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I stare down from my carpals to my phalanges and question how they can describe me. Plain and inelegant, hidden underneath my sleeves my hands openly reveal to the world my imperfections. "Why are you chipping of your nail polish, you just painted them?" nagged my mother, I jolted and a freshly chipped coat rocketed quickly off of my nail. The piece fell next to a small collection of recently peeled nail polish flakes. Left on my corroded fingernails were borders of polish.The alarming view of a pile of nail scraps coiled through my mind, as my mother called out my relapse. Spreading my ten fingers out, like a cat stretches out his paw, I noted that my hands as a symbol of my life, The nails with chipped off polish flakes, a ring I had stuck on my middle finger since august, what a mess my hands appeared to be.
The meaning behind a persons hands, portrays the story of their life. Your hands define your accomplishments. Biologically designed to control both of your gross and fine motor skills, with the ability to touch, hands are capable of much more than that. Any job, dream, passion, miniscule effort is somewhat associated with ones hands. A musician plays an instrument, an artist creates a painting, an author writes a story and a doctor preforms surgeries. In every form these admirable people adequately utilize their hands, to create the world they live in. There hands surpass motor skilled organs, and become specified instruments. Staring at my hands I look for the instruments my hands can become, yet all I notice are my deficiencies. Past all of my faults, I do see one thing, an undeniable potential.
I live in a family of artists, my mother and sister master the talent of using their swift hands to glide a paintbrush, to create magic. Maneuvering a thick oily substance to grasp our eyes towards an instant masterpiece previously known as a blank white canvas. Our one bedroom Manhattan apartment is covered from wall to wall in portraits, landscapes and abstracts all original pieces. When it comes down to me, I always felt like this talent skipped a generation. Lacking the ability to draw or paint, my hands strived to work hard in my high school career, from an aspect that I know al humans have the talent to do, that is to help. I realized my hands were instruments in my own life. Just because they couldn't paint or create a work of art worthy enough to be on my walls, does not mean they could not construct something even greater. I began working closely with community service organizations. I honestly spent my time working with the homeless, the elderly, shelter cats and low income children an entire society who are often overlooked. Still unsure of my chosen career path, I know I want to be associated with aiding communities, people, and animals. I bare the hands of humanitarian. I want to utilize my hands to demonstrate the art of helping, in that I am an artist. By the end of the day, I realized my hands created the experience. The days event couldn't be hung up on a wall or portrayed in a gallery or museum. Staring down at my hands nervous, broken, ripped up and continuously in progress. They somehow represented my life, they were on the right track to finding out what I want to accomplish. I am constantly pushing myself to do better, whether that be from chipping off the last coat of nail polish to redo it, or to travel from organizations to lend my rugged hands. My hands represent me, how I am completely determined, to push myself to do better, while helping as many people on the way. No one has ever needed to reprimand me to do my homework or go to bed. I am self reliant I have never been mandated by others to keep my grades up, or work harder, because I was forced to force myself. I take accountability for all my success, and all of my mistakes. If you were too look at my hands you'd probably think I was a nervous reck, chipping off nail polish a but I know its just my way of pushing myself to do better; So maybe one day my hands and my life will look exactly how I want them to. My hands represent a famous quotation written by Marianne William son, "Our biggest fear is not that we are inadequate our biggest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure." My hands show me that I am not inadequate, but I have the ability to change these instruments and surpass their potential. After all, they aren't just hands, they are an apparatus to my future, whatever it may be.
I stare down from my carpals to my phalanges and question how they can describe me. Plain and inelegant, hidden underneath my sleeves my hands openly reveal to the world my imperfections. "Why are you chipping of your nail polish, you just painted them?" nagged my mother, I jolted and a freshly chipped coat rocketed quickly off of my nail. The piece fell next to a small collection of recently peeled nail polish flakes. Left on my corroded fingernails were borders of polish.The alarming view of a pile of nail scraps coiled through my mind, as my mother called out my relapse. Spreading my ten fingers out, like a cat stretches out his paw, I noted that my hands as a symbol of my life, The nails with chipped off polish flakes, a ring I had stuck on my middle finger since august, what a mess my hands appeared to be.
The meaning behind a persons hands, portrays the story of their life. Your hands define your accomplishments. Biologically designed to control both of your gross and fine motor skills, with the ability to touch, hands are capable of much more than that. Any job, dream, passion, miniscule effort is somewhat associated with ones hands. A musician plays an instrument, an artist creates a painting, an author writes a story and a doctor preforms surgeries. In every form these admirable people adequately utilize their hands, to create the world they live in. There hands surpass motor skilled organs, and become specified instruments. Staring at my hands I look for the instruments my hands can become, yet all I notice are my deficiencies. Past all of my faults, I do see one thing, an undeniable potential.
I live in a family of artists, my mother and sister master the talent of using their swift hands to glide a paintbrush, to create magic. Maneuvering a thick oily substance to grasp our eyes towards an instant masterpiece previously known as a blank white canvas. Our one bedroom Manhattan apartment is covered from wall to wall in portraits, landscapes and abstracts all original pieces. When it comes down to me, I always felt like this talent skipped a generation. Lacking the ability to draw or paint, my hands strived to work hard in my high school career, from an aspect that I know al humans have the talent to do, that is to help. I realized my hands were instruments in my own life. Just because they couldn't paint or create a work of art worthy enough to be on my walls, does not mean they could not construct something even greater. I began working closely with community service organizations. I honestly spent my time working with the homeless, the elderly, shelter cats and low income children an entire society who are often overlooked. Still unsure of my chosen career path, I know I want to be associated with aiding communities, people, and animals. I bare the hands of humanitarian. I want to utilize my hands to demonstrate the art of helping, in that I am an artist. By the end of the day, I realized my hands created the experience. The days event couldn't be hung up on a wall or portrayed in a gallery or museum. Staring down at my hands nervous, broken, ripped up and continuously in progress. They somehow represented my life, they were on the right track to finding out what I want to accomplish. I am constantly pushing myself to do better, whether that be from chipping off the last coat of nail polish to redo it, or to travel from organizations to lend my rugged hands. My hands represent me, how I am completely determined, to push myself to do better, while helping as many people on the way. No one has ever needed to reprimand me to do my homework or go to bed. I am self reliant I have never been mandated by others to keep my grades up, or work harder, because I was forced to force myself. I take accountability for all my success, and all of my mistakes. If you were too look at my hands you'd probably think I was a nervous reck, chipping off nail polish a but I know its just my way of pushing myself to do better; So maybe one day my hands and my life will look exactly how I want them to. My hands represent a famous quotation written by Marianne William son, "Our biggest fear is not that we are inadequate our biggest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure." My hands show me that I am not inadequate, but I have the ability to change these instruments and surpass their potential. After all, they aren't just hands, they are an apparatus to my future, whatever it may be.
