Hi there, I have exceeded the 250 word limit by 30 words. I would love any help shortening this essay.. I would also appreciate the toughest criticism on content and grammar!Thank you.
As a three year old, I remember looking out the windows of the Mexicana airplane, astounded by the clouds. According to my mother, I spent this hour in elation, chattering about how excited I was to fly. Although I did not know this yet, I had every reason to be thrilled. I left the cage where my father nearly became a political prisoner and my mother, an engineer, resorted to sewing and selling dolls to make a living.
With few relatives, I grew up an only child in a family of three, living and breathing my parents' experiences. They told me stories of a childhood that starkly contrasted mine in everything from military school to tobacco picking. Our differences helped me understand the commodities I indulge in. Within me grew a second-hand awareness that nothing had to be easy-my way of life was a gift, somewhat like the music that ran through my family tree.
As a young girl, I watched music preserve ties and ease tensions. The few times we could call Cuba, it was so that my uncle and father could bring a musical piece together; my uncle working on lyrics and my father on the tune. Music filled our home for generations; today, it helps me surrender my limitations and revel in its soothing sounds.
Through my parents' stories-and instruments-I embraced the culture I left behind. Through every strum of the guitar and "one day, when I was a child," I learned to see.
As a three year old, I remember looking out the windows of the Mexicana airplane, astounded by the clouds. According to my mother, I spent this hour in elation, chattering about how excited I was to fly. Although I did not know this yet, I had every reason to be thrilled. I left the cage where my father nearly became a political prisoner and my mother, an engineer, resorted to sewing and selling dolls to make a living.
With few relatives, I grew up an only child in a family of three, living and breathing my parents' experiences. They told me stories of a childhood that starkly contrasted mine in everything from military school to tobacco picking. Our differences helped me understand the commodities I indulge in. Within me grew a second-hand awareness that nothing had to be easy-my way of life was a gift, somewhat like the music that ran through my family tree.
As a young girl, I watched music preserve ties and ease tensions. The few times we could call Cuba, it was so that my uncle and father could bring a musical piece together; my uncle working on lyrics and my father on the tune. Music filled our home for generations; today, it helps me surrender my limitations and revel in its soothing sounds.
Through my parents' stories-and instruments-I embraced the culture I left behind. Through every strum of the guitar and "one day, when I was a child," I learned to see.
