Descriptive Essay About My Life

Odd enough, Oren Crafts was and is my first lifeline. I’m not quite sure when we started talking, or even when we became friends; although, I do consider him a friend. Despite all this certainty and uncertainty, however, there is one thing I am clear on, that is, when he became my lifeline. It’s funny how I can almost picture it like it was yesterday.

After that we headed home. And the car ride home was not good I puked on the side of the road because I was hot and when it is hot I puke.

School, to me and among many peers of my age, is not a distant term. I have spent one-third of my life time sitting in classrooms, every week since I was seven years old. After spending this much time in school, many things and experiences that happened there have left their mark in my memory. Some are small incidences while some have had a great impact on me. However, regardless the degree of significance, things that happened all contributed to shape the person that I am now.

As I got on the plane I was not able to handle all of my excitement. I would be having a new adventure in Italy. It would take about 12 hours to arrive. During that time I would be sleeping, looking for fun tourist attractions, and sleeping some more. The plane finally landed just a few minutes ago on Central Italy and now I await my taxi. Once the taxi arrived and took me to my hotel I decided to go sightseeing. As I was driving to the Orvieto Cathedral I got lost. Without reception for my phone I decided to ask a woman near by. As I approached her she looked very well built and strong. As I neared her I noticed that she was also holding a child. I then asked,

During my childhood waking up early in the morning was one of my favorite things,especially during the summer.I remember waking up one morning to the sound of spongebob on my T.V..Almost as soon as I opened my eyes I immediately got out of bed and ran into the kitchen to find bacon on the table.I shoved two whole peices straight into my mouth and I swear that it was some of the best I have ever had.I sat down in my wooden chairto eat more off of the table.As I finished I remember looking ouside to a bright day.The suns rays hit the dew on the grass just right to make it glisten.

I remember waking up on a Saturday morning and I would find Sylvia the housekeeper working on the supper following that smell, I say good morning while I squeeze her from behind. And take my place at the table, but previous to I have awakened my sister she will come to the table and do the same thing that I did. I would get ready in packing my books, Sherlyn my sister, two years younger would be pestering me about how she is better than me at everything but despite this problem, together with Sylvia we will leave the house and she will take us to the catechism. I recall how she used to get very angry at me She would get mad and hit me on the shoulder I will respond and bump into her before telling me I am stupid, but not after I say that a stupid person is the stupid one for saying that a person is stupid, of course, it doesn't make sense at all even so Sylvia will demand for us to stop the fight before, sisters should love each other not fight that fighting is just ugly. I walk behind her and Sylvia she would walk right behind me, that road every Saturday afternoon, I could smell gasoline from my father business that was not far from where I was and overhear the sound of a motorcycle rumbling in the street unrestrained, I looked at the sky, blue with such a pure color of white clouds, I close my eyes for a moment to enjoy the moment.

From a young age I was always being told that I couldn't achieve what I wanted, being told that at as a young child it pushed me to be better and to prove that I can do anything I can put my mind to, and from that day on and I haven’t given up on anything, therefore ambitious is my trait.

Lights; red and blue. Handcuffs; silver and waiting. A jail cell; cold and desolate. Each of these words describe things that a criminal would have seen before being introduced to their fate. What do a criminal and little Anna have in common? More than one would think, but that is to be explained later. Before I committed my deed, I would describe my childhood as a dreamlike bliss. I lead a pretty charmed life-two parents, a sister, a soon-to-be brother, and an iridescent, teal-colored room. What more could a seven year old ask for? But really, my life was pretty fantastic. I was a clueless little girl with a Dora Explorer(cultural allusion) haircut and larger than life bow to match. However, one day I made a dreadful mistake that haunted my childhood; I robbed the Easter Bunny. You're probably wondering how I could have possibly robbed something that doesn’t exist, but my seven year old self would tell you otherwise in a heartbeat. To me, the day I robbed the very real Easter Bunny was a day I will never forget.

