Topic: Describe an experience that changed your life. (500 words)- Total: 523
Grammars and other feed back would greatly be appreciated. Thank you
I buried my nose into my father's damp, wrinkled shirt. The scent of fresh lumber, blended with the aroma of cheap washing detergent rushed through my lungs. I put my arms around Father's shoulders as my body swayed back and forth to the rhythm of the steps he took along the empty street. Distant echoes of footsteps belonging to the late-night pedestrians on concrete pavement interrupted the empty atmosphere.
My heart stopped. Perhaps it was just the sound of the incessant rain that separated my pulse from the silence of the night, or the water had drowned my agitated soul. I fell asleep as the silhouette of the moon rose above the black clouds.
I dreamed of the days that Father and I had spent together under the roof of our decrepit apartment, envisioned every mended part of the walls where the water had penetrated after each monsoon season. I missed the insipid meals of rice and soy sauce and Father's late night stories. The expression of the landlord when he slammed the door on us when we were short on rent disturbed the memory and became my darkest nightmare.
An icy drop of rain woke me up. Father was still walking, carrying me on his back. Street lamps flickered to life one after another until two lines of light ran through the endless pathway. I tried to recall when we ate our last meal. The thought of the taste and crispiness of hot bread made my mouth water.
We passed a nearby house that was celebrating a birthday party. I could see colorful balloons floating around the dining room. The fragrance of roasted beef covertly escaped the house into the cold and humid air. We waited until the Happy Birthday song had faded into the distance before we continued our journey. The song reminded me of the flute that Father carved out of wood for my sixth birthday. Even though only air would come out of those seven holes when I tried to blow on it, he would pretend to whistle along with the silent song.
How long had it been since Father started walking? Two...three hours? I tried not to let my tears mar his shirt and ruin its perfect smell. I prayed. Maybe God is watching over us at this moment. Maybe being homeless for a few days wouldn't be so bad after all. Maybe the midnight stars would fade, yield their place for the first rays of dawn. Maybe...
Eighty-three months later, I looked at the men sitting along the sidewalk from my car window. The dirty faces, the deep expressions engaged every corner of my memory. I couldn't describe the feeling. It wasn't pity; it wasn't pain, but rather nostalgia. I stepped out of the car and headed toward the homeless men. A little child about six years old reached them before me, talking and laughing with their poor souls. I smiled. It wasn't just me that changed from the inside, but the whole world has changed. It gave me hope that this wretched society is heading toward the light at the end of the tunnel.
Grammars and other feed back would greatly be appreciated. Thank you
I buried my nose into my father's damp, wrinkled shirt. The scent of fresh lumber, blended with the aroma of cheap washing detergent rushed through my lungs. I put my arms around Father's shoulders as my body swayed back and forth to the rhythm of the steps he took along the empty street. Distant echoes of footsteps belonging to the late-night pedestrians on concrete pavement interrupted the empty atmosphere.
My heart stopped. Perhaps it was just the sound of the incessant rain that separated my pulse from the silence of the night, or the water had drowned my agitated soul. I fell asleep as the silhouette of the moon rose above the black clouds.
I dreamed of the days that Father and I had spent together under the roof of our decrepit apartment, envisioned every mended part of the walls where the water had penetrated after each monsoon season. I missed the insipid meals of rice and soy sauce and Father's late night stories. The expression of the landlord when he slammed the door on us when we were short on rent disturbed the memory and became my darkest nightmare.
An icy drop of rain woke me up. Father was still walking, carrying me on his back. Street lamps flickered to life one after another until two lines of light ran through the endless pathway. I tried to recall when we ate our last meal. The thought of the taste and crispiness of hot bread made my mouth water.
We passed a nearby house that was celebrating a birthday party. I could see colorful balloons floating around the dining room. The fragrance of roasted beef covertly escaped the house into the cold and humid air. We waited until the Happy Birthday song had faded into the distance before we continued our journey. The song reminded me of the flute that Father carved out of wood for my sixth birthday. Even though only air would come out of those seven holes when I tried to blow on it, he would pretend to whistle along with the silent song.
How long had it been since Father started walking? Two...three hours? I tried not to let my tears mar his shirt and ruin its perfect smell. I prayed. Maybe God is watching over us at this moment. Maybe being homeless for a few days wouldn't be so bad after all. Maybe the midnight stars would fade, yield their place for the first rays of dawn. Maybe...
Eighty-three months later, I looked at the men sitting along the sidewalk from my car window. The dirty faces, the deep expressions engaged every corner of my memory. I couldn't describe the feeling. It wasn't pity; it wasn't pain, but rather nostalgia. I stepped out of the car and headed toward the homeless men. A little child about six years old reached them before me, talking and laughing with their poor souls. I smiled. It wasn't just me that changed from the inside, but the whole world has changed. It gave me hope that this wretched society is heading toward the light at the end of the tunnel.
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