prompt:describe the world u come from and how it has shaped you.
I see the cops around my block. I'm not surprised. I ignore them and continue walking to my bus stop. It's cold and my bus is late. I stand there constantly looking around concerned for my safety.
I feel sleepy. The neighbors, once again, were fighting all night. When inebriated (which is most of the time), they end up screaming and throwing things at each other. Ever since I was little, I peeked through my window and watched them battle each other on an almost nightly basis.
I stretch my neck out into the street to see if the bus is coming. Across the street there's a church, and against the wall there are flowers, candles and a picture of a young African American, a victim of a drive-by shooting. I feel sorry for his family. I feel their pain. I feel their loss. What was going through his mind during the last minutes of his life? I start remembering the time a bullet went through my bedroom wall and hit my mirror. The mirror was big and all the little broken pieces landed on my bed. All I was concerned about was my parents. I cried when they rushed to my room to see if I was okay.
Finally, my bus arrives. I sit next to a woman and her daughter. The woman fixes the little girl's hair and makes sure that she looks decent for school. When I was little, my mom always worked, so my cousin, Ramon, took me to school. My mom always made sure that my hair was short so that I could just comb it down on my own. My hair was always shaped like a mushroom. I hated it.
Because my mom always worked, I became closer to my three brothers and loved them even more than I normally would have. After my brother, Cesar, came back from the Marines, he became really attentive with me. He felt that he missed out on my childhood the four years he was gone so he asked me questions about school and tried to make up for the time he was away. He pushed me to do well in school. He still pushes me, and I will not let him down.
The bus is taking me on a journey. My school happens to be across the street from USC, and each day as the bus nears the school it becomes so clear to me that the streets and neighborhood in general change dramatically for the better. I want my life to be like this bus ride, a daily progression from where I am now, to where I want to go. I want to get an education and then come back and help the young children in my community. I reach my stop.
I get off the bus and cross the street into a completely different world, and as I see the university students walk by, I see myself in the not too distant future walking to class on a University of California campus.
I really like my school in spite of the fact that most of my friends who go to large schools can't appreciate it because of its size. At 32nd St/ USC MAST High School, we're all a little family. I enjoy sitting with my friends at what some might think is our corny, little green table. We talk about our senior year. We imagine that time when we're finally going to be done with high school and will be going on to college. The thought of going to a big university makes me a little anxious because I'm used to my small school, but in spite of this nervousness I can't wait to experience everything college has to offer me. The bell rings; once again it's time for class.
I see the cops around my block. I'm not surprised. I ignore them and continue walking to my bus stop. It's cold and my bus is late. I stand there constantly looking around concerned for my safety.
I feel sleepy. The neighbors, once again, were fighting all night. When inebriated (which is most of the time), they end up screaming and throwing things at each other. Ever since I was little, I peeked through my window and watched them battle each other on an almost nightly basis.
I stretch my neck out into the street to see if the bus is coming. Across the street there's a church, and against the wall there are flowers, candles and a picture of a young African American, a victim of a drive-by shooting. I feel sorry for his family. I feel their pain. I feel their loss. What was going through his mind during the last minutes of his life? I start remembering the time a bullet went through my bedroom wall and hit my mirror. The mirror was big and all the little broken pieces landed on my bed. All I was concerned about was my parents. I cried when they rushed to my room to see if I was okay.
Finally, my bus arrives. I sit next to a woman and her daughter. The woman fixes the little girl's hair and makes sure that she looks decent for school. When I was little, my mom always worked, so my cousin, Ramon, took me to school. My mom always made sure that my hair was short so that I could just comb it down on my own. My hair was always shaped like a mushroom. I hated it.
Because my mom always worked, I became closer to my three brothers and loved them even more than I normally would have. After my brother, Cesar, came back from the Marines, he became really attentive with me. He felt that he missed out on my childhood the four years he was gone so he asked me questions about school and tried to make up for the time he was away. He pushed me to do well in school. He still pushes me, and I will not let him down.
The bus is taking me on a journey. My school happens to be across the street from USC, and each day as the bus nears the school it becomes so clear to me that the streets and neighborhood in general change dramatically for the better. I want my life to be like this bus ride, a daily progression from where I am now, to where I want to go. I want to get an education and then come back and help the young children in my community. I reach my stop.
I get off the bus and cross the street into a completely different world, and as I see the university students walk by, I see myself in the not too distant future walking to class on a University of California campus.
I really like my school in spite of the fact that most of my friends who go to large schools can't appreciate it because of its size. At 32nd St/ USC MAST High School, we're all a little family. I enjoy sitting with my friends at what some might think is our corny, little green table. We talk about our senior year. We imagine that time when we're finally going to be done with high school and will be going on to college. The thought of going to a big university makes me a little anxious because I'm used to my small school, but in spite of this nervousness I can't wait to experience everything college has to offer me. The bell rings; once again it's time for class.