Topic of my choice..
Doodles need more respect. Too often are they berated by teachers and parents who brand them as signs of inattentiveness - a sinful misconduct in an education-prioritized classroom. I confess. I often allow myself to wander off and doodle along the side margins of all my class notes. Littered in between bullet points and detailed notes are caricatures of myself, painful- looking shoes, what I think Macbeth looks like, and cats with trousers. I, however, don't find these doodles to be distractions. They are like spices, making bland class work taste exotic. Outside the classroom, doodling is my catharsis; it feeds off of my boredom and frustrations and spews them out in the form of art. When I am exhausted from hours of studying, I relax by whipping out a sharpie and allowing my mind to guide my hand across the white expanse of paper.
It is almost laughable how such a frivolous activity could leave such an imprint in my life. I watched in fascination as my affinity for doodling slowly blossomed into a respected hobby. In the past, my doodles were hidden; sandwiched in between my binders or carelessly thrown away. But I soon acknowledged my mistake: all those doodles were not insignificant and done on whim but rather small tiles that, when pieced together, form an intricate mosaic of me. Luckily, this newly hatched realization occurred the same time I stepped into my AP English class. Unlike many other teachers, Mr. Weinstein embraces doodles just as warmly as subject- verb agreement. In his class, we were even given time to release our creativity through whatever form we felt comfortable. My doodles soon transformed into mind maps rich in random pictures splashed in color, and political cartoons that covered everything from boxes to the presidential debate. My doodles were no longer lingering in the darkness of my notebook but were now radiating under the spotlight: they were hung on the bulletin board, photocopied as samples, and printed in the school newspaper for all to appreciate.
While I have changed and improved my doodling technique, I have not failed to realize how doodling has transformed me. I am no longer a brooding high school student whose mind resists the temptation to diverge from the academic trail while repressing my hidden talent from the probing eyes of my teachers. I have now come to realize that there was nothing to be afraid of. These "trifling" doodles on my history notes and scraps of discarded paper revealed to me that I wasn't the type of person who would allow my passion to die simply because it was an "undesirable habit." As condemnable they are in the classroom, my scribbles have changed me into a more active learner. A small doodle of a pair of polka dotted boxers next to the lesson on the Boxer Rebellion or mitochondria lifting weights has given me a new and efficient study fashion others rarely comprehend. There have been many times when my inattentive scribblings sparked a sudden epiphany. One particular incidence occurred when I was mindlessly drawing a rough sketch of a young girl with messy hair. It suddenly hit me that she would be the perfect "Sue" for my children's book "Itchy Sue and the Chicken Pox." The storyline, art, and editing reveals that I am an original thinker.
Doodles need more respect. Too often are they berated by teachers and parents who brand them as signs of inattentiveness - a sinful misconduct in an education-prioritized classroom. I confess. I often allow myself to wander off and doodle along the side margins of all my class notes. Littered in between bullet points and detailed notes are caricatures of myself, painful- looking shoes, what I think Macbeth looks like, and cats with trousers. I, however, don't find these doodles to be distractions. They are like spices, making bland class work taste exotic. Outside the classroom, doodling is my catharsis; it feeds off of my boredom and frustrations and spews them out in the form of art. When I am exhausted from hours of studying, I relax by whipping out a sharpie and allowing my mind to guide my hand across the white expanse of paper.
It is almost laughable how such a frivolous activity could leave such an imprint in my life. I watched in fascination as my affinity for doodling slowly blossomed into a respected hobby. In the past, my doodles were hidden; sandwiched in between my binders or carelessly thrown away. But I soon acknowledged my mistake: all those doodles were not insignificant and done on whim but rather small tiles that, when pieced together, form an intricate mosaic of me. Luckily, this newly hatched realization occurred the same time I stepped into my AP English class. Unlike many other teachers, Mr. Weinstein embraces doodles just as warmly as subject- verb agreement. In his class, we were even given time to release our creativity through whatever form we felt comfortable. My doodles soon transformed into mind maps rich in random pictures splashed in color, and political cartoons that covered everything from boxes to the presidential debate. My doodles were no longer lingering in the darkness of my notebook but were now radiating under the spotlight: they were hung on the bulletin board, photocopied as samples, and printed in the school newspaper for all to appreciate.
While I have changed and improved my doodling technique, I have not failed to realize how doodling has transformed me. I am no longer a brooding high school student whose mind resists the temptation to diverge from the academic trail while repressing my hidden talent from the probing eyes of my teachers. I have now come to realize that there was nothing to be afraid of. These "trifling" doodles on my history notes and scraps of discarded paper revealed to me that I wasn't the type of person who would allow my passion to die simply because it was an "undesirable habit." As condemnable they are in the classroom, my scribbles have changed me into a more active learner. A small doodle of a pair of polka dotted boxers next to the lesson on the Boxer Rebellion or mitochondria lifting weights has given me a new and efficient study fashion others rarely comprehend. There have been many times when my inattentive scribblings sparked a sudden epiphany. One particular incidence occurred when I was mindlessly drawing a rough sketch of a young girl with messy hair. It suddenly hit me that she would be the perfect "Sue" for my children's book "Itchy Sue and the Chicken Pox." The storyline, art, and editing reveals that I am an original thinker.