout middle school and high school, I developed learning habits that made me write the way I write. Now writing for me is not as easy as some people think but at the same time it is not as hard as some people think if that makes sense.
I am by myself wearing my blue jeans and an old flannel shirt. It is cool outside but I decided to leave my gloves at home, feeling comfortable with my warm shirt and my sturdy boots.
Clothes packed! Medicine sealed! Outfit done! Tickets ready! Yes! It reminded me during our trip to Bicol, Philippines last September 23-26, 2016 for the 26th Council of Management, Educators, and Practitioners in the Philippines (COMEPP) National Conference at Avenue Plaza Hotel, Naga City. It was a two-day conference with two days side trip. How prepared and excited we were indeed. Together with Kassandra Gange and our gorgeous adviser, Mrs. Leonarlyn Vargas, we left Iloilo on the 22nd at 7:30 am departure time. As we boarded the plane, I closed my eyes and imagined all the possible things on Naga City. I began to thrill. I was so much titillated. I imagined the dumbfounding place with quite amazing spots. I almost imagined all the wonderful
There goes my dad again reminding us how slow we are in getting ready in the mornings, but this time there was a slight of irritation. I mean I completely agree with him. I'm ready to go.
Out of many places I visited all around the world, the place I like the most is the beautiful city of Agra. It’s a quite town located on the North of India. When we talk about Agra one image that comes in mind is Taj Mahal. Yes one of the seven wonders is here. Agra is full of architectural monuments. And I also visited Agra Fort, Fatehpur Sikri, and Buland Darwazaand. Food was not really good. Besides Taj Mahal, Agra is famous for handicrafts, leather and fine arts. It was fun shopping at Agra.