Dear all, this is an essay for my common app.The ques is any topic of my choice. Pls do help me to edit and improve it. All help will be appreciated. Especially grammatically. Pls help! thanks.
18-inch by 24-inch, with flat base and sides and typically rectangular in shape. This describes one of the objects that strike much fear in many of us: a moving box. Despite their (deceptively) innocuous appearance, we are heavily disturbed by the thoughts of packing up our life and fitting it into these standardized moving boxes. This is because a moving box is not just simply a moving box but instead, it is a symbol of change, of instability as well as of uncertainty and as creatures of habit, we are genetically programmed to resist this object that aids in uprooting us from our comfort zone.
Moving boxes have appeared no less than 9 times in my nineteen years of life, each time signifying all of the emotions that attack other creatures of habit. But I am an old hand at this and I know the drill. Upon discovering these seemingly feared objects around my house, I will go in search of durable cardboards and use it to wrap all my precious books in order to protect them from all elements including rain, dust and the movers' inevitable perspiration. The wrapped and secured "Complete Works of Shakespeare" always goes into the moving box first because of its sheer size. Next will be the other hardcover books like the beloved "Jane Eyre" and the much-read "Fahrenheit 451". My paperbacks then complement these boxes (all my books can not possibly fit in just one box).
On the day of the move itself, these brown monsters can be seen everywhere, all taped and with "fragile!" strewn all over them regardless of their contents, especially in arms of strapping strangers in blue overall uniforms that become friends and allies after a full day of exertion caused by moving tens of boxes containing a lifetime of laughter, tears, successes, heartbreaks, memories and stories. The very end of this process comes when I assiduously unpack my life from these moving boxes and put away these useful and well-meaning but ill-fated objects. In the garage, the moving boxes will lay dormant and passive before they once again attack in the near future and strike uncertainties in my heart.
However for all the uncertainties the moving boxes and the striking of yet another passé street name bring, I have never fear them. Instead, I have long since learnt (after perhaps my third encounter with the moving boxes) that a home is not defined by the four walls, the picket fences, the childish markings on the wall, the familiarity with the creaks of the stairs or the absence of moving boxes but rather the strength of the occupants of the home as well as their love and appreciation for each other. I have also come to discover that, sometimes, objects have no meaning other than that that we attach to it and maybe for once, just this once, a moving box is just a moving box, nothing more nothing less.
18-inch by 24-inch, with flat base and sides and typically rectangular in shape. This describes one of the objects that strike much fear in many of us: a moving box. Despite their (deceptively) innocuous appearance, we are heavily disturbed by the thoughts of packing up our life and fitting it into these standardized moving boxes. This is because a moving box is not just simply a moving box but instead, it is a symbol of change, of instability as well as of uncertainty and as creatures of habit, we are genetically programmed to resist this object that aids in uprooting us from our comfort zone.
Moving boxes have appeared no less than 9 times in my nineteen years of life, each time signifying all of the emotions that attack other creatures of habit. But I am an old hand at this and I know the drill. Upon discovering these seemingly feared objects around my house, I will go in search of durable cardboards and use it to wrap all my precious books in order to protect them from all elements including rain, dust and the movers' inevitable perspiration. The wrapped and secured "Complete Works of Shakespeare" always goes into the moving box first because of its sheer size. Next will be the other hardcover books like the beloved "Jane Eyre" and the much-read "Fahrenheit 451". My paperbacks then complement these boxes (all my books can not possibly fit in just one box).
On the day of the move itself, these brown monsters can be seen everywhere, all taped and with "fragile!" strewn all over them regardless of their contents, especially in arms of strapping strangers in blue overall uniforms that become friends and allies after a full day of exertion caused by moving tens of boxes containing a lifetime of laughter, tears, successes, heartbreaks, memories and stories. The very end of this process comes when I assiduously unpack my life from these moving boxes and put away these useful and well-meaning but ill-fated objects. In the garage, the moving boxes will lay dormant and passive before they once again attack in the near future and strike uncertainties in my heart.
However for all the uncertainties the moving boxes and the striking of yet another passé street name bring, I have never fear them. Instead, I have long since learnt (after perhaps my third encounter with the moving boxes) that a home is not defined by the four walls, the picket fences, the childish markings on the wall, the familiarity with the creaks of the stairs or the absence of moving boxes but rather the strength of the occupants of the home as well as their love and appreciation for each other. I have also come to discover that, sometimes, objects have no meaning other than that that we attach to it and maybe for once, just this once, a moving box is just a moving box, nothing more nothing less.