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Remembering childhood memories research paper
Childhood memories and its effect on our lives
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Stepping Back in Time - Original Writing
The paths are still familiar even though I was only 11 when I left
this place. The wind blows. The brown leaves on the ground lift and I
pull my coat tighter around me. I pass the tree which I used to climb
when I was younger. Even though the branches are bare I can picture it
in all its green splendor vividly in my head. The wind whips my hair
into my face. I push it away and see a face hurrying in the opposite
direction but its not one I recognize. As I turn the corner I see a
group of teenagers hanging around by the now chipped bottle green
bridge but none of them are the familiar faces I'm used to. They are
strangers to me.
I decide to go under the bridge to get shelter from the wind and the
people. For a reason that I don't know, I feel scared of the gang of
faces with no names. The lights are dim and flickering while some
bulbs are smashed. The whole effect is quite eerie. There's so much
graffiti everywhere but I can't resist reading about how Tom loves
Louise and who was here in whatever year. As I emerge out of the steps
at the other end I have to tread carefully to avoid treading on the
copious amounts of chewing gum. I look behind me and I see the
teenagers staring at me. I quicken my pace. My quickened pace turns
into a jog and I breathe a sigh of relief once I have turned the
corner.
I remember the bright blue river, only in the dark all I can see is
litter bobbing along the surface. The roundabout is still here in the
playground, only it's covered in graffiti, turning gently in the wind
as if being pushed by an invisible person. The swings next to it creak
gently. I want to sit down but they look so worn that I worry that it
could collapse at any moment.
your nose on your knees. Then slide as far into the split as you are
I slowly step up to the ledge where I will soon jump off onto the big air pillow that floats on the glistening water.
I weave out of the skid, a burst of fuel from my injectors, then break, then fuel and when I'm stable, when those lights are just coming up behind me-
The poem “I Go Back to May 1937” written in 1987 by poet and writer Sharon Olds, is based on a child’s perspective on her parent’s marriage that is destined to fail and the child’s wishes to go back and stop them from making the mistake of marriage. The poem is told from the perspective of the couple’s future child, who ultimately goes back in time to try and convince them that their marriage would be a mistake. Although this creates conflict, as by preventing the couple from marriage would ultimately lead to the end of her own existence. Olds uses imagery, conflict and symbolism to show the differences between the couple and their child’s emotions and feelings about their ill-fated marriage.
the party moved out of sight, I began to think about the last time I visited the
I walk on by, get into my shining convertible (which is now speckled with signs of yet more rain) and speed away.
The other step is to massage your feet to relieve the tension and pressure on your muscles.
Digging into the snow with my boots while stabilizing my body with the uninjured arm, I inch across the hill, lose my foothold, and plummet downward.
make my way to the frost coated back door, illuminated by the green and red
Louise still seated in her room, manufacturing fanciful new possibilities for the future, is disturbed by her sister calling through the keyhole “For heaven’s sake open the door.” Louise still on an extraordinary high of liberation, snaps back to reality, says a prayer for longevity for all to come, and opens the door. She left that room with a new lease on life, a triumph over subjugation and tyranny, “like a goddess of Victory”. Louise stepped down the stairs, no longer a victim, but a free spirt. Then just unexpectedly as Brentley’s death, the door to the house opened; moreover to Louise’s surprise, it is none other than Mr. Mallard himself, alive and well. Apparently not aboard that fateful wreck, standing there, oblivious of any ill begotten news of his demise.
slowly drive away, I continue to look at their house in my rearview mirror. I
Vines weaved their way down from the trees that towered from on top of the rocks. We decided to take off and climb down towards the water pool.
toward the road and I first come across a basketball court. To the left of the
In the distance, the trail along which I had been walking wound through a thick velvet fog. Lining the path were tall trees that stoo...
In this route there is a strange, one way underpass. It is a very dangerous spot and I knew that. I had always looked very