A little about myself: I'm an African American at a Baltimore City charter school. Most of my school's faculty are too busy to respond or help me so I'm counting on others to help me. Thanks!
---Evaluate a significant experience, achievement, risk you have taken, or ethical dilemma you have faced and its impact on you.
Words In Red I Want To Focus, Are They Awkward? Need To Omit? Word Choice?
Here I was in one of the most beautiful cities in the world acting inanely . I realized how fortunate I was and I valued the culture around me, but for reasons unknown I was not grateful. Yes, I was in one of the most beautiful cities in the world and I just stood there like a statue.
"Please don't make me look stupid again," my teacher said in her monotone, but I could see the anger in her eyes. "OK," I plainly replied.
Just two minutes before, it was 8:28 in the morning, and I was sitting on the lobby floor with the rest of the students who were part of the tour group. It was only the second day, but my friends from Baltimore and I made it our mission to get to know everyone. We embraced the lack of familiarity in the faces of those around us. We were a group of loud, laughing students from the inner-city, and loved this experience.
I remembered that I had left the flat-iron on in my hotel room and thought it probably wasn't a good idea to burn down the hotel in a foreign country. I stopped my conversation with Tom, an Asian student from Michigan, asked him to watch my iPod that was charging, and rushed up stairs. During the two minutes of my rushing to my room and back down to the lobby, the mood in the room had transformed. When I got off the elevator, all mouths were silent, and all eyes were on me.
"Please teach your girls about safety." The tour chaperone handed my iPod to my teacher. I live in one of the most dangerous cities in America. I have lived seventeen years mastering safety. I know safety. I gave an apologetic look to my teacher, which she acknowledged briefly.
This was only day two of our trip and I had already made my teacher "look stupid." I thought to myself, "I have to do everything in my power to not let anything like this happen again. What can I do?" I just listened to my iPod on the subway so I wouldn't have to engage in conversation. I wore neutral colored clothes so I wouldn't draw attention to myself. I admired the statues at the museum from a distance so I wouldn't hold the group up. I was a statue. If I was silent I couldn't make myself or anyone else "look stupid," right?
Two days of my statuette actions went by. We were at dinner, and there weren't enough seats at the tables for our 8-person Baltimore group, so I volunteered to sit with another group. After all, I did not want to be a part of any confusion. I sat with the Michigan group, didn't complain, and waited for dinner. During my wait, the table dialogue went from informal to intense. Tom began debating the "minority-side perspective" to a bunch of spoiled daddy's girls. I'm not labeling them; they explicitly said they were on this trip because, "I'm a spoiled daddy's girl and I just wanted to come." I stared, picking at my cuticles, to avoid engaging in the conversation.
"What do you think, Cortnie?" Tom asked.
"Oh, I really wasn't listening," I replied, still trying to avoid it.
"Do you think only people who have money and work hard deserve to travel to places like this?" Tom just wouldn't let me pick my cuticles in peace.
"I didn't have the money, I had to work hard, and I definitely deserve to travel," I said heatedly but avoided any confrontation by hastening to the bathroom. By the time I got back, the food was there and the conversation had changed. I survived it.
After dinner, I was on the subway, listening to my iPod, still thinking about that heated table talk. Our 8-person Baltimore group had fundraised like never before. We organized skating and comedy nights, sold snacks at school, and sent letters to everyone we knew. I raised that money, I worked hard, and I deserved to be there. At that moment, I realized we had all worked way too hard for me to walk around like a zombie in a foreign country.
Her hair muddled, face crimson red, and eyes blood-shot puffy; my teacher sat alone quiet and poignant at the opposite side of the subway. I stared at the gloom in her eyes for the rest of the ride. Friends who were furious at her and envious of us, was recaptured in my mind. She worked the hardest of us all and I was walking around like I didn't care. Later that night, I went to her hotel room.
"The bottom line, there's no explanation. Trust me, tomorrow will be different," I assured her.
I woke up the next day, wore a bright purple dress, and left my iPod in my room. I got on the subway, had a lovely conversation with an absolute stranger, and was completely mindful of safety. My own insecurities ruined three wonderful days. I forgot how lucky I was to be in this amazing city and how most of my friends will never travel past these small Baltimore white lines. Over a simple dinner, I had learned I was so focused on not being a disappointment that I ended up still "looking stupid".
Up until now, I have survived with a fear of disappointment. My disappointment anxiety has vanished. I live my life knowing I deserve everything I work hard for. I did not return to my normal self; I became better.
Finally free, I stood at the top of the city, dumbfounded . This was not Paris, Tennessee with a replica of the Eiffel Tower. I was in Paris, France, with the real one!
