Curiosity killed the cat they said, but people often forget it the satisfaction that brought it back. Throughout my childhood, I have been intrigued by everything around me. There was never a stone left unturned. Question after question after question, I asked until I was satisfied with the answer; it often drew my elementary teachers insane. As I grew older, I matured and learned more, but my childhood curiosity still lingered with me. In middle school, I was introduced to a club called science olympiad. While at first, I was weary to join -- memorizing textbooks and takings test wasn’t something I wanted to do for fun -- I soon found myself relishing in the task of mixing chemicals and doing lab tests. However, when it was time for the state competition, I was thrown last minute into two other events on top of the ones I was already in. I was only given a couple weeks to prepare. …show more content…
To anyone who has built one, they know it is a relatively easy task. I, on the other hand, or as a 6th grader, struggled to figure it out and only succeeded after hours of remaking it. The day of the competition, my partner forgot to bring the tester to the competition. Refusing to go without one, we quickly ran the nearest RadioShack at MSU. With the money we had for lunch, we tried to buy as many of the parts as we could or at least that I could remember. My partner and I walked out hoping for the best, but we only had an hour to make it and no phones or computers to refer to. Having spent so much time making the original, I had a vague recollection of what to do. My hands forged the final creation on their own, but something was off. When I tested against different metals, the results were a little off. I knew something was wrong, but I couldn’t figure it out, so I tried again tweaking the steps as I went
As I was helping oversee the young students competing in various science-based events, I was enthralled
Since the beginning of my high school career and possibly even beforehand, I have continually kept with me a persistent impulse for triumph; it has never originated in my mind to disappoint. Throughout my junior high days, this biological compulsion of mine demonstrated itself in a large array of ways: obsession with archaic objects, reciting pi to the 26th decimal place, replaying The Dark Knight on my iPod, checking my grades hourly, and over analyzing numerous things. As my identity shifted, my fascination with science and math flourished, and I found in myself an undeniable pride in being distinct and a desire for pursuing out unusual new ways to define myself.
My heart was beating and my hands were sweating. My teacher asked me a question and I wanted to cry. I didn’t know how to say my response in English and was afraid of the other kids making fun of me because I thought my accent was too strong. All the students stared. “Just answer the question” one girl murmured. Every day I’d sit in the same seat without talking. And even though I had spent a month in the same classroom I felt uncomfortable being there. I moved to the United States from the Dominican Republic when I was twelve. I knew the word for “mariposa” was “butterfly,” and I knew how to introduce myself, but that was about all. Some people would even become frustrated due to the fact they couldn’t understand me, or the other way around. Knowing how they felt about me not being able to communicate made me want to shut myself off from them.
This article got me thinking. I had face situation in my life that because of my bad grammar I had let go of great opportunities. English is my second languish and I thought that as long as I knew the basic I would be ok in life. But as I got older I started seeing the pattern of negatives effects of my insecurity of grammar. My return to college open my eyes to a better potential in life just by continually a proper college education. When reading this article the wheels of my brain started spinning. The first image that pop in my head, was my children trying to mimic all the YouTubers online with their in style vocabulary. Then two little boys appear in my head, two little boys that I saw ones about 10 years ago for about 10mn. I have forgotten them, until
People tend to take their legs for granted. While the other girls in my school were fawning over the football players’ muscles, or their perfect hair, I was jealous of their legs. Their functional legs. It's pretty crazy to think of a 15-year-old learning how to walk, but that’s exactly where I was. In a gym full of colorful mats and loud children, all I could focus on was the heavy Polish accent of my physical therapist urging me to trust myself. I took three whole steps. I started to get over confident, thinking that I could walk way more than someone who had a three-year gap in their walking practice should. I took four more steps. I looked up at my therapist for reassurance and a slight nod of her head encouraged me to keep going. Left.
While working as a healer, I began picking up on the causes of my client's illness or injuries. I would know things that the client hadn't told me, And often times they themselves hadn't even considered. Once the information had been discussed with the client, the pain from the trauma would go completely away.
We all woke up that saturday morning hearing a cacophonous cry of sorrow, I closed my eyes in terror of what might have happened. As I opened my eyes I see that Anne Marie was crying on her stand on top of the shelf, looking down at Adam, who was on the floor with his arms and legs chewed off by that mean dog, whom they call buster.
This school year has been a downhill slide from start to finish, started it off by moving into a new house with family members that moved here from across the country, then we ended up having to kick some of them out, and while that was happening some of our animals disappeared or got injured so much that they had to be put down. Then our horse and mule got lost, and found, by one of our neighbors.
At the start of sixth grade, little ol’ I decided that it would be a magnificent idea, just the best idea I have ever came up with, to play the cello, still do not regret it yet. The only reason I wanted to play the cello, was my brother, he played the viola and was excellent at it. I always wanted to be like him, he is just a great person. I was going to play the same instrument, but he told me to play the cello, being little me I just agreed to everything he said. The one concern that I used to be always certain about when I started is that I would never like playing the cello or ever be at least acceptable, as I wanted to. It was the very first year of me learning how to even play it or what notes are, no matter how much I tired or played,
I didn’t honestly know how my high school experience was going to go. I just hoped I would do good but I’ll be honest, I was excited to get to go back to school with my sister again. When it was the first day of freshman year for me I hung out with my sister in the band hallway and I remember like all of the seniors going through the hallway next to us yelling, “we hate freshman” and spraying kids with silly string and condomes filled with pee; I never got sprayed. My freshman year was fun I went to my first homecoming with my sister and it was great! After the first semester we moved to Sullivan Missouri which was a big difference but a good one.
Today, my curiosity has pushed me to pursue ideas that I would not have before. When I was thirteen years old, I
Imagine living life worry free without a care in the world. Even after becoming the “Adult”, you have always desired to be, you were still worry free. Parenting was just parenting, Bills were just bills, and problems were just problems. You never realized how good you had it, or more so the reason for having it.
I was once told by a teacher that scholarships receive about 1000 applications before their deadlines close, and around 10 of those people are accepted. A one percent chance. He said that statistically, 50 percent of students drop out of college, even with scholarships. That gives me a 0.5 percent chance. I did not work as hard as my body would allow me, for a 0.5 percent chance. I did not overcome my parent’s divorce, for a 0.5 percent chance. I did not double check my homework, instead of wondering if there was enough food to feed me and my 4 brothers tonight, for a 0.5 percent chance.
When I was a boy, I was always happy and was a bright student. I was always eager to learn something new and I always gave my best effort at whatever I did, all the while helping my peers to learn in a fun and creative way. One summer during elementary school, my parents sat me down on my living room couch and delivered the worst news a little boy could hear: my best friend had drowned at a birthday party that I was getting ready to go to. I was different from that point on, seemingly forever. I became unhappy, yet I was still a bright kid, but I lost my ability to self-motivate. My parents tried to help me as best they could, which led to them sheltering me throughout high school. I felt suffocated by their actions, even though they had my best interests in mind.
Throughout elementary and middle school, however, circumstances were not particularly supportive of my passion. Although I was pretty excited about science class, my expectations always fell a bit short. From what I had read before, I already knew that the earth orbited the sun, that clouds are made of water droplets, and that traits were preserved in DNA to be passed down. The experiments did not help too much either. I already knew how to build a K'NEX vehicle. (Just look at the picture on the manual!) I already knew that mixing equal parts of red and yellow food coloring in water made orange water. (Even the back of the box says so!) I was not too impressed with these trite and mindless activities merely performed in hopes of placating the district superintendent. This didn't even begin to comp...