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Cultural diversity in new york city
Cultural diversity in new york city
Cultural diversity in new york city
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Paris in the fall, what a beautiful city; its a wonderful place to be. This city is full of culture with its famous landmarks and mysterious air. One could have wondrous adventures in the city of lights. On this day in Paris the sun was shining and the air is crisp, just the right kind of fall day. The city was bustling, the Eiffel towel was full of tourist and the Louvre is still one of the most interesting places in the city with all of its wonderful treasures like the Leonardo da Vinci’s “Mona Lisa” just looking at that painting gives you a warm feeling, and to look into her eyes you get the impression that there is a secret hidden away, hmmm intriguing.
After leaving the Louvre I strolled through the city, just looking at the people as they pass by, it's amazing what you will see if you only take the time to look. As I walked along I had to stop because I noticed this girl in a pink scarf. Just under her scarf you could see her raven black hair, she was strikingly beautiful. Her eyes were full of sadness as she begged for coins from the passers by. I had to get closer; I had to see her face up close and to look into those big black pools of sadness, the windows to her soul; as I came up to her and before I knew it I had emptied my pockets of the all the money I had. I gave it to her, I put it into her hands, and they were soft. I began to walk away; I heard her soft raspy voice say, “may we”. I turned and gave a half smile, by that time it was on to the next person who was willing to part with their spare change.
That night, sitting in my room I could not get the image of her and that pink scarf out of my mind. Why was this girl begging for spare change, what happened to put that sadness in her eyes? Did she h...
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...keep our heads above water. It is so peaceful here”. As we left the Louvre I said to her, I would like to see some of your work, I said. Can you meet me in the square tomorrow? “Yes” she replied. Well; then I will see you at a half past eleven and I hope to have good news by the end of our meeting. “ I do not know why, but ok Sam we shall meet at a half past eleven in the square” Just then I saw a spark of light in her eyes. Until tomorrow, as I walked away I turned to see her signature pink scarf flowing in the wind. “Ring”, “Bonsoir”. Salut Francois, it's Sam we need to meet. The next day I was anxious I wanted things to go well, Giselle is a nice young lady. An hour later Francois and I waited in the square, when to my left I could see Giselle walking quickly towards us. “I am so sorry Sam but my little brother Jacques was how do you say “ under the weather”.
Watch your classmates criticize your teacher; Watch your father being taken away, because of long dead relatives; watch you classmates humiliate you in front of the class; Watch yourself needing to choose between family and future; Watch yourself only watching unable to help. Unfortunate, that was the reality for Ji-Li Jiang. Red Scarf Girl is a memoir written by Ji-Li Jiang, regarding the China cultural revolution between 1966-1976. Throughout the book,Family is important in defining who people are in Red Scarf Girl.
Perhaps the vast array of seasons and weather patterns hold the town to a unique appeal. In the fall, the crisp and cool breeze wafts through the fallen leaves, blanketing the lawns and streets in a warm, orange hue. In the winter, icy gusts chill the terrain, followed by the gentle fall of snowflakes. With time, the town is coated in
When first approaching this work, one feels immediately attracted to its sense of wonder and awe. The bright colors used in the sun draws a viewer in, but the astonishment, fascination, and emotion depicted in the expression on the young woman keeps them intrigued in the painting. It reaches out to those who have worked hard in their life and who look forward to a better future. Even a small event such as a song of a lark gives them hope that there will be a better tomorrow, a thought that can be seen though the countenance by this girl. Although just a collection of oils on a canvas, she is someone who reaches out to people and inspires them to appreciate the small things that, even if only for a short moment, can make the road ahead seem brighter.
The relationship shared by Pierre and Helene is best described as a lustful charade. It is no coincidence that Pierre, one of the most introspective characters in the novel, first marries a shallow, inwardly-ugly adulterer. His first recorded attitude towards Helene is one of admira...
