Feedback, please? Be brutal:)
Prompt: Imagine looking through a window at any environment that is particularly significant to you. Reflect on the scene, paying close attention to the relation between what you are seeing and why it is meaningful to you.
It is far from impressive; at less than a third of the size of a standard soccer field, it doesn't even have the advantage of grass. The goalposts were bent, the ground uneven and dusty, and he sun seemed to take particular pleasure in ferociously shining overhead. There's a lot wrong with the field I played my first home game in- and it still managed to intimidate me.
You could say I played soccer- if nine boys and a girl kicking a ball up and down a deserted lane on weekends could be called soccer. Technically I played street soccer- and I taught myself how to play. Few schools in India let girls play formal soccer, so I never did- until I turned sixteen and moved to a different high school. I wasn't an incompetent player- I could move the ball where I wanted, and I was far from afraid of it- but I didn't know how people really play. None of my technique was right, and I didn't think I could even make the team. I tried out because I didn't think I had anything to lose by it.
One year later, I captained my school team. We haven't lost a game yet.
My diminutive soccer field means a lot to me. It's a symbol of an indomitable spirit, of the victory of the underdog. It represents the failure of not trying, to opportunities I'd miss if I gave up before I start. It's a sign of the futility of fear- it tells me to embrace the unknown. It gives me a heart-warming feeling of accomplishment, of mastery over something I'd thought impossible.
And it shows me that beauty comes in many different packages; you just need to look hard enough for it.
Prompt: Imagine looking through a window at any environment that is particularly significant to you. Reflect on the scene, paying close attention to the relation between what you are seeing and why it is meaningful to you.
It is far from impressive; at less than a third of the size of a standard soccer field, it doesn't even have the advantage of grass. The goalposts were bent, the ground uneven and dusty, and he sun seemed to take particular pleasure in ferociously shining overhead. There's a lot wrong with the field I played my first home game in- and it still managed to intimidate me.
You could say I played soccer- if nine boys and a girl kicking a ball up and down a deserted lane on weekends could be called soccer. Technically I played street soccer- and I taught myself how to play. Few schools in India let girls play formal soccer, so I never did- until I turned sixteen and moved to a different high school. I wasn't an incompetent player- I could move the ball where I wanted, and I was far from afraid of it- but I didn't know how people really play. None of my technique was right, and I didn't think I could even make the team. I tried out because I didn't think I had anything to lose by it.
One year later, I captained my school team. We haven't lost a game yet.
My diminutive soccer field means a lot to me. It's a symbol of an indomitable spirit, of the victory of the underdog. It represents the failure of not trying, to opportunities I'd miss if I gave up before I start. It's a sign of the futility of fear- it tells me to embrace the unknown. It gives me a heart-warming feeling of accomplishment, of mastery over something I'd thought impossible.
And it shows me that beauty comes in many different packages; you just need to look hard enough for it.