ummmmm Sorry for posting so many new versions! I'm just paranoid. Well, please more feedback is welcome. You guys are my only revisers, so, that is why i posted my essay like 239230 times. Thank you for your time!!
OH AND- My friends have been telling me that the mask references at the end of the essay don't seem to fit or its inappropriate, i guess, because it makes it seem like i am someone who wears masks and im not showing my genuine face. what are your thoughts??? any suggestions??
I Used to be a Thug
Someone once told me, "Looks don't matter," and I once thought so too.
All the merry days of my youth were slowly deteriorating before my eyes. Princeton Review fearlessly displaced Harry Potter while Garfield ate his way past maturity. A new and frightening world was emerging before me, but every ounce of youth left in me promised all was for the better. So, with a sense of reassurance, I journeyed out into this 'better' world called high school.
A sigh of relief wiggled through my body and escaped into the air as fourth period finally came to an end. It was lunchtime and I was still in one piece. I could not wait to tell my parents their nasty myths about high school were entirely and surely wrong. Well, seniors did look like evil overgrown mutants, but they were gentle creatures to us humans. Lunch was well spent bickering with close friends, but a sense of uneasiness continued to hack away at my appetite. I wondered, "Could this be it? Was this the new world I was so afraid of experiencing?" Just as I was about to answer, the warning bell rang, prompting all students to migrate to their fifth period classes. I peered down at my scruffy, wrinkled piece of paper: 5. English 1 Honors. With a slight chuckle and boost of optimism, I asked myself, "How bad could this be?"
The classroom was a bit larger than most, but other than that, nothing was out of the ordinary. Shakespearean posters lit the grimy walls and important looking books lined the countless shelves. Disappointingly, my observations were cut short by a frail looking lady claiming to be our teacher. Shortly thereafter, the rituals began. Mispronunciations headed the sporadic giggles and nervous looks from students whose names began with X's and Y's. Uncaring of their mishaps, I lounged comfortably in my chair waiting for a three letter name to be called. Moments later, I heard, "Han?" I shouted, "Here!" Just as the last letter rolled off my tongue, the rituals stopped. Laughter halted and students no longer looked nervous for themselves, but for me. The teacher looked up from her roll sheet and slid her glasses down to the edge of her nose. Her freaky stare unleashed tingles down the ridges of my spine and onto the ends of my toes. My cheeks burned with embarrassment. The outline of her mouth gradually began to move, but I was so dizzy I could barely make out the words. I replayed the words in my mind and realized she had asked, "Are you in the right class?" She had just welcomed me to the new and fearful world I thought I had successfully avoided; the world of judgment.
Minutes later, I leaned toward my seatmate and whispered, "Why did she ask me that?" He looked straight into my eyes and answered, "Because you look like a dumb, scary thug."
Since that day I tried everything to alter my physical image because looking like a thug was not exactly the image I was striving for. Months of hair modifications, wardrobe exchanges, and facial expression classes decisively paid off; I was a brand-new man and not a clean cut thug. However, I still struggled with the 'dumb' part of the equation. How could someone plainly look dumb? Completely clueless, I analyzed my face. Even that provided no answers because the mirror did not gorge on a basketful of giggles at the sight of my supposedly dumb face. Unless my parents were willing to invest in a full face Albert Einstein makeover, I had no hope. I was destined to be that 'dumb-looking kid'.
After weeks of introspection, I devised a plan. I had to live, breathe, and radiate intelligence in order to rise above nature's judgment. I had to create a façade that I knew everything. With no time to spare, I began studying the classics, the calculus and all the other subjects in the realm of intelligence. I worked the intricacies of the human mind, ultimately convincing myself I was the smartest man alive. During everyday conversations, I refuted the arguments of others and quoted Jefferson on a frequent basis. I went from a 'dumb thug' to a 'Renaissance Man'. Even my Sunday school teacher began to take notice for he described me as 'surprisingly thoughtful and well aware of the world' in my yearly Christmas card. I had seized the day. I had triumphed.
Despite all these accolades, I felt unsatisfied. I felt as if I was fooling myself. I felt I was putting myself on a pedestal and forcing praise from others. Had I come this far simply to reverse a faulty judgment? Was I an insecure teenager hanging on the words of others? The answer was no and no.
Through this experience, I discovered myself and many other treasures to be cherished forever. It is true I wore a mask of intelligence, but I soon realized it was a mask I already had that I simply neglected to wear. Moreover, I never had the courage and motivation to explore the far-reaching boundaries of intelligence. The world of judgment proved to be as dangerous and conniving as I had predicted, but now I was a seasoned warrior of the land free to roam about as I wished. Lastly, I discovered the empowerment that I can receive from others, because without them, I would not be sitting here telling this story.