---Evaluate a significant experience, achievement, risk you have taken, or ethical dilemma you have faced and its impact on you.
Words In Red I Want To Focus, Are They Awkward? Need To Omit? Word Choice?
Here I was in one of the most beautiful cities in the world acting inanely . I realized how fortunate I was and I valued the culture around me, but for reasons unknown I was not grateful. Yes, I was in one of the most beautiful cities in the world and I just stood there like a statue.
"Please don't make me look stupid again," my teacher said in her monotone, but I could see the anger in her eyes. "OK," I plainly replied.
Just two minutes before, it was 8:28 in the morning, and I was sitting on the lobby floor with the rest of the students who were part of the tour group. It was only the second day, but my friends from Baltimore and I made it our mission to get to know everyone. We embraced the lack of familiarity in the faces of those around us. We were a group of loud, laughing students from the inner-city, and loved this experience.
I remembered that I had left the flat-iron on in my hotel room and thought it probably wasn't a good idea to burn down the hotel in a foreign country. I stopped my conversation with Tom, an Asian student from Michigan, asked him to watch my iPod that was charging, and rushed up stairs. During the two minutes of my rushing to my room and back down to the lobby, the mood in the room had transformed. When I got off the elevator, all mouths were silent, and all eyes were on me.
"Please teach your girls about safety." The tour chaperone handed my iPod to my teacher. I live in one of the most dangerous cities in America. I have lived seventeen years mastering safety. I know safety. I gave an apologetic look to my teacher, which she acknowledged briefly.
This was only day two of our trip and I had already made my teacher "look stupid." I thought to myself, "I have to do everything in my power to not let anything like this happen again. What can I do?" I just listened to my iPod on the subway so I wouldn't have to engage in conversation. I wore neutral colored clothes so I wouldn't draw attention to myself. I admired the statues at the museum from a distance so I wouldn't hold the group up. I was a statue. If I was silent I couldn't make myself or anyone else "look stupid," right?
Two days of my statuette actions went by. We were at dinner, and there weren't enough seats at the tables for our 8-person Baltimore group, so I volunteered to sit with another group. After all, I did not want to be a part of any confusion. I sat with the Michigan group, didn't complain, and waited for dinner. During my wait, the table dialogue went from informal to intense. Tom began debating the "minority-side perspective" to a bunch of spoiled daddy's girls. I'm not labeling them; they explicitly said they were on this trip because, "I'm a spoiled daddy's girl and I just wanted to come." I stared, picking at my cuticles, to avoid engaging in the conversation.
"What do you think, Cortnie?" Tom asked.
"Oh, I really wasn't listening," I replied, still trying to avoid it.
"Do you think only people who have money and work hard deserve to travel to places like this?" Tom just wouldn't let me pick my cuticles in peace.
"I didn't have the money, I had to work hard, and I definitely deserve to travel," I said heatedly but avoided any confrontation by hastening to the bathroom. By the time I got back, the food was there and the conversation had changed. I survived it.
After dinner, I was on the subway, listening to my iPod, still thinking about that heated table talk. Our 8-person Baltimore group had fundraised like never before. We organized skating and comedy nights, sold snacks at school, and sent letters to everyone we knew. I raised that money, I worked hard, and I deserved to be there. At that moment, I realized we had all worked way too hard for me to walk around like a zombie in a foreign country.
Her hair muddled, face crimson red, and eyes blood-shot puffy; my teacher sat alone quiet and poignant at the opposite side of the subway. I stared at the gloom in her eyes for the rest of the ride. Friends who were furious at her and envious of us, was recaptured in my mind. She worked the hardest of us all and I was walking around like I didn't care. Later that night, I went to her hotel room.
"The bottom line, there's no explanation. Trust me, tomorrow will be different," I assured her.
I woke up the next day, wore a bright purple dress, and left my iPod in my room. I got on the subway, had a lovely conversation with an absolute stranger, and was completely mindful of safety. My own insecurities ruined three wonderful days. I forgot how lucky I was to be in this amazing city and how most of my friends will never travel past these small Baltimore white lines. Over a simple dinner, I had learned I was so focused on not being a disappointment that I ended up still "looking stupid".
Up until now, I have survived with a fear of disappointment. My disappointment anxiety has vanished. I live my life knowing I deserve everything I work hard for. I did not return to my normal self; I became better.
Finally free, I stood at the top of the city, dumbfounded . This was not Paris, Tennessee with a replica of the Eiffel Tower. I was in Paris, France, with the real one!