I have written two essays. One, in my opinion, is more exciting and interesting than the other. Please tell me which essay you like better. The prompt told me I could write about anything that I want.
Essay 1
She began to count, "ehad, shtayim..." I was clenching my fists and beginning to sweat... "shalosh"! I screamed at the top of my lungs. I had done it... I had just gotten my nose pierced.
Believe it or not, I am deathly afraid of needles. Coming from a conservative Cuban family, neither I, nor anyone else including and especially my parents, saw this coming. Pearls in my ears and a ribbon tied in my neatly pulled back hair each day at school, I just wasn't the type.
Rewind one month and you'd find me at my Tia's house with my rowdy Cuban family. Dancing, singing, eating, laughing, this was a typical night for the Susis. Loud sounds of Cuban music explode inside the house; Tio is dancing, Primo is playing the bongos, Abuelo is singing, and that's when I know... the fiesta has officially begun. We all sit around one big table and devour my Tia's famous arroz con pollo. Conversation begins about my big trip to Israel. My trouble-making cousins taunt my parents about how all of their friends who have been to Israel come back with piercings. My parents immediately dismiss their comments because they are convinced I'd never get anything pierced. I dismiss them as well. But... we were all wrong.
"Get that thing out of your nose NOW!" my mother yelled from across the airport. "You don't think you're getting into my car with that thing in your nose, do you?" grunted my dad with furious eyes. So, I had my nose pierced for all of... one week. And what did I get for it? A long lecture and grounded... very, very grounded.
This summer, spontaneity got to the best of me. Easily inspired, as I am, I fell head over heals for Israeli culture. My curiosity lured me to dress differently, try new foods, and search deeper into myself to find who I really am. What I found is that I have no idea. Am I the conservative Cuban girl with pearl earrings or the free spirit with the pierced nose? I left Israel with a sense of belonging; I am so attracted to the relaxed nature of their culture. Although piercing my nose may not have been the best approach, I have not yet satisfied my curiosity.
Essay 2
I am a Jewban, as my friends sometimes call me, because I am Jewish and Cuban and strongly identify as both.
In the past several years, I have been on a quest to learn more about my heritage and connect with my extended family in Israel and Cuba. I have spent the last two summers in Israel and visited Cuba with my parents and brother.
Before my visits to Israel and Cuba, I thought of the freedoms we enjoy in the United States in political terms - freedom of speech, of the press and of religion.
My family's circumstances in Israel changed my thinking. I always believed Israelis enjoyed the same freedoms we do in the United States. But I learned that they lack a basic, fundamental freedom - security.
While in Israel, like here, we often spoke of my plans for college. Orr, one of my cousins, who just turned 15, will not go to college out of high school. Instead, he must enter the military. When my cousin Daniel and I went to a party in Tel Aviv by ourselves, his parent's concerns were not the same as my parent's concerns when I go out in Boca Raton. They spoke of terrorists. The suspicion of others and random danger was frightening. I had never before thought of security as freedom.
Unlike Israelis, my family in Cuba does have security, but they pay a huge price. Cubans give lip service to freedoms of speech and of the press. My uncle Nene argued with me for hours that his freedom is real. His vote, he told me, even if it must be cast for the candidate selected by the government, is valuable. What Cubans really want, he said, is economic freedom. This was not what I expected from a citizen of a communist country.
In Cuba we ate a different relative's house each night. Each time what they fed us took them all day to buy, often on the black market. I remember not thinking one night and eating an entire tomato at dinner - the only tomato. When my parents later told me that my Cuban relatives rarely ate tomatoes or fresh vegetables, I cried. I feel awful when I think of it to this day. At that moment, however, I understood that my Uncle Nene wanted the freedom to feed his family. That was all the freedom he needed.
I took our freedoms for granted. I took my security for granted. I took the abundance the American free market economy allows for granted. I never understood the nuances. I don't think many Americans do. I know my friends do not. They have nothing to compare.
This year I turn 18 and get to vote for the first time. I may be naïve, but my first vote for President will be for the man that I believe best appreciates these and other nuances of freedom.
