Compose Page 87 of your autobiography. In this essay, you should be creative, considering where your life story would be at this point.
Here is my essay I would like it if there is anyone who can critique it and maybe make correction that would be great!!
Page 87
Breathing in the rich succulent tropical air, I quickly took in all of the magnificent sites. Sandy white beaches, crystal dark blue rolling waves, and houses of all colors greeted me as we moved past. I knew that I was encountering something special. I shifted in my seat and softly asked the driver to slow down. "It is your first time, yes?" he asked. I smiled and nodding my head slightly, while quickly turning back to my rolled down window.
It was my first time; my first visit to Liberia. It was the land of liberty, land where some of the emancipated slaves were taken to after the civil war. It was the land where my parents where born and raised. The land where my mother climbed almond trees, sitting all morning filling herself up with the savory taste of almonds, the place where my father played football with friends on the dirt roads of Monrovia. This was the homeland and I was itching with excitement to experience it.
It was the middle of December, although chilly when I first got on the plane by my Virginian home; here it felt like the middle of summer. Enjoying the beautiful weather through my open window, I began thinking about all of strong history surrounding this country. I remember in the 9th grade I learned about the history of how Liberia came to be. The civil war brought on many changes not only in America but also in Africa. The preservation of the Union brought on the emancipation of the slaves. Most of the freed slaves stayed, but some had had enough of the mistreatment and were set on returning to their homeland; Africa. This is why the republic the African Americans created was called Liberia; Liberia for liberty. I also knew that the people who first settled were not only African-Americans, there were other indigenous people already living on the land. This group of Africans was where my father was from.
"We are almost there," the driver said. I looked over and felt Goosebumps rising on my arms, we were almost there. I had always been quite skeptical of coming here in my younger years. "But what if I get Malaria?" I used to inquire. You will be vaccinated my mother would say. Images of the poor children in Africa swarmed by flies, surrounded by dirt, malnutrition bodies that I viewed on television every once in a while always made me wonder why the excellent parts of Africa were not shown. My parents always said "Someday we will send you to Africa." Today was the day and it was in good time.
I was eighteen years old now and was ready to retrace my roots. After finishing one semester of college my parents believed it was time for me to visit. When people would ask me where I was from I would say, "Holland" because I was born there and never had that connection to Liberia. Today I would be connecting this piece of my birthright. I was coming visit my mothers' younger sister in Monrovia. With every mile that the car inched closer to where I was heading, I grew more and more anxious. I was about to experience a very unique occurrence; this country was part of my heritage.
"We are here," I heard I heard quietly in my thoughts. I quickly turned thanking him for the drive and paid my taxi fee, turning to open the car door. I stepped out squinting in the sunlight and began the journey of embracing my African heritage.
Here is my essay I would like it if there is anyone who can critique it and maybe make correction that would be great!!
Page 87
Breathing in the rich succulent tropical air, I quickly took in all of the magnificent sites. Sandy white beaches, crystal dark blue rolling waves, and houses of all colors greeted me as we moved past. I knew that I was encountering something special. I shifted in my seat and softly asked the driver to slow down. "It is your first time, yes?" he asked. I smiled and nodding my head slightly, while quickly turning back to my rolled down window.
It was my first time; my first visit to Liberia. It was the land of liberty, land where some of the emancipated slaves were taken to after the civil war. It was the land where my parents where born and raised. The land where my mother climbed almond trees, sitting all morning filling herself up with the savory taste of almonds, the place where my father played football with friends on the dirt roads of Monrovia. This was the homeland and I was itching with excitement to experience it.
It was the middle of December, although chilly when I first got on the plane by my Virginian home; here it felt like the middle of summer. Enjoying the beautiful weather through my open window, I began thinking about all of strong history surrounding this country. I remember in the 9th grade I learned about the history of how Liberia came to be. The civil war brought on many changes not only in America but also in Africa. The preservation of the Union brought on the emancipation of the slaves. Most of the freed slaves stayed, but some had had enough of the mistreatment and were set on returning to their homeland; Africa. This is why the republic the African Americans created was called Liberia; Liberia for liberty. I also knew that the people who first settled were not only African-Americans, there were other indigenous people already living on the land. This group of Africans was where my father was from.
"We are almost there," the driver said. I looked over and felt Goosebumps rising on my arms, we were almost there. I had always been quite skeptical of coming here in my younger years. "But what if I get Malaria?" I used to inquire. You will be vaccinated my mother would say. Images of the poor children in Africa swarmed by flies, surrounded by dirt, malnutrition bodies that I viewed on television every once in a while always made me wonder why the excellent parts of Africa were not shown. My parents always said "Someday we will send you to Africa." Today was the day and it was in good time.
I was eighteen years old now and was ready to retrace my roots. After finishing one semester of college my parents believed it was time for me to visit. When people would ask me where I was from I would say, "Holland" because I was born there and never had that connection to Liberia. Today I would be connecting this piece of my birthright. I was coming visit my mothers' younger sister in Monrovia. With every mile that the car inched closer to where I was heading, I grew more and more anxious. I was about to experience a very unique occurrence; this country was part of my heritage.
"We are here," I heard I heard quietly in my thoughts. I quickly turned thanking him for the drive and paid my taxi fee, turning to open the car door. I stepped out squinting in the sunlight and began the journey of embracing my African heritage.