Sitting in a classroom with about twenty kids taking notes on how to properly write is one of the earliest memories I can recall in school. My hand aching as the chalkboard seemingly stretched infinitely, and all the other kids finishing before me. According to my parents, I was a lively child, I could pass all day jumping, singing, or playing with my friends, to the point where my parents decided to put that energy to good use. At the age of 1 year old, I began my academic journey in Pre-Kindergarten. I was born in the Dominican Republic where education laws did not restrict the age of a child to start school or wasn’t enforced before my generation. It was difficult at first to understand the material at that young age, but as time passed, I rapidly developed and was able to comprehend and use that knowledge. Every day I would come home and inform my parent of the songs I learned about the alphabet, or how I met a new friend. Every day from that point forward I had a natural liking to school. …show more content…
My writing impressed both my parents and the teachers, how the pencil moved artistically on the paper was practically natural to me, but a problem arose. My family and I were eligible to travel to the U.S. and begin a better life, meaning I had to learn how to read and write all over again. When we arrived in the U.S. I was in the 6th grade, where I knew no one, or understood no one, apart from other Spanish kids, that were not even in my class, of course, that all changed after I was placed in ELL class, or English Language Learners class. Everything I was accustomed to was different, cursive was impractical, and reading and writing were undistinguished. During 7th grade, my English improved but my reading and writing were dreadful, and at that point, I believe I started to categorise reading and writing as a
I have always considered writing to be a work in progress, and it constantly can be improved. I have always been devoted to writing. I loved to write stories as a child because I could use my creativity and create any type of character I desired. But I have struggled with writing as well. English has never been my forte. I have received A’s, B’s, C’s, and D’s on essays. I truly never found my voice in writing. In my high school, English teachers would give me mixed reviews on my writing. For example, in 9th grade my English teacher said I was organized with my thoughts, and my writing process was excellent. While in 10th,11th grade ,12th grade my teachers only said negative things about my essays. Not being a strong writer made me despise writing. Then I started to believe that writing is not important. I came to conclusion that writing is not important ,because I am going to be a Math major. I had the mindset that I am not a writer, and will never be a writer. But, my thoughts about writing changed when I started taking English at CSUN.
Though I was not fond of school at first do to the challenges early on in life not being able to understand the material at hand. For as long since I remember I had a fixed mindset where
Throughout my years in high school I have never been the best at writing. I have struggled and failed numerous times and I just didn 't think I would ever get any better when it came down to writing in my English classes. I always had to ask my parents to help me comprehend words, phrases and also how to pronounce certain words. For example my junior year of high school it was time to prepare ourselves for the SAT and ACT testing which are standardized tests that every student must take if they want to further their education in college. When I took the test for the first time I felt like I failed miserable because my score was so low. I received a 14 my very first time taking the ACT, and my lowest score was in reading. I was so embarrassed
used to be one myself. I have always loved school and it was hard because I did not learn the same
My literacy journey began long before I had actually learned how to read or write. While recently going through baby pictures with my mother, we came across a photo of my father and I book shopping on the Logos boat, a boat that would come to my island every year that was filled with books for our purchasing. Upon looking at this picture, my mother was quite nostalgic and explained how they began my journey to literacy through experiences like this. My earliest memory of experiencing literature was as a small child. My parents would read bedtime stories to me each night before I went to bed. I vividly remember us sitting on the bed together with this big book of “365 bedtime stories for 365 days” and we read one story each day until we had
Cherish The heavy clomp walking sound that came from deep inside of the forest. He wishes he had never heard it. He wishes he could just pretend nothing is happening. It stops not too far from him, but all he can hear is his heartbeat thumping so hard within his chest.
I opened my eyes and was blinded by the piercing ray of light pointing right into my eyes, a massive headache was pounding my head, and all I could hear was the sound of a high pitched whistle. Until I hear something else. Voices? No. Not just that, but yells, cries for help, people sobbing.
