I feel like i have a lot of grammar mistakes. please give feedback. thanks :)
My best friend Jasmine is silently reading her favorite children's book while I'm busily pouring crayons out of multiple boxes ready to make my masterpiece. My Mom walks in panicking, "Lisa! You're making such a big mess again, why can't you be more like your friend, Jasmine?" Jasmine has always been my foil, and my mother's "ideal" daughter. While she is organized, I'm a mess; she's obedient, I'm naughty; she loves books, I love drawing.
I was constantly scolded for being my chaotic, creative self; consequently, I became a bit ashamed that I wasn't good at math, nor a fast reader, like my best friend. In Arcadia, a close-knit community where many Asian Americans move to for the school district, kids are groomed from an early age to do well academically so that they can get in to that oh so coveted college prep track. I begged my mom to send to me to LA County High School of the Arts, where I could flourish in an artistic environment. My mother replied with a firm, "No." Both my parents came from strong academic backgrounds, so they were fairly strict in molding me into a daughter who brings "honor" to the family through grades and test scores.
I fell into my parent's hypnotic spell and slowly stripped away bits of my creativity. Although my grades and my academic skills started to rise, my imagination started to sink. I became a boring academic student just like everybody else, and I hated it.
My solution: balance my parent's expectations in academics with my love for creativity. There was no way I was going to give up my creative pursuits entirely. I found a leeway within all the madness; my favorite escape is during the weekends, when I liberate my creativity through drawing and various types of design challenges. My alarm clock rings every Saturday morning, reminding me to attend my enjoyable art classes. My Art Center Saturday High classes last about six hours, but to me, class seems only two hours long. Having my hands black and dusty from charcoal or even slit by an exacto knife doesn't bother me at all. I am willing to pour out my energy to create a masterpiece, whether it's in figure drawing, model building, or typography.
These art classes bring me back to my roots, and I smile to myself and think, "You are making such big mess again creating these artworks, but it's good that you are your own individual."
My best friend Jasmine is silently reading her favorite children's book while I'm busily pouring crayons out of multiple boxes ready to make my masterpiece. My Mom walks in panicking, "Lisa! You're making such a big mess again, why can't you be more like your friend, Jasmine?" Jasmine has always been my foil, and my mother's "ideal" daughter. While she is organized, I'm a mess; she's obedient, I'm naughty; she loves books, I love drawing.
I was constantly scolded for being my chaotic, creative self; consequently, I became a bit ashamed that I wasn't good at math, nor a fast reader, like my best friend. In Arcadia, a close-knit community where many Asian Americans move to for the school district, kids are groomed from an early age to do well academically so that they can get in to that oh so coveted college prep track. I begged my mom to send to me to LA County High School of the Arts, where I could flourish in an artistic environment. My mother replied with a firm, "No." Both my parents came from strong academic backgrounds, so they were fairly strict in molding me into a daughter who brings "honor" to the family through grades and test scores.
I fell into my parent's hypnotic spell and slowly stripped away bits of my creativity. Although my grades and my academic skills started to rise, my imagination started to sink. I became a boring academic student just like everybody else, and I hated it.
My solution: balance my parent's expectations in academics with my love for creativity. There was no way I was going to give up my creative pursuits entirely. I found a leeway within all the madness; my favorite escape is during the weekends, when I liberate my creativity through drawing and various types of design challenges. My alarm clock rings every Saturday morning, reminding me to attend my enjoyable art classes. My Art Center Saturday High classes last about six hours, but to me, class seems only two hours long. Having my hands black and dusty from charcoal or even slit by an exacto knife doesn't bother me at all. I am willing to pour out my energy to create a masterpiece, whether it's in figure drawing, model building, or typography.
These art classes bring me back to my roots, and I smile to myself and think, "You are making such big mess again creating these artworks, but it's good that you are your own individual."
