Essays / Superman: Hero, Inspiration, Tyrant, popular epigraph [6]

Hello guys! I'm curious if it's good or not because I'm not sure at all... I kind of threw in a couple of ideas together and, unfortunately, due to a word limit, I had to cut a lot of explanation and elaboration on important points. I just want to have an idea of how the essay is! Actually, after reading it, I feel that it's not that good at all... I'm not a very good writer... but I try... Please comment and contribute ideas!!

Superman: Hero, Inspiration, Tyrant

"It's a bird! It's a plane! No, it's Superman!"-this popular epigraph has been called out by many civilians [in distress] with a sense of relief. Likewise, I also call out to Superman in distress, but with a sense of disappointment. Superman was my childhood idol; however, my view of him changed as I grew older. Albeit he was my hero, a light of inspiration, his entire image now casts a shadow of tyranny.

Eight years ago, when I was younger [and I'd like to say] naĂŻve, I was in love with Superman. If asked why now, I would state the following reasons:

1) Bandwagon. Clad in blue, the signature "underwear" and cape, and bearing the grand, symbolic "S" on his chest, Superman struck awe in the hearts of many comic enthusiasts and young children (mine included). The said people, along with ardent fans and popular culture, followed. Each Halloween, there are thousands, if not millions, of people who dress up as Superman. Seeing the popular culture, I was influenced to join the bandwagon and annually fashioned a red cape and blue tights to "trick-or-treat".

2) Principle of Equivalence: If A=C; B=C; then A=C. Again, I was young and naĂŻve, so I did not regard the facts that Superman is an alien from planet Krypton and a fictional character. So, I crafted faulty premises and assumed: If Superman is a "man", and I am definitely a "man", then I am Superman. Of course, I knew I wasn't Superman, but I had hope that I could be like Superman, "strong-invincible-courageous-humble-practically-everything".

3) There are more; but, due to limitation of words, I must discontinue.

Now, you may wonder, how does a hero so idolized become a tyrant? To answer, I will begin with a very brief, interesting anecdote:

My family and I were enjoying Superman on television. However, when there was a pause for commercials, my family, excluding me, cried out in a very irritated fashion, "Aw, what the heck! It was just getting to the good part!"

Did my family just display a clamor of disappointment?

To others, this may be a petty matter, but my close scrutiny suggests otherwise. In my eyes, this is a serious tragedy.

Let me explain: as a young child, I was even more fascinated by commercials than I was by Superman. Hell, while watching television, I would jump channels just to admire the commercials. So, when I saw my family explode in a clamor of disappointment, I also shrieked a clamor of disappointment, "But the commercials are the good part!"

This [recurring] event has brought me to an understanding of Superman's tyranny. The television acts as the vehicle for spreading Superman's dominance; and unfortunately, my family was victimized. The victims are hypnotized by Superman's special vision to idolize superheroes, cartoon characters, fictional characters-and their respective television shows-and falsely attribute a sense of antipathy to commercials. Superman's tyrannical rule is not one in which he sits alone on the throne, but one that he shares with his fellow superheroes and similar kind. Together, with [characters from] other shows, they tyrannize over commercials, creating a society which condemns adverts and considers them unworthy for the eye.

Of course, some ads succeed in escaping the tyrants and impressing the audience, but with everyone skipping channels for more Superman or CSI, the dictatorship will never end. Am I irrational? Possibly. But imagine this: You are a literary fanatic and a book regarded as one of the best classics, Bronte's Jane Eyre, is disgraced and deemed unworthy of being categorized as a "classic", and even unworthy of a "novel". Wouldn't you be shocked? Wouldn't you scream? Wouldn't this completely shatter your literary world? Mark me, some people are considering adverts unworthy of even being on television; this is utterly malignant for advert lovers and calls for revolution.

Although Superman has inspired me to be a greater man, to stand up for the people (in this case, a rarity called the advertisement lovers), and seek to revolutionize entertainment, he and his tyrannical kind are to be taken heed and care of. I will be a hero like him, but better; and under my watch, his tyranny will end and advertisements will never be followed by disappointed exasperation, but standing ovations and lively brouhahas.

