Descriptive Essay : Ideas In The Classroom

I rolled the cheap rental fabric of the sleeve between my fingers before walking to my dresser and pulling out my underwear. I grabbed a pair of plain boxers from the front and looked down at the boring pattern. "Might as well be a little different" I muttered, as i pulled the old drawer all the way out, feeling around for the pair of fitted boxer briefs I had secretly gotten for myself. The pale blue went well with my pale skin, the spunky girl at the store said so herself. It was one of the few acts of rebellion I had done up to that point. I still remembered how nervous I was going into the alternative store in the local mall, I shook as I looked at all the crude jokes and sexual things inside. She came up out of nowhere and asked if I needed any help. I stammered out "No, I-I'm alright thanks." She must have known I was nervous because she just smirked and said "Here let's find you a souvenir." I only nodded and followed her around the store as she asked me about what I liked, what I was into, etc. I couldn't help but stair at her amazingly colored hair, it shimmered in the dim light like a peacocks feathers; radiating out from a vibrant green, to blue, and purple. As we passed by the "sexy" underwear section of the story, my eyes landed on the pair of underwear. Right away she noticed and said "Great choice! I bet he'll love them" with a wink. I clammed up as soon as she said 'he', and of

Beginning a 12-minute journey, leaving my residence Piedmont North A; I headed to Starbucks. From the speed of the wind to the coolness of the air, I could tell that the season of Fall was finally beginning. The falling leaves of the trees were starting to leave a trail, and as I was beginning to approach the establishment, the aroma of coffee beans was lingering in the air.

At this point it was halfway through the year of 2006, summer break had just begun. The third grade was a difficult school year, this year I was introduced to the End of Grade state exams. Nonetheless, I passed the third grade along with Ruby passing kindergarten. This year so far was already a fantastic year, and it was only about to become better. My family had discussed plans about this summer, it was going to be the best summer ever. This summer was packed with trips to public swimming pools, visiting our relatives, fishing at my grandparents, and our annual trip to the beach. On this warm, breezy evening in early June, eight-year-old me in this brand-new blue dress with two bright yellow bows with my sister, were in my parent’s bedroom

I walked over to my closet and pulled out my favorite outfit. It was a blue t-shirt with gold jeans. I walked over to my mirror and looked at myself. I had long, red hair. It stopped at my waist. I also had freckles everywhere. I was tall and skinny.

So it began. She had me pose in front of the red and yellow flowers that sat on the old, brown table, just outside our front door. The pristine white of the railing glowed to my right. I was wearing the closest thing my mom could get to a school uniform. It was an ill-fitting, plaid-blue dress over about three white shirts, the outermost of which had long, hot sleeves. I hated how the awkward dress felt scratchy on my legs and how my stockings were far too tight. My frizzy, brown hair tickled my neck. I hated that I felt every layer of fabric as it pushed the dress out. I could tell it made me look like a blueberry. I just knew

Today I'm taking Hailey to go get her flower girl dress and shoes. I drove to my sister's house and picked up Hailey. On the way to the store, we jammed out to Meghan Trainer. When we got to the store we looked around and picked out a bunch of dresses that we liked. Then we had a fashion show in the dressing room. She came out, twirled, and posed. She did this a few time until she came out in a simple white dress with spaghetti straps. It had a light blue sash and flowers on the bottom. "Aunt Jenna, I really like this one," Hailey said twirling. "I like that one too. Let's take a picture to send to your momma," I said. She posed and I snapped the picture. I sent the picture to my sister.

As soon as I said those words he grabbed me and passionatly kissed me so aggressive but sensual all at the same time. I could feel myself melting into him, as if he was sucking my soul right out of my body and into his. All that time exchanging e-mails created a huge build up that was finally released. He backed up and said "hmmm your lips taste so sweet". I didn 't even have a chance to reply when he pulled me back in for another soul sucking kiss. I start ripping off his clothes as we continued to kiss. Trying the best I could , I felt like I was panicing just grabing and pulling off whatever I could. He then spun me around, grabbed my hips very firmly and pushed himself into me and whispered in my ear, "you feel that? hmmm? You want that?". "Yes" I softy said. He grabbed the back of my hair, gently tiping my head back and said "I didn 't hear you, say it again". "YES! YES! YES!", I shouted. "Good girl", he answered "how bad do you want me to fuck you" he said then ran his tounge down my neck , pulling my hips into his even more. "Bad, really fucking bad", I said. He moaned a bit , with one hand holding on to me and the other running over my whole body like he was trying to memorize every inch of me and said "Yeah?" He then bent me right over the end of the bed and pushed himself inside of me. The amount of ecstay I was feeling at that very moment was astounding. I haven 't felt like this so long, the excitement, the rush, the pleasure , the lust. As

Through someone’s aspect, it could be considered as the most efficient communicating tool of human being. On the other hand, some people may treat it as an irreplaceable expression of their emotion. Objectively speaking, “words” could definitely be concluded in both ways above, but in my opinion, using words is a privilege and honor. I use words to gain knowledge and words give me all kinds of possibilities of understanding new stuff when I intend to enhance my personal abilities.