I was very dull in the English language, and it was very difficult to learn. Simple things, such as “May I go to the restroom” was a challenge to say. In the third grade, I moved from Toronto to Siloam Springs. Here I would progress to learn more and more. I would finally understand that there were parts of speech as well as grammar to go with it than just words. Going on into elementary school, I was getting better and better. Not only I loved to read, but I absolutely loved to write. During the mandatory state tests, I would continue writing from the start of the 50 minute period to the end. I was a very creative writer. I could pull out anything and make it sound like a wild Disney Pixar movie. Progressing through elementary school, I signed up to enroll into an advanced literature course in the 8th grade. I learned more about the structures of writing and I ended the course with an
Starting school was a little tough, I would get confused on the basic street smarts of school. Things like how to take notes, how to use a mechanical pencil and getting F’s on my papers for not writing my name tripped me up. But being the chameleon that I am, I adapt, blending
I've always loved school. Being able to have interaction with other people my age was fun for me because I was the youngest person in my family and my only sibling was older than me by 17 years. This made school a very intriguing experience for me because I got to be around other kids. While I had a good life at home, with parents who loved me, I was still missing interaction with people closer to my age. Because of this, I always sought to find in my school community what I didn't get at home.
My parents bought me whatever resources they could afford from after-school bilingual clubs, personal tutors, flashcards, and the most valuable asset they could afford, their own time. I appreciated their time because I knew how they didn’t let the language barrier deter them from speaking to other people. Their accents didn’t connect to myself that they were immigrants, but that I was one of them. I had been working so hard to advance in my educational pursuit while unconsciously realizing that my self-identity would always be found in the way I spoke, and most importantly my own parents. While most kids were out playing and going to the park when school finished I headed straight home to start on my homework and there wasn’t a day that passed that I wasn’t offered help from one of my parents even though most of the time I could just barely understand a little bit better than them. Every passing day was used to strengthen my English language as I my foundation for self-identity was always in the living room eager to help in any form they could. I could have strayed off the “scholarship boy” path by enjoying my youth, but my youth was my self-identity and more importantly it was the two people who had given me life. The need to become acquainted with the English language prompted me to look upon education more seriously than any of the other kids in class. I didn’t want to be helpless and always be looked upon as the silent kid who was always by himself in the corner. When most kids complained about homework I didn’t mind it as I knew homework wasn’t a punishment but a means of changing my helplessness to
My earliest pieces of writing can be found in the attic of my house amongst the mice and holiday decor. These journals from my elementary school hold a myriad of tales consisting of animals of various locations befriending each other and bettering one another's life. In a neighboring area of the attic written reports about the pyramids and different types of clouds can be found from my summer writing my mother forced me to create while I on break. This attic holds a majority of the history of my writing and how I became the writer I am today but instead of climbing up a decrepit ladder into the dark one can simply look to my father for the origins of my actual writing career.
The most important step before taking the wheel for writing is to turn on my music, inspiring my mind and energizing it for the journey to come. I look on to the road and turn off to the freeway, ready to venture forward on a frontier paved by words. I wish it were always so easy as to just follow the lines and structures given to you, but then there are always hundreds of cars going the same direction-- some less graceful than others. Their individual journey is not important in regards to mine, and so all I can is focus on my lane and continue on. Without further delay, I review my thoughts, plant my hands on the keyboard, and go watch “The Matrix” instead.
I am super excited for the upcoming year in Honors 10. Before we get into writing, let me tell you a little about myself. I am currently 15 years old and my birthday is September 18th. I am a very friendly person and I love being around people. I also tend to be very sarcastic, that trait comes from my mom. There are five people in my family, my mom and dad, my two sisters, and me. My parents names are Jean and Brett. My older sister, Sarah, just turned 18 and my younger sister, Erin, is 13 years old. Sarah is two years older than me and I am two and a half years older than Erin.
The novelist career is truly unique. It has always interested me. The freelance writer career seemed mysterious and exhilarating. Being able to drive someplace quiet and let out all of your hopes and fears into a book is what I want to do. A novelist is someone who writes novels basically. They combine fiction with some real life experiences and write books. Some could say that any ordinary person could do this. This statement is false! It takes someone with creativity and a passion to write. Someone who can take their life experiences and mix it with fiction to create an invigorating book. To be successful in the novelist career, education is required. Since I am going to community college first, I plan on obtaining an Associate of Arts degree. Transferring to Appalachian State University and obtaining a bachelor's degree in English would be my next step. During these four years I am going to take as many writing classes as possible. This is going