Creative Writing : Personal Essay

Lacking experience in writing and reading, English is my most feared subject. It is the one and only vulnerable spot in my otherwise invincible academic armor. I hate writing and I despise reading. Other than magazines, I cannot recall reading anything since "The Crucible" which was a teacher assigned book in my sophomore high school English class. Not that I read a lot before that, I don't remember reading any books in my middle school years neither. Now, with this writing assignment since a long time, my brain feels like an old rusty engine of an 81 Porsche cranking up for the first time in years, readying to compete in the English 1A heat.<br><br>My parents and my favorite math teacher always told me that I'm a very bright individual

hadn’t been so bad and the Festival had set them up at an amazing old

As I make my way outside my home getting ready to hop on the roller coaster, the reflection of the sun reflects off the chrome on the bumper of the car with it’s clear head and fog lights, I feel as if my car is staring at me with those bright eyes. The median tinted windows protecting the interior from the suns strong UV radiation. The black, new tires settled on the pavement like a panther’s paw. It’s rear spoiler tail up, as if it is ready to run a marathon. It’s four door access makes it easy for anyone to find a way inside while unlocked.

I glance over into the passenger’s seat and look into sapphire eyes that remind me of the sea touching the shore, but getting sent away abruptly. Focusing back on the road, I feel a hand touch mine delicately, making little circles on my skin and making me forget all that ever was and all that ever will be. All I know is this moment and that nothing else matters.

As my first dialect is not English and I am here in school to secure my degree, I need to figure out how to write in a scholastic way. My dad may be the only individual who affected me to figure out how to compose whether in English or in my first dialect. A while ago when I was in center school, I usual to speak with companions by composing messages or letters. These days, we utilize innovation, for example, telephones to impart by talking. I seldom utilize composing to correspond with companions or gang. Previously, when I needed to express my dismal feelings, I used to correspond with my family in composing. Nonetheless, now I utilize Snap Chat and telephone calls. My shortcoming in composing is linguistic use,

I don’t consider myself a very good writer. I write when I am made to or when I have something that I need to say that I can’t just tell someone. I keep a diary. Usually my diary is just a record of what I have done that day. It’s not so much about my feelings. I don’t really like talking about my feelings, usually because most of the time I am confused about what exactly I am feeling. I tend to keep the feelings that I do have to myself, to protect myself from getting hurt.

During high school, I played basketball and volleyball. I grew up playing sports and being very active. My freshman year, during basketball practice, I fell and immediately knew something happened to my back. After a couple X-rays and MRIs I found out I fractured my left and right L4 vertebras in my back. I grew up with back problems because I was born with a form of Spina Bifida and Tethered Cord Syndrome. I had back surgery when I was three years old, and I went to a neurologist yearly. The doctor cleared me and told my parents I could do anything I was capable of. My parents and I never thought I would experience anymore back problems until I fell playing basketball. Since I had to quit all sports, I decided to try and start modeling. The

Writing a personal essay is, well… personal. The first of the major assignments for my English 121 class was a personal essay. Having been out of school for many years, this first attempt at college level writing has been somewhat intimidating. Verbally sharing my thoughts has never been a problem however, employing the written word has always been more challenging. Reflecting on the experience of revising the original personal essay reveals growth in a basics understanding of essay format, better defined critical thinking, and focused exploration of self.

i figured i might as well write back something. something more composed and put together. something better than just a bunch of emotions poorly leaking out through cheaper words.

Reading and writing has always played a vital part in my life. From toddler to adult, pre-elementary to college, I’ve managed to sharpen both skills to my liking. However, even though it significantly helped, schooling was not what influenced me to continue developing those skills into talent. Many different things shaped and influenced my learning, and now reading and writing have become the safety net of my life. I know that even if I have nothing else in the future, I’ll still have my talent and knowledge. To ensure my success, I hope to further develop those skills so that I may fulfill my wishes.

The prom was two nights later. It took place at the school. Alex waited for a Japanese girl wearing a white dress and a white masquerade mask. Eventually, she walked up to Alex.

“Hey, I noticed we haven’t been talking as much recently. Is everything okay?” I reread the text I’m about to send to Ash three times before I click send.

My nose chills instantly, the difference between the warmth of our tent and the bite of the planet’s night coursing through my lungs like dry ice. Fumbling for my visor, I click it up just before the frosty little flakes start to form on my eyelashes. I crouch in a hunched position, arms crossed over my face, welcoming the freeze. My heart pumps harder, at first, shooting blood to my farthest extremities. Every breath leaves a puff of condensation on my visor. Every inhale replacing my inner warmth with outer cold. Even the scent of frost heightens my pulse.

I know myself. Parents say they know you best but sometimes they can hardly tell. Kids can keep secrets, and especially teenagers. You can adjust yourself to look, act, and believe in certain ways. You can act like you’re perfectly fine like there’s nothing wrong with you. That’s what I try to do. Back in sophomore year, I hinted at my parents I had anxiety. Dad seemed like he wanted to take me to a therapist. He seemed supportive, interested in it. There I lay, wasting away in my room daily, certain I will go see a therapist to see if there’s anything wrong with me at all. Then Junior year came up.

It is often very difficult to get along with my brother, especially after a long day of school. We rarely agree and always seem to fight about everything. He always thinks he is the absolute best and this causes a major problem between us because we are so close in age. Every day seems to be a competition on who can outdo the other. One day we went over the limit and it all started with me apparently hitting him with my car, but I knew that I did not hit him. I often just tell people only my side of the story, how Brett definitely did overreact, and that this little accident led to some serious consequences.