It was one normal and typical evening, where I was bored playing with my Barbie dolls up in my mom’s room like every little girl usually does. My mom’s room wasn’t too big or too small, the bed was messed up because I had used the covers as a Barbie doll home. I was wearing a yellow shirt along with pink pants. My hair was down and all over the place. I was brushing the Barbie's hair until the main door opened. My cousins Anisah and Muhaddes called my name like they do every time they come over.

“Is EN100 a useful class to take?,” this was a question I got asked by a junior at my school. They were looking for classes to take next year; I told them that it was an abundant amount of writing, but it was a great class to take. I went on to explain to them, that taking it in high school would be easier and cheaper than in college. Beginning to explain to them that it helped me grow as a writer and helped improve my English vocabulary, I realized it helped a whole lot. Throughout the first semester of school, we had to write essays over four different topics. These included informative, observation, reflection, and descriptive essays. I told them about my experiences while writing with these certain types of essays. This is what I said:

It’s a busy Sunday afternoon in Target. The store is full of men, women and children alike. I walk aimlessly through the aisles, casually browsing for products while glancing into another person’s cart. I find myself in the beauty aisle to see if there are any new releases. Now, on an everyday basis, I don’t wear makeup anymore, but I still love to see what’s new for the season. In that aisle, I see other women wandering and scanning the section for new products, just as I am. Not once do I see a man in this section. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a man with a slight mustache wearing a blue baseball cap. He looked very familiar. Oh, I thought, I just saw him walking down every single aisle. Mustache Man walks into the aisle, curiously observing the unfamiliar row of foundation. A few seconds later, I hear a lot of whispering ad muttering. The women chatting beside me looked at him suspiciously, eyeing his presence, as if to say, “Why are you here?” He must have noticed too since his cheeks turned into a natural rosy hue. In a split second, he turned around and bolted out into the next aisle, the toothpaste section, where he browsed the entire aisle before moving on to the next one. Now, he could have quickly walked out of the makeup section for a number of reasons. Maybe he just remembered he needed toothpaste over in the next aisle. Maybe he felt embarrassed being seen as a grown man, aware of the stigma surrounding men like him and feminine products, in the makeup

Don’t get me wrong, I was aware that I was Asian. I had a different culture at home from my friends. They didn’t eat rice nearly as often as I did. They didn’t see chopsticks as just another utensil for the table, but as an exotic tool. They didn’t speak Chinese at home. But race was never something that mattered in elementary school. People weren 't black, white, yellow. They were classmates, friends. That is, until Peter arrived. It was third grade when I began to see through the tinted lens of skin color. As I was the only other Asian boy in the grade, my teachers told me to become friends with the new Chinese kid, to help him. It’s funny, now some would classify that as a microaggression: let the Chinese kid play with another Asian kid. Why can’t the new kid just make his own friends? Regardless, I would spend part recess and after school with Peter, the new kid that was “weird” and had no friends.

My dad spoke to me the morning of November 2nd “Get up. Get up. GET UP! Get out of bed if you wanna go hunt”. I checked to see the time and the clock read 4:30am. I laid in my coffin sized bunk for a minute or two, gradually climbing out by flinging one leg over the edge and then the other, and sliding off the top as slow as a sloth. I stood up and shuffled over to the table where I plopped down across from my dad. As my uncle Kirk made breakfast and coffee I asked my dad “Are you having a good birthday weekend?”. He replied “It 's been great, now lets go get one.” We all ate our breakfast and prepared for the hunt. As I was putting on layer after layer I got a strange feeling. I did not know if I felt good or bad, so I stayed positive and thought today would be the day. I climbed into the truck and we lumbered down the road.

Sitting in the shower, face buried in my hands. My mind racing between repetitions of the filthy names I heard her call again and again, to my own filthy thoughts and names I can’t help but declare myself and back to the present. My stomach churned like a storm, I wanted to cry but I had no tears left to shed. I could only sob and heave and hope maybe some sign of life would occur. Huddled in fetal position beneath the steady flow of the shower head, I freed one arm and grabbed the razor I must always keep ready. Drawing it harshly against my skin I was relieved as red rivers of life flowed down my leg and onto the shower floor. Physically alive. Mentally distraught. But all I can do is repeat. Everyone says my mother’s words are just punishment, it’s her right, and I should get over it. So I did. This is the only way for many people like me. Fight, hurt, go numb, wonder if you are alive, check and repeat.

As I looked through my wardrobe choosing what to wear I dismissed all of my pastel silk shirts. I quickly considered and rejected one of my undisputed top choice every single dark group. I discovered every one of them excessively pompous. I had made my psyche that I won 't spruce up clear or licensed looks with today evening time 's arrangement.