Hi please read and critique as harshly as possible. I'm not quite sure if this answers the prompt. This is the rough draft but it is due soon so I need to finish it quickly. Please and thank you!
PROMPT#1: Describe the world you come from - for example, your family, community or school - and tell us how your world has shaped your dreams and aspirations.
"I feel like my life is a story, a book that's being written as a rough draft and waiting to get published. Every life is a different tale and right now I'm living my own novel's words. Will I be remembered? I hope so." Dated February 18, 2007. At 12 years old, I was an old soul. I felt I had this great unexplained purpose in the world and the only way I could fulfill it was to write scribbled words within scrapbook journals I had collected and stashed haphazardly among my shelves.
I lived my life within the realm of happily ever afters. Books were my friends and journals were my confidantes. I collected and kept over a dozen miniature diaries and notebooks and if you flipped through their pages, a montage of words, stories, quotes and pieces of my life would be displayed like little trophies within. I did not let anyone inside my bubble. The world outside my room was almost nonexistent to me; my school friends were just that and I always felt like I never quite fit in with anyone around me, my family included. At this point in my life I was destined to become an old cat lady with no one to keep me company save for a dozen or two cats. December 30, 2007, I wrote, "I just wish every single day I could do something and change my life into something important and worthwhile, but there is nothing real important in my life."
As I grew older I left my worn out journals stacked high on my shelves and instead found others with whom I could connect and share my ideas with aloud. My thoughts transformed into meaningful conversations and for the first time in my life I did not feel so isolated.
I had always assumed I wanted to be a writer when I grew up, but I soon realized writing was just an outlet for all the pent up ideas and thoughts I had stored inside me. Once I was given the opportunity to share these thoughts did I truly understand what my passion in life was. I fell in love with communication, the ability to debate and discuss important real life issues essential to our everyday lives. My desires to share, learn, and communicate my ideas on life and humanity has motivated me to take action in my community and become someone the world can remember. One of the last journal entries I ever wrote stated, "Question reality, there is always an answer." The words I confided in my journals as a child serve as reminders today to not be afraid of what I am truly thinking, after all, true power does not come from words on a page but rather from the beliefs we hold within our hearts.
Your hunch was right. You veered off the topic once you started to talk about yourself and how you have felt. In my view, this essay seeks to get a glimpse of the world you grew up in, in order for the reader to see how well you have taken advantage of the opportunities you have had. You hardly even spoke of your aspirations. Brilliant writing though.
I feel like this is a great essay. I would go into specific details, but I feel that you're not very on topic with your essay. You don't seem to connect the world you come from with your hopes and aspirations, so you might need to do a bit of quick rewriting.
Thank you for your feedback! Do you mean i veer off topic when I talk about my "bubble"? i was unsure whether or not it seemed cohesive. I feel as if I didn't include enough about my world.
I rewrote my essay completely and it provides a much different view on the subject, but I'm still not sure if it answers the prompt. Please help!
"I write because it gives me power. It shows who I am on the inside and I don't think you know my inside well enough." Dated February 18, 2007. At 12 years old, I was an old soul. I viewed the world from an objective standpoint and philosophized about human nature. I felt I had this great unexplained purpose in the world that I had yet to fulfill. The only way I could find solace in my musings was through organizing my scattered thoughts into scribbled words within scrapbook journals I had collected and stashed haphazardly among my shelves. The bold and often striking observations I would make about human society became everyday occurrences inside my notes, but that is where they stayed.
I lived my life safely within the realm of happily ever afters. Books were my friends and journals were my confidantes. I collected and kept over a dozen miniature diaries and notebooks and if you flipped through their pages, a montage of words, stories, quotes and pieces of my life would be displayed like little trophies within. The words I etched onto those papers ranged from topics like human materialism to our dependent nature, but I never allowed anyone access to its contents. I was overly protective of the strong opinions I harbored and feared that because I was so young, people would laugh at my "ignorant" views. These views directly represented those insensitivities humanity concealed. December 30, 2007, "Day by day people die. Lives are lost and yet no one knows. People fight, people kill, and people destroy things they know they shouldn't. These things all happen in a matter of seconds and yet we all watch them fly by without noticing a thing." I ached to do something, anything, which would catch the world's attention and just point out the materialistic flaws we hid within our society. I wrote, "I just wish every single day I could do something and change my life into something important and worthwhile."
As I grew older I left my worn out journals stacked high on my shelves and instead found others with whom I could connect and share my ideas with aloud. My thoughts transformed into meaningful conversations and for the first time in my life I felt like I was being heard. My initial fears had been assuaged. I fell in love with this newfound opportunity to communicate and discuss each controversial topic and realized that that had been my dream all along, to have a voice. Now I'm not afraid to stand up and show the world just exactly what I think about its global warming or its senseless wars. Nothing would make me happier in life than to continue fighting for what I believe is right and to fight for the rights of others around the world.
One of the last journal entries I ever wrote stated, "Question reality, there is always an answer." The words I confided in my journals as a 12 year old girl serve as reminders today to not be afraid of what I am truly thinking, after all, true power does not come from words on a page but rather from the beliefs we hold within our hearts.
