Help :c Everything is due on the first of January and I think I'm going to die. I wrote like four different essays and this mess is the best one IMO. Any help is appreciated!
My English teacher once asked the class what exactly it was that Juliet found so charming in her bumbling Romeo. Everyone avoided making eye contact with him while my mind started working in full gear, churning out the most insightful and funny response it possibly could. But the odds were I wouldn't utter a single word.
All my life I was characterized as the shy boy who blended into the background while he scribbled in his notebooks and let the others talk. It's not that I never had anything to say, but rather I found it difficult on nearly every level to vocalize my thoughts.
How fortunate for me then that English was a language with a literary tradition.
Through the written word I could express the thoughts I kept inside myself for far too long even if there were few who wanted to pay me any attention. Letters didn't discriminate and I could freely say what I felt needed to be said on paper. I wouldn't have to face the judgment of my teenaged peers and their hive mentality. I wouldn't have to endure the arguments that are sure to arrive when you're a liberal born into a family of strict Catholics and Republicans. In my writing, I didn't have to conform to ideals and societal norms of my generation. In my writing, I could succinctly be me.
Poetry was where I showed others how I felt. The loving things I couldn't say to my friends and family out loud without blushing and stuttering were easy to relay in cards and letters. Through poetry, I confessed a thousand unspoken words and feelings I harbored over a year's time to one of the people most dear to me. I delivered my confessions and feelings without reserve, the written word giving me more confidence. Poetry let me ______.
My creativity was free to run rampant in the form of novels and short stories, unbounded from any prompt or rubric. My first two novels written for National Novel Writing Month gave me immense satisfaction in knowing I could build entire worlds and histories. Whereas interdimensional time travel and happy endings didn't exist in real life, they did in my work. The turmoil of real life could be swept aside for a short period in my world. Fiction was one of the main mediums I could use to show the world at large both my imagination and my individualism, two traits I hold dear to myself in a world concerned with conformity.
The nerdy side of my personality was all too happy to show off (just a little bit) in my academic writing. Analytical reading prompts and open-ended questions challenged and excited my mind. I realized nearly everything we know is recorded in writing and preserved for the next generation. The thrill of finally coming to my own understanding of Plato and J.K. Rowling on a base level and being able to show others my discoveries pleased me to no end. Any contribution I could make to the world of academia emboldened and encouraged me to keep on writing.
Writing is an integral part of who I am. It was through my writing that I ended up showing my teacher why Juliet adored Romeo. It is through my writing that I express how I feel, what I think, and what I've come to realize. And in the same fashion, it is through my writing that I'll show the world who I am and what I have to offer.
problems: impersonal, cliched, repetitive, no examples, etc. I can shove in 140 more words to remedy this. Deleting is quite possible too.
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Also, one of Brown's supplements!
Where have you lived and for how long? (100)
I've lived in San Jose, California for all my seventeen years alive, for better or for worse. San Jose is an odd combination of suburban and the urban, a diverse city that has exposed me to all walks of life. Though I've always resided within the city, I don't have a single place I call home because of constant relocation. Since birth, my single mother and I have lived in three different apartments and two different homes. I now live in a modest home in the suburban part of town, a place I hope I'll be able to call home for years to come.
Shy Student Boy
My English teacher once asked the class what exactly it was that Juliet found so charming in her bumbling Romeo. Everyone avoided making eye contact with him while my mind started working in full gear, churning out the most insightful and funny response it possibly could. But the odds were I wouldn't utter a single word.
All my life I was characterized as the shy boy who blended into the background while he scribbled in his notebooks and let the others talk. It's not that I never had anything to say, but rather I found it difficult on nearly every level to vocalize my thoughts.
How fortunate for me then that English was a language with a literary tradition.
Through the written word I could express the thoughts I kept inside myself for far too long even if there were few who wanted to pay me any attention. Letters didn't discriminate and I could freely say what I felt needed to be said on paper. I wouldn't have to face the judgment of my teenaged peers and their hive mentality. I wouldn't have to endure the arguments that are sure to arrive when you're a liberal born into a family of strict Catholics and Republicans. In my writing, I didn't have to conform to ideals and societal norms of my generation. In my writing, I could succinctly be me.
Poetry was where I showed others how I felt. The loving things I couldn't say to my friends and family out loud without blushing and stuttering were easy to relay in cards and letters. Through poetry, I confessed a thousand unspoken words and feelings I harbored over a year's time to one of the people most dear to me. I delivered my confessions and feelings without reserve, the written word giving me more confidence. Poetry let me ______.
My creativity was free to run rampant in the form of novels and short stories, unbounded from any prompt or rubric. My first two novels written for National Novel Writing Month gave me immense satisfaction in knowing I could build entire worlds and histories. Whereas interdimensional time travel and happy endings didn't exist in real life, they did in my work. The turmoil of real life could be swept aside for a short period in my world. Fiction was one of the main mediums I could use to show the world at large both my imagination and my individualism, two traits I hold dear to myself in a world concerned with conformity.
The nerdy side of my personality was all too happy to show off (just a little bit) in my academic writing. Analytical reading prompts and open-ended questions challenged and excited my mind. I realized nearly everything we know is recorded in writing and preserved for the next generation. The thrill of finally coming to my own understanding of Plato and J.K. Rowling on a base level and being able to show others my discoveries pleased me to no end. Any contribution I could make to the world of academia emboldened and encouraged me to keep on writing.
Writing is an integral part of who I am. It was through my writing that I ended up showing my teacher why Juliet adored Romeo. It is through my writing that I express how I feel, what I think, and what I've come to realize. And in the same fashion, it is through my writing that I'll show the world who I am and what I have to offer.
problems: impersonal, cliched, repetitive, no examples, etc. I can shove in 140 more words to remedy this. Deleting is quite possible too.
-----
Also, one of Brown's supplements!
Where have you lived and for how long? (100)
I've lived in San Jose, California for all my seventeen years alive, for better or for worse. San Jose is an odd combination of suburban and the urban, a diverse city that has exposed me to all walks of life. Though I've always resided within the city, I don't have a single place I call home because of constant relocation. Since birth, my single mother and I have lived in three different apartments and two different homes. I now live in a modest home in the suburban part of town, a place I hope I'll be able to call home for years to come.
