Descriptive Essay On My Secret

1. What piece of paper did the author’s mother carry for twenty years, and why did she carry it?

People may say that those deep, dark secrets we all try to keep hidden are just thoughts and have nothing

Throughout the essay “Our secret” by Susan Griffin, Griffin talks about a few characters’ fears, secrets and she gives us insights into these “secrets”. Griffin comes to realize her own secrets and fears by examining others. She relates to a few of the characters such as Himmler, Leo, Helene and everyone else even though she is different than all of them. The only thing that all of these characters have in common is that they all represent human emotion. Susan Griffin reveals that everyone has a hidden side to them and anything being showed on the outside could be fake or a false representation of themselves. “I think of it now as a kind of mask, not an animated mask that expresses the essence of an inner truth, but a mask that falls like dead weight over the human face.” (Griffin 237) This quote explains what she means about secrets being the barrier to others’ feelings and having this mask hides what you really feel on the inside.

Secret is defined as something that is kept or meant to be kept unknown or unseen by others. If that is true, why do we tell others our secrets? No one's secrets are truly theirs, at some point anxiety will build up, information accidentally comes out, or you may just tell someone. Your confidentialities are not always yours, at a young age kids tell their parents everything. As those kids grow up, and become teens they start to develop barriers between their parents. Not telling them whatever is going on, at school or at practice can only last so long. This is hardly the case, because everyone has told their friend or parent something that was meant to be classified. For example, if one player on the basketball team knows a secret about another player, the whole team knows. That is due to the fact that we are a family and don’t care what we think of each other, because we are one. Trustworthiness is hard to prove, confidence is needed to tell someone a secret. If the friend is not trustworthy then that secret could be floating around school completely changed from its original stature. A secret is only a true secret if it is kept with only yourself. Just as honesty is evident in life so it is in literature. In William Shakespeare’s famous love story, “ Romeo and Juliet” and in life, withholding secrets is the

I got to my apartment and had a huge headache. I shouldn’t have drank that much well off to sleep for me. I did my homework at the library earlier so I don’t need to do that. This is the one week I do it anyway. I yawn once more and climb into my dark bed sheets.I snuggle underneath and drift off to sleep. If only I knew someone was watching me the whole day. I woke up the next day, showered, and brushed my hair for the weekend. I love weekends, no school and no worries. I closed the curtains of my bay window so the whole room would be dark and went down stairs to the burning smell of pancakes. Uck… I hate pancakes.

You shoot up from your warm bed. You rub the sleep from your eyes and glance at the clock, which strikes 6:10. It seems as though your heart skips a beat. The cozy blankets try to keep you enthralled in their warm grasp as you jump from their reach. The bus to Buffalo leaves in twenty minutes and you should’ve woken up an hour ago. You frantically toss on your oversized sweatshirt and leggings and race to the kitchen, in hope that you have time to sneak a quick bite to eat. As you run in, you see that your mother has made you two slices of toast, crisp and crunchy, spread with a thick layer of creamy, melted butter. While running around the house, munching on the perfectly toasted bread, you quick grab your swimsuit and bag, which

I could feel the breeze skim through my hair as my loose shirt caught the brisk air behind me. This was my sanctuary, the feeling was bliss. I made my way home, bracing myself for the approaching argument I was about to have with my mother. That feeling of pleasure left my body as quickly as it arrived. I stepped into the front door, and closed it behind me as quietly as I could, maybe she wouldn't notice I was late home. But before I could even take the first few steps inside, I heard mum coming from the kitchen,

I woke up on the very edge of my bed my blankets tossed on the floor and my head buried into a pillow. I groaned as I pushed myself off the bed picking up the blankets and laying them on the mattress. I stretched my arms and yawned as I walked over to my bathroom and twisting the knobs trying to find a perfect temperature.

I woke up in my comfortable bed and walked downstairs. I walked to the door that leads outside and opened it. I could smell the fresh air of the country. It has been a week since I moved from New York. I use to live in a crowded suburb in New York City where I couldn’t smell the fresh air. Now that I moved to South Carolina with my wife and two children, I think my life is taking a turn for the better. I live right on the coast, so I also get an excellent view of the ocean from my porch. I continued to breath the fresh air for a while longer. After about five minutes of standing there, I went inside and closed the door. The rest of my family was still upstairs sleeping. I went to the kitchen and started to cook breakfast. The smell of freshly

The sun was kissing the horizon; the day was just beginning, and the sweet sounds of the birds morning sound had awakened me. I was sitting in the same spot I do day after day, happy and well rested. I awoke from my peaceful slumber with a large, clanging chime that echoed off the walls and the roof. The sounds of footsteps stomped down the stairs, and there, as always, was Todd. And as he always does, he shuffled his way to the kitchen and turned on the coffee. Finally, as the aroma of burnt coffee grounds filled the air, a new day had begun.

At about 8 in the morning, I woke up smelling the most delicious smell of my breakfast for my birthday. As I get out of bed, the smell of food is making me glide through the air and taking me to the kitchen. But, before I can even go into the kitchen I can smell all of the food whispering in my ears and moving up my nose. The smell of brown sugar and banana cascade through the house like an intense air freshener as the banana bread is basking in the oven. This smell only intensifies as the aroma of buttery, sugary pancakes hits me like a ton of brick and refuses to leave. However, the savory smell of potatoes and eggs kick the sweet smell out with a punch as my mom begins to produces the savory foods like the speed of light.

I couldn’t sleep. I looked at my somewhat dim, water powered alarm clock, wondering what time it was. 7:43. Way early. Despite being awfully comfortable, I got up, figuring I was just hungry. As I walked the the kitchen, I pondered about my snack. Carrots and orange juice usually is the best choice. ( This is actually a good midnight snack! You should try it! ) I made it to the fridge. As I opened it, I took in the cold air against my warm, cozy fur. Then I realized, that I was sweating. I dropped the blanket I had wrapped around me. Much better. I grabbed my carrots and orange juice, dragged the blanket behind me and took my time getting back to my room. I hopped onto the bed with my snack in hand, and turned on the TV with the remote. The button let out a quiet ‘click!’ as I pushed the smooth, plastic button, before the TV turned on.

I went back inside through the back door of the house where the kitchen is. My mother was already there sitting near the kitchen table organizing bills and payments. I handed her the mail in disappointment. I walked away afterwards with such saddened movement towards the living room so I did not have to see her reaction when she opened the envelope of my mistakes. After sitting in the couch for awhile I realized I wasn’t hearing my name being strictly called, so I had

What we see on the outside is not always what is felt or endured on the inside. The real truth about a person can be hidden, manipulated, sometimes even forgotten in the back of the person’s mind. This truth is masked, and it is not always easy to be unearthed. This is ordinary. There is not one person on this planet that does not have a sort of mask obscuring a truth or secret that is unknown to the people around them. People living before our generation, like the Himmlers, had secrets. People living now have secrets. I have secrets.

Every night, as I sat on the table with my younger brothers assisting them with their homework, I hear a familiar sound at the door. As she walks her heels click, and I can hear her searching her bag for her keys, the next thing I know the keys are in the lock and as it turns me and my younger brothers’ jump. We run to the door and indeed we scream in unison “Mommy’s home”, one by one she gives us a hug and a kiss. My mother asks us how our day was, and if we finished our homework, she then looks to me and said “did you cook and assist your younger ones with their homework”; I replied “yes mom”. As I warm the food, I take my mother’s purse, jacket, and shoes put them away and prepare the table for her to eat dinner. As I glance at the