So, looks do matter...only if they yield some sort of self epiphany.
OH AND- My friends have been telling me that the mask references at the end of the essay don't seem to fit or its inappropriate, i guess, because it makes it seem like i am someone who wears masks and im not showing my genuine face. what are your thoughts??? any suggestions??
I Used to be a Thug
Someone once told me, "Looks don't matter," and I once thought so too.
All the merry days of my youth were slowly deteriorating before my eyes. Princeton Review fearlessly displaced Harry Potter while Garfield ate his way past maturity. A new and frightening world was emerging before me, but every ounce of youth left in me promised all was for the better. So, with a sense of reassurance, I journeyed out into this 'better' world called high school.
A sigh of relief wiggled through my body and escaped into the air as fourth period finally came to an end. It was lunchtime and I was still in one piece. I could not wait to tell my parents their nasty myths about high school were entirely and surely wrong. Well, seniors did look like evil overgrown mutants, but they were gentle creatures to us humans. Lunch was well spent bickering with close friends, but a sense of uneasiness continued to hack away at my appetite. I wondered, "Could this be it? Was this the new world I was so afraid of experiencing?" Just as I was about to answer, the warning bell rang, prompting all students to migrate to their fifth period classes. I peered down at my scruffy, wrinkled piece of paper: 5. English 1 Honors. With a slight chuckle and boost of optimism, I asked myself, "How bad could this be?"
The classroom was a bit larger than most, but other than that, nothing was out of the ordinary. Shakespearean posters lit the grimy walls and important looking books lined the countless shelves. Disappointingly, my observations were cut short by a frail looking lady claiming to be our teacher. Shortly thereafter, the rituals began. Mispronunciations headed the sporadic giggles and nervous looks from students whose names began with X's and Y's. Uncaring of their mishaps, I lounged comfortably in my chair waiting for a three letter name to be called. Moments later, I heard, "Han?" I shouted, "Here!" Just as the last letter rolled off my tongue, the rituals stopped. Laughter halted and students no longer looked nervous for themselves, but for me. The teacher looked up from her roll sheet and slid her glasses down to the edge of her nose. Her freaky stare unleashed tingles down the ridges of my spine and onto the ends of my toes. My cheeks burned with embarrassment. The outline of her mouth gradually began to move, but I was so dizzy I could barely make out the words. I replayed the words in my mind and realized she had asked, "Are you in the right class?" She had just welcomed me to the new and fearful world I thought I had successfully avoided; the world of judgment.
Minutes later, I leaned toward my seatmate and whispered, "Why did she ask me that?" He looked straight into my eyes and answered, "Because you look like a dumb, scary thug."
Since that day I tried everything to alter my physical image because looking like a thug was not exactly the image I was striving for. Months of hair modifications, wardrobe exchanges, and facial expression classes decisively paid off; I was a brand-new man and not a clean cut thug. However, I still struggled with the 'dumb' part of the equation. How could someone plainly look dumb? Completely clueless, I analyzed my face. Even that provided no answers because the mirror did not gorge on a basketful of giggles at the sight of my supposedly dumb face. Unless my parents were willing to invest in a full face Albert Einstein makeover, I had no hope. I was destined to be that 'dumb-looking kid'.
After weeks of introspection, I devised a plan. I had to live, breathe, and radiate intelligence in order to rise above nature's judgment. I had to create a façade that I knew everything. With no time to spare, I began studying the classics, the calculus and all the other subjects in the realm of intelligence. I worked the intricacies of the human mind, ultimately convincing myself I was the smartest man alive. During everyday conversations, I refuted the arguments of others and quoted Jefferson on a frequent basis. I went from a 'dumb thug' to a 'Renaissance Man'. Even my Sunday school teacher began to take notice for he described me as 'surprisingly thoughtful and well aware of the world' in my yearly Christmas card. I had seized the day. I had triumphed.
Despite all these accolades, I felt unsatisfied. I felt as if I was fooling myself. I felt I was putting myself on a pedestal and forcing praise from others. Had I come this far simply to reverse a faulty judgment? Was I an insecure teenager hanging on the words of others? The answer was no and no.
Through this experience, I discovered myself and many other treasures to be cherished forever. It is true I wore a mask of intelligence, but I soon realized it was a mask I already had that I simply neglected to wear. Moreover, I never had the courage and motivation to explore the far-reaching boundaries of intelligence. The world of judgment proved to be as dangerous and conniving as I had predicted, but now I was a seasoned warrior of the land free to roam about as I wished. Lastly, I discovered the empowerment that I can receive from others, because without them, I would not be sitting here telling this story.
So, looks do matter...only if they yield some sort of self epiphany.