supermodella
Sep 25, 2009
Undergraduate / UPenn Pg. 217 Autobiography Essay; writer for a magazine living in a city [7]
I'm trying to emphasize that:
- I want to be a writer for a magazine.
- I want to live in the city.
Please critique with honesty! Thank you. :]
I had been staring out of the Seat D4 window for approximately three hours. It seemed like just minutes earlier the sign overhead had lit the etching of an unbuckled seatbelt, the universal symbol for "Relax". The Delta flight from Los Angeles was a long one, having just departed from the Minneapolis stop. My eyes were burning, aching, to rest but all I wanted to see out of that window was the metropolitan skyline of Manhattan. Of course, I knew the clouds that enveloped the plane would make that view nearly impossible, but I didn't want to stop looking, for fear I would miss just a glimpse of it.
The city had become a part of me so quickly over the years and by then I felt like I couldn't do without it. I had only been in Los Angeles for a week when I felt the withdrawal come over me. The smog was unfamiliar to my lungs, despite how little time I spent outside. The abrasiveness in the voices of people was gone; instead, it soothed you into banter. I felt uneasy delving so deep into conversations about lifestyles and beliefs with people who couldn't pinpoint what the I-95 was. My vacation was quickly turning into a burden.
And so there I sat, looking past the miniature crystals that had formed on the exterior of the Plexiglas, wondering when I would jump back into routine. I envisioned glasses perched on my nose and a ballpoint pen in hand, writing sentences to tie up the article I would have to submit before midnight Eastern Standard Time. I'd gone many days without my notebook, at the advice of my co-workers who told me I spent too much time writing for the magazine we "slaved" away at. I squinted to see through the sheet of stratus clouds until a break in the pattern showed me a hint of terrain. I saw a cluster of buildings, a smattering of lights, and I smiled. I was home. 11:09 PM and I was finally home. "Welcome to John F. Kennedy International Airport. We thank you for flying with Delta tonight."
I'm trying to emphasize that:
- I want to be a writer for a magazine.
- I want to live in the city.
Please critique with honesty! Thank you. :]
I had been staring out of the Seat D4 window for approximately three hours. It seemed like just minutes earlier the sign overhead had lit the etching of an unbuckled seatbelt, the universal symbol for "Relax". The Delta flight from Los Angeles was a long one, having just departed from the Minneapolis stop. My eyes were burning, aching, to rest but all I wanted to see out of that window was the metropolitan skyline of Manhattan. Of course, I knew the clouds that enveloped the plane would make that view nearly impossible, but I didn't want to stop looking, for fear I would miss just a glimpse of it.
The city had become a part of me so quickly over the years and by then I felt like I couldn't do without it. I had only been in Los Angeles for a week when I felt the withdrawal come over me. The smog was unfamiliar to my lungs, despite how little time I spent outside. The abrasiveness in the voices of people was gone; instead, it soothed you into banter. I felt uneasy delving so deep into conversations about lifestyles and beliefs with people who couldn't pinpoint what the I-95 was. My vacation was quickly turning into a burden.
And so there I sat, looking past the miniature crystals that had formed on the exterior of the Plexiglas, wondering when I would jump back into routine. I envisioned glasses perched on my nose and a ballpoint pen in hand, writing sentences to tie up the article I would have to submit before midnight Eastern Standard Time. I'd gone many days without my notebook, at the advice of my co-workers who told me I spent too much time writing for the magazine we "slaved" away at. I squinted to see through the sheet of stratus clouds until a break in the pattern showed me a hint of terrain. I saw a cluster of buildings, a smattering of lights, and I smiled. I was home. 11:09 PM and I was finally home. "Welcome to John F. Kennedy International Airport. We thank you for flying with Delta tonight."