Hello everyone. This is my essay and I need loads of help with any editing that is possible. Also I need help wrapping everything up.
I lounged on my bed, flipping through multiple channels. Sunday afternoons often became tedious with nothing worthy to watch on television. I sighed and gazed around the small apartment.
My home seems even smaller because of the rush of things everywhere. A showcase stands on the side like a lone stranger. In it are my mother's prized possessions: clay and glass figures that stand frozen, awaiting their time of flight. I looked at our only painting, a reproduction of Van Gogh's "Starry Night," bought from the flea market for three dollars. I see a bicycle jammed behind a dresser, which pours forth strong aromas of every kind.
I turned my attention to my dad. My dad sat by the dining table, which was befriended by two chairs. He was skimming through a newspaper in Punjabi, a language I could not read.
I admired every curve of each Punjabi character. I especially took pleasure of the fact that each character is bonded by a single line on top, to show unity, which in return created words.
"Turn off the television and pull up a chair." I glanced at my dad, eager to finally have something to do. I clicked off the television and dragged a chair next to him. My father usually did not have much to say. He never started a conversation with my brother and me. And for almost all my life I had been detached from him because of this lack of communication. Now he held up the newspaper and asked, "Do you know what this says?" When I shook my head, my dad asked, "Do you want to learn?" The question seemed simple enough but I was bursting with excitement. I had always wanted to become literate in Punjabi. Growing up, I had always envied anyone who was literate in their native tongue. Merely speaking the language was not enough for me.
From then on every Sunday became an extensive way of connecting with my dad and my culture. I became increasingly involved with my family, my religion, my culture and my language. And these became the things I never wanted to lose.
At the age of thirteen, I began to attend Saturday and Sunday school. This school was for children like me who wanted a better understanding of the Sikh religion. I learned to read and write in Punjabi. I became active in kabadi (wrestling), basketball and volleyball. I also learned to play the harmonium. I even learned a basic form of sword fighting, but we used sticks instead of actual swords.
Although, I can no longer attend Punjabi School because of age restrictions, I have not stopped interacting with the culture. I have, in fact, lived in the United States for most of my life, but I have chosen not to lose my heritage while adapting to a new one.
Looking back at my thirteen year old self, I am amazed at who I have become. Entering high school, I managed to balance and uphold both, along with school itself. I fueled myself by taking part in countless extracurricular activities, such as taking courses at the American Museum of Natural History.
I feel certain that having this kind of diversity will not only help me adapt to the challenges of college life but it will bring a significant variance to any relationship.