It began in the County Mall food court. Resting at one of the tables after my lunch, I casually glanced around the place. The food court wasn't crowded, and consequently I had no trouble spotting him: a tall, dark, gray-haired man. He caught my gaze, and started walking towards me. As I took in his gaunt frame, his tattered red t-shirt, and the holes in his great sweats, it dawned on me that before me stood a homeless man. Reaching my table, he asked if he could sit down with me but I declined. I wasn't in the mood to talk to him, and so mumbling a poor excuse and an apology that was probably a few octaves below any decipherable level, and not particularly caring whether the man heard me or not, I got up and walked away. The man called out after me, assuring me that he didn't want money, but rather only someone to talk to. I was rattled by his persistence, and pretending I didn't hear him I quickly walked away, my heart pounding in my chest.
I saw her walk over to the dressing table. I watched her appear in the circular glass of the mirror looking at me now at the end of a back and forth of mathematical light. I watched her keep on looking at me with her great hot-coal eyes: looking at me while she opened the little box covered with pink mother of pearl. I saw her powder her nose. When she finished, she closed the box, stood up again, and walked over to the lamp once more, saying: "I'm afraid that someone is dreaming about this room and revealing my secrets." And over the flame she held the same long and tremulous hand that she had been warming before sitting down at the mirror. And she said: "You don't feel the cold." And I said to her: "Sometimes." And she said to me: "You must feel it now." And then I understood why I couldn't have been alone in the seat. It was the cold that had been giving me the certainty of my solitude. "Now I feel it," I said. "And it's strange because the night is quiet. Maybe the sheet fell off." She didn't answer. Again she began to move toward the mirror and I turned again in the chair, keeping my back to her.
Meursault’s apathy towards his mother’s death, his girlfriend, Marie Cardona, and the Arabic man symbolize a cruel French colonist. The first sentence of “ The stranger”, “Mother died today. Or, maybe, yesterday; I can’t be sure”(4), appalls reader by showing Meursault’s unconcern about his mother’s death date. At the funeral, Meursault behaves indifferently which contrasts with the old Perez, “who put on and put off his hat again and again”(11). Conversation between Meursault and his girlfriend also shows Meursault aloofness. “Marie came that evening and asked me if I’d marry her. I said I didn’t mind; if she was keen on it, we’d get married. Then she asked me again if I loved her. I replied, much as before, that her question meant nothing or next to nothing- bu...
Standing on the balcony, I gazed at the darkened and starry sky above. Silence surrounded me as I took a glimpse at the deserted park before me. Memories bombarded my mind. As a young girl, the park was my favourite place to go. One cold winter’s night just like tonight as I looked upon the dark sky, I had decided to go for a walk. Wrapped up in my elegant scarlet red winter coat with gleaming black buttons descending down the front keeping away the winter chill. Wearing thick leggings as black as coal, leather boots lined with fur which kept my feet cozy.
