Any editing is welcome, thanks guys!
---------------------------------------------------------------
I sat alone on the public bus, waiting patiently for my stop. "Next Stop: Dawes Road," the bus driver called on the intercom. Passengers rushed towards the revolving doors, pushing passed each other as if oblivious to all surroundings. I could not help but look up and smile. Before I had moved, I had always been the last person on the bus. I looked out the window, observing the beauty of one of the first places I called home.
Growing up on Dawes Road, I had always felt like an outcast. Moving from New Jersey to Toronto at such a young age, I was not accustomed to the new environment I faced. My first day of school was a day I dreaded. The children looked at me with confusion, and I felt isolated and abandoned. I remembered being questioned by my peers for memorizing my time tables and my early interest in academics. As other kids play hop scotch and tag, I would spend my recess finding intricate ways to build my next structure. I strived for perfection with every last block, teaching myself ways of creating the most flawless piece, and making my love for design known to all my classmates. Soon, however, their questions became interest, and more and more joined me until friendships grew from my love of creation.
I have not felt isolation since my early elementary years. However, my friends are still amazed by my determination for perfection and knowledge. Of course, for me, I do not find this unusual. What I have always prized about myself is my love of knowledge. The feeling of not knowing was always something I looked at as a challenge. I have realized that regardless of place, time, or situation, this innate quality of mine finds its way to show through. To me, it is not as much the interest in academics as it is the desire for understanding. Moving from place to place since my infant years, I have still been able to use what I learned. Like one of my delicate block constructions, knowledge has become one of my buildable creations, and I am able to use and form it in ways I desire.
As I reminisced on the recollections of childhood, I began to see the parallels between my life and the journey of a bus. Each milestone I passed, each bus stop I paused at, has influenced my life in immeasurable ways. The repetitive melody of each stop, of each accomplishment, has become my only remedy. Though I could never spend too much time at one place, the principles I have learned along the way, the time I spent, and the experiences I have gained are lessons that have and will accompany me through the rest of my journeys. The love and fidelity towards creation and knowledge I had found during my first stop of life led me to my next stop, attending the T.O.P.S Program in Marc Garneau Collegiate. Though I could not dwell at this stop for long either, the developed interest has followed me to my current stop at Absegami High School.
As I thought this, the intercom spoke again: "Next Stop: Conlins Road." It was my turn to push through the revolving doors. However, no longer were their faces around me, because I was always the last person on the bus. I was able to gain something from every ride, and I smiled to myself as I began to descend down the steps. I looked back at the bus, observing the beauty of one of the only places that truly represent who I am.
---------------------------------------------------------------
I sat alone on the public bus, waiting patiently for my stop. "Next Stop: Dawes Road," the bus driver called on the intercom. Passengers rushed towards the revolving doors, pushing passed each other as if oblivious to all surroundings. I could not help but look up and smile. Before I had moved, I had always been the last person on the bus. I looked out the window, observing the beauty of one of the first places I called home.
Growing up on Dawes Road, I had always felt like an outcast. Moving from New Jersey to Toronto at such a young age, I was not accustomed to the new environment I faced. My first day of school was a day I dreaded. The children looked at me with confusion, and I felt isolated and abandoned. I remembered being questioned by my peers for memorizing my time tables and my early interest in academics. As other kids play hop scotch and tag, I would spend my recess finding intricate ways to build my next structure. I strived for perfection with every last block, teaching myself ways of creating the most flawless piece, and making my love for design known to all my classmates. Soon, however, their questions became interest, and more and more joined me until friendships grew from my love of creation.
I have not felt isolation since my early elementary years. However, my friends are still amazed by my determination for perfection and knowledge. Of course, for me, I do not find this unusual. What I have always prized about myself is my love of knowledge. The feeling of not knowing was always something I looked at as a challenge. I have realized that regardless of place, time, or situation, this innate quality of mine finds its way to show through. To me, it is not as much the interest in academics as it is the desire for understanding. Moving from place to place since my infant years, I have still been able to use what I learned. Like one of my delicate block constructions, knowledge has become one of my buildable creations, and I am able to use and form it in ways I desire.
As I reminisced on the recollections of childhood, I began to see the parallels between my life and the journey of a bus. Each milestone I passed, each bus stop I paused at, has influenced my life in immeasurable ways. The repetitive melody of each stop, of each accomplishment, has become my only remedy. Though I could never spend too much time at one place, the principles I have learned along the way, the time I spent, and the experiences I have gained are lessons that have and will accompany me through the rest of my journeys. The love and fidelity towards creation and knowledge I had found during my first stop of life led me to my next stop, attending the T.O.P.S Program in Marc Garneau Collegiate. Though I could not dwell at this stop for long either, the developed interest has followed me to my current stop at Absegami High School.
As I thought this, the intercom spoke again: "Next Stop: Conlins Road." It was my turn to push through the revolving doors. However, no longer were their faces around me, because I was always the last person on the bus. I was able to gain something from every ride, and I smiled to myself as I began to descend down the steps. I looked back at the bus, observing the beauty of one of the only places that truly represent who I am.
