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

Every time I go out on a stage I look at the small piece of paper in my music folder, one with hand written words that now hold so much meaning to me. I think all the way back to the first time I sang in front of an audience and of the complete and utter disaster that it was. However, I also think of how far I have come. It all started in fourth grade when my school had their annual school talent show. I had sang in the church choir with a group of around twenty other kids, but this was different. I had practiced my song multiple times over, and had asked my friend to play the piano while I sang. The day I walked into the school will never leave my memory. It was so tense you could taste the anticipation in the air. I walked in and sat in my seat where I memorized the student I would come up after. Time seemed to speed up impossibly fast, and the next moment I was being called onto the stage. The only sound I could hear was the pound of my heart, and my friend fuzzily asking in the background, “Do you want to go a cappella when I turn the pages?” I nodded agreeably because I did not want her to know I did not know what the word meant. Now I know it’s meaning is “without instrumental music” ("A Cappella."). Too soon, we were standing on the stage, and I had started to sing the song. I thought everything was going well until it came time for her to turn the page and she stopped playing. I waited patiently as she waited for me to sing. We were both waiting, and the only sound

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.

When I was younger, I wasn’t sure which career I wanted to pursue after leaving school, but I was certain that it needed to be something that was hands on as my favourite subjects had always been the ones where I could use my hands, such as art, metalwork and woodwork. I remember one project I was particularly proud of was a square coffee table made from walnut that I built in my woodworking class, I was given a brief with the dimensions and left to design and build it myself.

I sat on my bed, casually waiting for my mom to hurry and take me to school. The air smelled like the fish market from across the street. Cars were honking outside and the babies from upstairs were screaming at the top of their lungs.

It does not matter how slow you go as long as you do not stop. -Confucius

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.

Something I have never imagined. I felt as someone has taken half of my heart, I was feeling lonely. I could not explain what was I am feeling or what I was thinking about. The only thing I was asking myself why was happening to me. I felt as if I took her for granted. The love I had for her was enormous but I did not show her enough of it. She gave me love and a good friendship. I was not ready to let go, of someone who has been here since I was born. For my heart still, aches with sadness. She not only became the most important person in my life. I could not cover up my pain I still hoped, when my eyes open, she will embrace me with her love, but memories of her will always stay. Having trouble accepting the fact she was gone, I am afraid of entering her room and seeing her lay there knowing those eyes of hers will never open again. She was a wonderful person, she was the sunshine of my day. The person who made me believe the world had multiple opportunities. Her astonishing smile could bring a bad day to a good day. We believe the special person would stay with you forever and noticing the person you most loved and appreciated is gone in a blink of an eye. The memories and the great time I spent with my grandmother could not be changed for anything. The love can not be replaced or can not be forgotten.

I don’t feel like getting out bed this morning. I’m here what more do you want. The only reason I’m getting up this morning is because breakfast starts in a few minutes. They have someone to make us our meals. Thank God. I would not be in the mood to cook my meals. When I get into the dining room everyone stares at me. They’re acting like I’m the new kid or something. Oh wait I am. There is only about seven or eight people here not including me. I guess that’s good. It means there are less people I have to talk to. I really don’t want to have this group session later. I plan on not saying anything the whole time if that’s possible.

I was walking to school, like usually because i missed the bus again. My house was only four blocks away and it was a rainy day and a cold one too. When i finally made it to school everyone was already going to there classes .

In the back seat, intently listening to the words coming through the speakers, what is this I hear? Something so soulful, full of emotion, and life, it 's as if I entered into another dimension, floating on a cloud of serenity. This feeling abruptly ended with a goodbye kiss as I prepare to enter the school building. I was enjoying my early morning schedule, learning about simple mathematics, how to get along with my peers, playing at recess, but I couldn 't wait to get lost again, leave the earthly realm with this wonderful sound of instruments and voices, ever so quietly coming through my mother’s car speakers. The final bell rings, my heart throbs with joy, I get to ride home.

(Francisco gets ready for school looking as if he still isn 't awake. After he walks downstairs to Mrs. Mendoza cooking breakfast)