Graduation Speech - Original Writing

Nine years ago, I never could have imagined I’d be writing this essay. I was a senior in high school, and, like the rest of my classmates, I was apprehensive about the future. Unlike my classmates, I felt like I had missed the proverbial “you need to get your life together” message. I watched my classmates apply to colleges, their majors already decided and their future careers mapped out. While I was an above average student, I felt I lacked the decisiveness my classmates seemed to have. I did not feel passionate about a career or even a field of study. I felt defective. This was compounded by the financial strain I knew attending college would have on my family. It seemed wasteful to try to “find my passion” at school while squandering

Over the course of the semester, my writing has improved tremendously. I used to be very scared of writing and hated the idea of sharing my writing or thoughts with anybody. I used to never go to teachers, friends, or my parents for help because I was embarrassed of my writing and did not want them to read it. This semester I worked harder to get past this and gain more confidence in my writing. Now I have developed a solid pre-writing process that has helped me develop more organized essays and become less scared of writing.

Throughout the semester, I was asked to summarize, respond to, analyze, and build upon the works of others.The transition from high school English to college English was an obstacle to overcome. Throughout the semester, I was given a multitude of feedback on different pieces to improve my writing. My writing drastically improved from high school to college and will continue to change in the expanse of the semester and the remainder of my college career. Through the feedback of Professor Valley and my Writing Fellow, Emily, I have improved in my writing through including more specific details, stronger vocabulary, improved organization, and being able to better identify problems in my own writing.

Hi, I’m Alexandria and I’m in the 11th grade, or a Junior in highschool. I usually love learning but this year I don’t have very good teachers so I haven’t been trying very hard in my classes; obviously I want good grades but nothing is interesting so I get distracted very easily and miss what the teacher says.

As long as I can remember I 've never been good at writing essays, especially under a time limit. There 's just something about the pressure that makes me freeze up and I end up writing barely anything. I’ve struggled with it for the longest time, and I’ve tried to get better, but it’s a challenge for me.

It had been a long hot summer, and I was very excited for school to begin, I even found a new backpack on the internet that I wanted to buy, although this never would happen, I was still happy that the summer was almost over. I couldn 't wait.

When my family arrived in the United States as immigrants in December of 2000, we were foreigners in a strange place. We did not know any English so my siblings and I were placed in a school that had an English as a Second Language program specifically designed for immigrant students. I remember being pulled out of my normal classroom regularly to work with teachers and other students on activities that were designed to teach me English. The memory that stands out to me the most when thinking of those classes are the teachers who patiently worked with me sounding out words in books or writing sentences. The teachers made me excited about learning even when I was pulled out of my regular class at times when we were watching a movie or playing games. One day we were reading out loud in class and I nervously raised my hand to volunteer to read. I began reading the sentence in my small timid voice and as I continued reading I heard the voice of a girl who was comfortable and assured in the words she was speaking. There were no unsure pauses or nervous stutters in my reading and I remember feeling a sense of triumph that I could read so clearly. The separate time I received with these teachers played a large role in my success as a student. I was able to form a comfortable relationship that allowed me to be more engaged in the class and willing to learn without fear.

As I grew up I constantly spelled out my brother’s name backwards, instead of CHRIS I spelled it SIRHC or I would say things such as, “noodles spaghetti”. I assumed it was standard for kids my age. A few years later, during my first few years in school, my teacher explained to my mom that there was a high possibility that I was dyslexic. Due to this, that same teacher moved me into a slower class; a class intended for intellectually disabled students. Although the students in the classroom were lovely, I was furious that I was branded as “incompetent” or “sluggish”. After a few hours of analyzing this unexpected change, I panicked and decided that I needed to construct a plan that would get me back into the “regular” classroom. As soon as I got home that day I sat at the dinner table and read book after book. I read everything from my school books to cereal labels; I was determined to be placed back into the “regular” classroom. It took a few months, but after studying hours and hours with my helpful and optimistic mother I was placed back into the “regular class”.

Every morning I would wake up to hearing my mother cleaning up around the house and the smell of breakfast in the air. This morning in particular I heard nothing at all which I found very strange. I got up and checked on my little sister and I turn on the television like I usually do, but this time I didn’t. My mother would always come on our end of the house and see if we were up, but nothing not even a good morning. This is when I knew something was wrong, I had to face to music and see what I feared the most.

The day had started out so perfectly, the sun was out, the air was warm and excitement filled the air. Students were all so ready to find their place, to join the club that would change part of what their school year would be like. Some would join the same as before, and some would be bold and try for something new. Alena stood with the other cheerleaders, having arrived early to set up their booth and begin drawing attention be sounding off with some of their new cheers.

I still remember coming home from school when I was six years old saying, “Mommy, I’m so happy that now boys and girls are equal.” We had just learned about how things used to be and I was happy we had come so far. But I remember being eight and getting in trouble for yelling at a boy in my class. It didn’t matter that he had called me stupid, all my teacher said was “Boys will be boys, but good girls don’t fight back.” And then at ten years old I remember walking around with my family, hearing words I had never heard before screamed out of cars at me, not knowing what they meant, but knowing that whatever they meant wasn’t right. I remember my mother telling me I couldn’t wear that dress anymore, because she didn’t want people

It 's the minute details that are vital: the small things are what make big things happen. There are certain flashbacks of one’s childhood that stay forever in one’s mind. There is one day in particular that is still fresh in my mind. It was the fall of third grade, and I forgot to pray Shacharit that morning. My evident passion for Tefillah began at a young age. As the realization dawned on me, tears were suddenly streaming down my face. This had never occurred to me before, and I felt nervous. I had realized the power of Tefillah in first grade and I was motivated to pray out loud every single day even on non-school days. How could I forget to pray to G-d that morning? With lips quivering, I immediately wondered if G-d would punish me. My mother, one of my prime role models explained to me that it is okay to error and that it is never too late to pray. The one time I forgot to pray to G-d was a critical juncture for me during my childhood. As a result of this occurrence, I realized over time that mistakes do happen and that one can move forward after. That day was one of the roots of determination that emerged over the years. This one seemingly small and insignificant event impacted my life and will continue to be a precedent for further goals and choices.

Princeton was my Paris not Nolan. My parents talked to each other and asked me more questions about Nolan. They couldn 't believe that I finally had a boyfriend. "Boyfriend" and "Nolan" in the same sentence made me lose my appetite. Mom and dad told me they wanted to meet him soon.

My mom drops me off in front of the large store, “good luck Sarah you will do great! See you at 6” she says as I quickly jump out of the car. I walk up the automatic door with butterflies in my stomach while repeating to myself, “don 't worry you 'll be fine” over and over again in hopes if I say it enough it 'll become true. The automatic doors open with one swift motion I then walk towards a second set of automatic door. When these doors open I am greeted with a gust of nice cold air and the constant sound of beep beep, shopping carts wheeling around, the sound of cash registers opening, receipts printing off, and bustling people. I freeze trying to figure out where to go in this large store but before I can start to panic I am greeted by a small masculine looking women in her mid 20s with an extremely laid back attitude. “Here” she says as she tosses me a navy blue polyester smock with the words “Crosby’s Marketplace” embroidered on the pocket and a cross tie.

It’s been two years, and yet if somebody asks me about that day, my voice will crack. By “that day,” I mean the day I came home from MacArthur Elementary School to find my Golden Retriever, Honey, splayed out on the asphalt near our driveway, her head bashed open, her body lifeless but still warm. It’s an image I can’t seem to shake, as much as I try.