It's dark out. The street remains quiet and the sounds of the city have faded. A woman walking down the street crosses, her heels thumping against the sidewalk. As she walks further into the night she feels a presence upon her. Suddenly the worries of the day have escaped her mind. All she can think about was the increasing echo of heavy footsteps behind her. Heart beating, she skips along the street, heels thumping with every step. She reaches a stoplight, and her heels come skidding to a stop. Her chest is aching and she's beginning to accept her fate, when, the man steps into the light with her. At first she looks away, praying that he won’t choose her as his next victim. As the seconds vanish, she decides to turn, to take a peek at the man breathing quietly beside her. Her brown hair whips around her shoulder and she clutches her handbag studying the man. It was difficult to make out his face in the poorly lit corner, but as she examined him she took note of his shiny blue eyes and light complexion. Without delay, her shoulders relax, and she releases the tight grip
We all remember these grey gloomy days filled with a feeling of despair that saddens the heart from top to bottom. Even though, there may be joy in one’s heart, the atmosphere turns the soul cold and inert. Autumn is the nest of this particular type of days despite its hidden beauty. The sun seems foreign, and the nights are darker than usual enveloped by a thrill that generates chills to travel through the spine leaving you with a feeling of insecurity. Nevertheless, the thinnest of light will always shine through the deepest darkness; in fact, darkness amplifies the beauty and intensity of a sparkle. There I found myself trapped within the four walls of my house, all alone, surrounded by the viscosity of this type of day. I could hear some horrifying voices going through my mind led by unappealing suicidal thought. Boredom had me encaged, completely at its mercy. I needed to go far away, and escape from this morbid house which was wearing me down to the grave. Hope was purely what I was seeking in the middle of the city. Outside, the air was heavy. No beautifully rounded clouds, nor sunrays where available to be admired through the thick grey coat formed by the mist embedded in the streets. Though, I felt quite relieved to notice that I was not alone to feel that emptiness inside myself as I was trying to engage merchant who shown similar “symptoms” of my condition. The atmosphere definitely had a contagious effect spreading through the hearts of every pedestrian that day. Very quickly, what seemed to be comforting me at first, turned out to be deepening me in solitude. In the city park, walking ahead of me, I saw a little boy who had long hair attached with a black bandana.
I became hot and dizzy while standing on a Rouen street, basking in the sun before Monet’s Cathedral. A red tide rose inside my eyeballs. Kati found me clinging to a bench in front of Seurat’s Circus Sideshow and hauled me off to the Ladies’ Room, where she sprinkled cool water on my neck an...
Away from the immense sea, white foams from the waves gather gently onto the golden shore. Now, half of a glowing, radiant light looms across the water 's horizon. The sea turns blood-red and darkness creeps up like a thief. The necklace that once reflected its passionate energy of fury moments ago now resembled a mere costume jewellery. Perhaps the loss of the necklace’s elegance and sophistication was the reason to why it was disregarded. Pity the owner did not see the necklace radiating its splendour at its peak. Anyhow, the nightfall creates a sensation of joy and tranquillity in me. Every sight and sound stimulates a sense of composure and serenity; and the effect is heightened by the absence of the noisy bustle of our daily work, only to be exposed to the never-ending music of the waves, and to breathe the fresh air instead of the stale atmosphere of classrooms. It is not easy to describe the effect of this sight; it can only be strangely deciphered in my mind. It is however, a very tangible and distinct emotion, though its allure really depends upon the reality of the world from a further point of view, away from the definite predictabilities of the world, all in which an instant becomes like a translucent drape which almost consents me to catch a glimpse of a ideal and more breath-taking reality. The worldly desires, expectations, worries, schemes, suddenly cease to exist. It is as though all of
Though the old woman struggled to make a living every day, she still fulfilled with hope towards the life. On the contrary, I grew up in urban areas, but I did not appreciate what I had and usually complain the life that did not meet my expectation. After the conversation, I thought I should cherish my current life rather than being dissatisfied with it. Having decided to live in the mountain huts, we asked the old woman to carry the baggage for us and paid her twice, because I thought her hard work deserved more money. After she took the bills, she showed her gratitude with a sweet smile, and then we both walked up the
The water beats at the bank feel gently, and resides carefully to avoid over soaking it. The air is fresh and overwhelming with cool gushes of wind blowing past, provoking the trees to yawn and some times sleep. It was a lovely Valentine day and perfect for a picnic at Lake Lavon.
It was a dreadful afternoon, big droplets of rain fell directly on my face and clothes. I tasted the droplets that mixed with my tears, the tears I cried after the incident. The pain in my foot was excruciating. It caused me to make a big decision of whether I should visit you or not. I decided I would. I limped towards my bright, blue car where my bony, body collapsed onto the seat. I started the engine up but at the same time being cautious of my bleeding foot. I then drove to the destination where I was bound to meet you. I was bound to meet you after three years of counselling from my last appearance with you. I guess all I can remember is the scarring....