When I visited my parent’s backyard the first thing I noticed was the welcoming atmosphere. My Mother greeted me at the door with ice cold lemonade that was so sweet I felt like I was forming a cavity right then and there. My Mother led me to the grand rustic table on the spacious wooden deck that wraps around the house. The table was gorgeous; it had elegant golden designs painted on it. The four chairs around the table matched it perfectly. Sitting in the other three chairs were my Father, a very tall and very sweet man with blue rimmed green eyes, thick black hair, and a mustache to match. Next to him was as always was my Mother, a very beautiful and generous woman with golden brown hair and rich brown eyes. Also at the table was my sister, a very skinny and sassy girl with bright blonde hair and rich brown eyes that match my Mother’s. That moment is when I realized I was a perfect blend of both my mother and father. I had inherited his green eyes and her golden brown hair as well as his demeanor and her generosity.

In order to not go off topic, I will make a long story short. I am now 35 years old and I will be graduating this December of 2017 with my Master's degree in Public Administration. I am looking forward to graduation day, because I want to look my father (who has worked at supermarkets and bodegas as far as I can remember, for minimum wage without health benefits) in his eyes and let him know that as a man I appreciate all the times he beat me as his form of discipline (I needed that). I know that he was scared for my future. Besides the numerous times that I saw him and my mother on their knees praying for me, I know that beating me was his only way of fighting the bad habits that I picked up on the streets of Brooklyn. He disciplined me for stealing money and clothes (which I did because they couldn’t afford to buy me name-brand clothing). By stealing or selling drugs was the only way that the people I associated myself with got what they wanted. My father would try his best to explain to me why ethically and morally it was wrong to steal. He also disciplined me for not respecting him, for hanging out on corners and dangerous parks during late hours of the night with malicious people and for representing our family in such a terrible way. I want him to know that his efforts did not go unnoticed by me. It might have taken me a while to realize that the paradigm instilled in me by our community was misleading me to a false understanding of life (the visions of these

The first thing I remember about my childhood, is the sound of my grandmother playing the piano in her house. I would wake up from taking a nap in her couch and she’ll greet me with a smile, and then we would eat together with the quite large family that I had. The food that we usually ate together would vary from panamanian food to chinese food, as we had chinese heritage. Even though my family was pretty big, she was always capable of uniting the family together and we always had a good time, me and my siblings together with my mom, we would go to her house every friday, and that was the day everyone reunited to eat and to talk about our week and just spend time with everyone.

Anywhere you go can create memories, but can also become a part of you in one way or another. Some of those places may have had an impact on a person’s life that changed him or her as a person. For others, some places may have a special meaning, teaching, or maybe because the best memories were made in that special place. For me, the best memories and the one place that I always remember is Woodburn Oregon. This city has so many good, happy, and bad memories that I still remember. These memories bring back my childhood and how my perspective of life changed. As a young child, growing up in Woodburn Oregon during the summer, I learned to not only appreciate everything I have, but to also work hard to be successful.

It's great to be back in my childhood home again to visit with my now elderly mother. It appears like hundreds of years prior when I was growing up here. In those days, this small town was just a spectacle that formed the unremarkable environment in which I lived my everyday life.

Looking back on my past work, a few subjects are very prominent to me now such as: the self-portrait, the autobiographical in art, performance and the body. My work is autobiographical in the sense that it’s been inspired by my experiences and influenced by my environment and social surroundings. The self-portrait is a re-occurring theme and there are works that I’ve made where I was literally in the work, acting as the performer or artist. These are themes I spent a great deal of time researching for my thesis artwork titled: Open Studio: A Phase in Six Years of my Art Education, which was exhibited at the culmination of my MFA program in 2014.

It was late in the afternoon on a balmy spring day, and the sun was slowly beginning it’s evening stroll down the path to meet the horizon. Then finally to disappear beyond the edge.