Hi, again, I also want to try a different approach to this "essay". I emailed the school and ask if my essay has to be literal as the prompt: "What work of art, science, literature surprised or challenged you and why?" They said I can answer however I think is appropriate. So what do you think? Is it too hard to understand or too abstract/unclear. Thank you. Check for grammar also if you can :)
Here is Father's journal
Don't make me flip back the pages
Those perfect white pages that soaked in tears, in blood
The years that Father endured
The night shift hours, the sweat, providing me education
Protecting me from drugs and violence
Don't make me turn back the pages
And feel the guilt,
The burdens I embed on his shoulders.
Turn to the first page
Do you see a man with such brightness in his eyes?
My father's
Yes, the same eyes that were hardened by time
By its depravity and misery
Its white pages; marred by those ugly stains
The notebook thickened
When he's disappointed
In me, in life
"Stop adding to the pages," I plead
I want to see the perfect white lines
Not the ugly scribbles
"It's not my fault!"
Or that's what he always assured me.
I swear, I tried to remove the blemishes,
But it's like a needle that engraved the imperfection into the skin, the heart.
The decrepit wrinkles on his forehead
"I didn't do that either!"
Or that's what he always assured me.
Please don't ask me about the journal
I refuse to flip back the pages.
Evidence of the mess I made
The same marks
That transformed his gentle eyes into callouses
That created the wrinkles on his forehead, on the pages.
His last entry before I stepped on the plan
Leaving my motherland, leaving him
"Start your own adventure, write a new book".
He smiled; the wrinkles on his forehead moved
No, you are wrong Father.
I will continue your book,
And start its new chapters.
Here is Father's journal
Don't make me flip back the pages
Those perfect white pages that soaked in tears, in blood
The years that Father endured
The night shift hours, the sweat, providing me education
Protecting me from drugs and violence
Don't make me turn back the pages
And feel the guilt,
The burdens I embed on his shoulders.
Turn to the first page
Do you see a man with such brightness in his eyes?
My father's
Yes, the same eyes that were hardened by time
By its depravity and misery
Its white pages; marred by those ugly stains
The notebook thickened
When he's disappointed
In me, in life
"Stop adding to the pages," I plead
I want to see the perfect white lines
Not the ugly scribbles
"It's not my fault!"
Or that's what he always assured me.
I swear, I tried to remove the blemishes,
But it's like a needle that engraved the imperfection into the skin, the heart.
The decrepit wrinkles on his forehead
"I didn't do that either!"
Or that's what he always assured me.
Please don't ask me about the journal
I refuse to flip back the pages.
Evidence of the mess I made
The same marks
That transformed his gentle eyes into callouses
That created the wrinkles on his forehead, on the pages.
His last entry before I stepped on the plan
Leaving my motherland, leaving him
"Start your own adventure, write a new book".
He smiled; the wrinkles on his forehead moved
No, you are wrong Father.
I will continue your book,
And start its new chapters.