Undergraduate / I could not escape my twisted fate; RICHMOND APP; EXPERIENCE [10]

I didn't really include a lot about how the experience changed me and I want to know if I should elaborate on that aspect. I know I'm not a very good writer, but I try. ): Help and comments are in dire need! The prompt is: Tell us about an experience in which you left your comfort zone. How did this experience change you?

There are times when I am unusually pessimistic, nights when I cannot bring myself to sleep, hours I spend in absolute solitude-only pondering. Questioning, I fill my head with thoughts and delve into the troubling waters of my mind; sometimes, I ask myself: Why do we live-why do I live? The motivated student persona reasons: to study and learn of the world, attain great marks, thrive intellectually and succeed, with opulence through a showy sense of fashion and perhaps a majestic mansion or luxury sedan; the afflicted spirit screams: Hell to this cruel, materialistic world; die! life is meaningless. These are the times when I leave my comfort zone. And, no, I am not bipolar.

"She likes me..." I slurped the last bubble of tapioca from the clear, plastic cup, "She likes me not." A sound of a low, coarse chuckle of pretense and disappointment escaped my twisted face. Once again, I could not escape my twisted fate.

Earlier, after an unsatisfied, extraordinarily dull day of school, I returned home. Down went my bags onto the floor, my body onto the bed, and my thoughts into a dark abyss. That day, I had failed again; and again, my hopes of succulent confidence were over-burnt, to a dry point beyond retrieval and possible correction. I had attempted to propose love to an attractive female acquaintance; but I failed, and perished to the bottom of the social ladder. Ill of the defeats of a normal teenage boy, my mind sailed out and lost itself in a dark sea of thoughts. Again, I had left my cheery, comfort zone.

Vulnerable and afraid, my thoughts now ran swiftly through the woods, attempting to escape the perils of my forlorn reality. She rejected me; now, everybody will laugh at me. I'll be living in Hell, a bottomless perdition of ignominy and mockery. How can I get myself out of the dark, cruel forest and up into the free, fresh airs of the mountain peak? The optimistic student persona had no say; and dark thoughts swirled and subjugated my other thoughts, leaving only my cruel spirit. My mind fluttered: Is there an individually interpreted reality in each of us? Or is there only a uniform reality outside of us, and if so, does that matter?

In the array of dark thoughts, I caught a glimmer-faint, but significant enough-of thought, a light of divine revelation; as I drew near, I discovered the source. It was emitting from a demonic statue ablaze, however frozen from a solid state of mind, indifferent to the seas of purging flames its body was set in. Of course, it would be fitting to discover a demon whilst in my somber meditation. The demon, Satan, had endured agonies of Hell, without complaint, even calling his tormenting prison [not Hell but] Heaven, because he set his mind elsewhere. I may be slipping into insanity; in my dark state, I decided to follow the footsteps of the Devil. My mind reasoned: Satan is correct; what we perceive is our reality. There is no objective reality; the character of an event or situation is subjective to our minds. Hell can be Heaven, Heaven can be Hell; all is determined by our minds. Satan determines his reality, with only diversions in his cognitive processes; and that shall be the solution to my misfortune.

I remember waking to the sweet, comforting fragrance of my mother's fresh blueberry pancakes. Had I spent the entire night dwelling upon thoughts in my sleep again? Well, it matters not now; it had been too long ago, and it has been a long while since I had endured such a dismal night. I had left my cheery, comfort zone and experienced a barrage of shadowy thoughts; however, I emerged in a much better, enlightened state of mind. That night was the night I came to conclusion; the dark experience led me to change-to abide to a new motto, one that fixates on detaching oneself from objective aspects of life and constructing a new reality subjective to one's respective thoughts. And following this motto has kept me undisturbed by hindrances and finally optimistic [enough] in chasing after the dreams of my student persona: to study and attack my passions, consume knowledge with a voracious rapture, and after submit myself to a life of long success and luxury.