Essay 1
She began to count, "ehad, shtayim..." I was clenching my fists and beginning to sweat... "shalosh"! I screamed at the top of my lungs. I had done it... I had just gotten my nose pierced.
Believe it or not, I am deathly afraid of needles. Coming from a conservative Cuban family, neither I, nor anyone else including and especially my parents, saw this coming. Pearls in my ears and a ribbon tied in my neatly pulled back hair each day at school, I just wasn't the type.
Rewind one month and you'd find me at my Tia's house with my rowdy Cuban family. Dancing, singing, eating, laughing, this was a typical night for the Susis. Loud sounds of Cuban music explode inside the house; Tio is dancing, Primo is playing the bongos, Abuelo is singing, and that's when I know... the fiesta has officially begun. We all sit around one big table and devour my Tia's famous arroz con pollo. Conversation begins about my big trip to Israel. My trouble-making cousins taunt my parents about how all of their friends who have been to Israel come back with piercings. My parents immediately dismiss their comments because they are convinced I'd never get anything pierced. I dismiss them as well. But... we were all wrong.
"Get that thing out of your nose NOW!" my mother yelled from across the airport. "You don't think you're getting into my car with that thing in your nose, do you?" grunted my dad with furious eyes. So, I had my nose pierced for all of... one week. And what did I get for it? A long lecture and grounded... very, very grounded.
This summer, spontaneity got to the best of me. Easily inspired, as I am, I fell head over heals for Israeli culture. My curiosity lured me to dress differently, try new foods, and search deeper into myself to find who I really am. What I found is that I have no idea. Am I the conservative Cuban girl with pearl earrings or the free spirit with the pierced nose? I left Israel with a sense of belonging; I am so attracted to the relaxed nature of their culture. Although piercing my nose may not have been the best approach, I have not yet satisfied my curiosity.
Essay 2
I am a Jewban, as my friends sometimes call me, because I am Jewish and Cuban and strongly identify as both.
In the past several years, I have been on a quest to learn more about my heritage and connect with my extended family in Israel and Cuba. I have spent the last two summers in Israel and visited Cuba with my parents and brother.
Before my visits to Israel and Cuba, I thought of the freedoms we enjoy in the United States in political terms - freedom of speech, of the press and of religion.
My family's circumstances in Israel changed my thinking. I always believed Israelis enjoyed the same freedoms we do in the United States. But I learned that they lack a basic, fundamental freedom - security.
While in Israel, like here, we often spoke of my plans for college. Orr, one of my cousins, who just turned 15, will not go to college out of high school. Instead, he must enter the military. When my cousin Daniel and I went to a party in Tel Aviv by ourselves, his parent's concerns were not the same as my parent's concerns when I go out in Boca Raton. They spoke of terrorists. The suspicion of others and random danger was frightening. I had never before thought of security as freedom.
Unlike Israelis, my family in Cuba does have security, but they pay a huge price. Cubans give lip service to freedoms of speech and of the press. My uncle Nene argued with me for hours that his freedom is real. His vote, he told me, even if it must be cast for the candidate selected by the government, is valuable. What Cubans really want, he said, is economic freedom. This was not what I expected from a citizen of a communist country.
In Cuba we ate a different relative's house each night. Each time what they fed us took them all day to buy, often on the black market. I remember not thinking one night and eating an entire tomato at dinner - the only tomato. When my parents later told me that my Cuban relatives rarely ate tomatoes or fresh vegetables, I cried. I feel awful when I think of it to this day. At that moment, however, I understood that my Uncle Nene wanted the freedom to feed his family. That was all the freedom he needed.
I took our freedoms for granted. I took my security for granted. I took the abundance the American free market economy allows for granted. I never understood the nuances. I don't think many Americans do. I know my friends do not. They have nothing to compare.
This year I turn 18 and get to vote for the first time. I may be naïve, but my first vote for President will be for the man that I believe best appreciates these and other nuances of freedom.
