First post. Please review my potential essay guys. I wanted to do something different for this essay, so that's why I made an account over here to get your views.
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. Please limit your statement to 300 words.
Sitting in my room, I gaze through the windowpane and focus my eyes on a familiar view. On the second-floor balcony of our residence, my mother is seated on a plastic pedestal, with her face engrossed in fumes as tear shimmer from her eyes. Surrounded by spices, two cans of water, a bowl full of lentils and a make-shift rocket stove, my mother is forced to cook our full day's meal on a six-inch wide terrace. On hot and humid summer mornings, her body is inundated in sweat as she moves from room to room, collecting ingredients and scurrying to take them to balcony before the water boils beyond its simmering point. On other days when a nippy, pleasantly zestful chilly weather serves as a respite for some, my mother is tested to the limit, as she anxiously waits for the wind's pace to drop behind so that the conditions become feasible to safely light fire on a stove - our source of bread and butter.
Every afternoon when my mother calls our family to convene at the dining table for lunch, I can fathom the pain and discomfort she has to endure to satiate our appetites. As I much on each bite of her delicious food, I can't help but reflect upon my mother's tenacity. Forced to cook food on the terrace for the past three years, her resolve has grown with each passing day. Ever since the day she decided not to use the downstairs kitchen after breaking ties with my uncle's wife, she has stood firmly by her decision. Even though every night she prays to God that her dream of having a home becomes true, she wakes up modestly each morning and humbly assumes the duties of an average house-wife.
I often reflect on the rustic conditions we live in and my mother's tenacious resolve when I stroll on the terrace. As I maneuver through the coiled gas-pipe connected to the stove, I try to vicariously live through my mother's experiences, hoping to someday be able to imitate her unshakeable personality.
Words: 344
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. Please limit your statement to 300 words.
Sitting in my room, I gaze through the windowpane and focus my eyes on a familiar view. On the second-floor balcony of our residence, my mother is seated on a plastic pedestal, with her face engrossed in fumes as tear shimmer from her eyes. Surrounded by spices, two cans of water, a bowl full of lentils and a make-shift rocket stove, my mother is forced to cook our full day's meal on a six-inch wide terrace. On hot and humid summer mornings, her body is inundated in sweat as she moves from room to room, collecting ingredients and scurrying to take them to balcony before the water boils beyond its simmering point. On other days when a nippy, pleasantly zestful chilly weather serves as a respite for some, my mother is tested to the limit, as she anxiously waits for the wind's pace to drop behind so that the conditions become feasible to safely light fire on a stove - our source of bread and butter.
Every afternoon when my mother calls our family to convene at the dining table for lunch, I can fathom the pain and discomfort she has to endure to satiate our appetites. As I much on each bite of her delicious food, I can't help but reflect upon my mother's tenacity. Forced to cook food on the terrace for the past three years, her resolve has grown with each passing day. Ever since the day she decided not to use the downstairs kitchen after breaking ties with my uncle's wife, she has stood firmly by her decision. Even though every night she prays to God that her dream of having a home becomes true, she wakes up modestly each morning and humbly assumes the duties of an average house-wife.
I often reflect on the rustic conditions we live in and my mother's tenacious resolve when I stroll on the terrace. As I maneuver through the coiled gas-pipe connected to the stove, I try to vicariously live through my mother's experiences, hoping to someday be able to imitate her unshakeable personality.
Words: 344
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