Graduation Speech - Original Writing Essay

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

When I first applied for this class at the end of my junior year of high school, my

The pencil lead was wearing out fast, and I barely knew what to write down on my paper. The proctor announced, “5 minutes left! Make Sure you all check your work.” My hands began to sweat and my mind was completely silent. I could only hear the loud tick of the clock as the hands moved along every second and every minute. I scribbled down on my paper what ever came to my mind. It was a horror filled experience, and even after I finished the test, my lips were dry solid as if my saliva was completely cold and arid. I could see the dark days ahead of time as I rumored to myself, “This is one test, that I’m sure I failed.”

This was the first week of school and I completed this thesis quite hurriedly. I was NOT prepared for the amount of summer reading (AP History, English, and Sacraments), so I ended up spending most of the first week in a zombified state of sleepwalking from class to class. I was taken aback when I accidentally submitted two versions of the assignment to Poll EV and both were voted to the top of our class. I hadn’t much time for proofreading and I barely remembered what happened in the novel at that point due to the fact that I was going on about half an hour of sleep.

When I first joined this English class, it wasn’t completely by choice. Since this was my very first semester of college (having just graduated high school in June), my dad helped me pick all my classes. I needed an English class to meet state requirements. While searching through the class catalog online, I discovered that my old English teacher was teaching an English class in the morning. I greatly anticipated joining the class, but, unfortunately, I wasn’t qualified to enter (I had to be in the ‘Camino program’, whatever that is). I informed my dad, so he rushed to find myself a new class at the last minute. English 1A - 41066 was open, so I tried sitting in for the day. The class (and the teacher) seemed interesting enough that I decided to try and get an open seat. Fortunately, as more students left, I was able to officially enroll in the class.

“Take a deep breath, walk out in front of that gymnasium full of kids, and show them who you really are.” I assured myself. Believe it or not, you can make a difference. Even the most invisible people have a voice as loud as a lion’s roar. All you have to do is take that first step and believe in yourself.

I woke up that morning giddy bursting with excitement. I thought college was this scary monster where no teachers cared to learn your name and you were by yourself, but our first assignment was going on a nature walk, it was like elementary again. As I went to leave I was scared that our class wouldn’t be able to go because it was sprinkling outside and looked like it was going to get worse, despite that I kept my hopes high.

Lights flashing day and night, cars and taxi’s stuck in the day rush and the night to endure the spotlight, but in North Brooklyn there was to girls, two girls who were friends since 6th grade. They went through many hardships but still always managed to come together. They never let anything completely disable their friendship. They were the ideal friendship at minimum, at most they were like a friendship you could only pray for. Natalia and Roxanne were inseparable.

When I first came to Florida, it was during the summer of 2009. We were so excited because my parents and kids just arrived from the Philippines and we were set for a 600 mile journey to the happiest place on earth. During the entire trip, apart from the joy brought about by the entire Disney characters, I truly fell in love with the place. It reminded me so much about home, which was 10,000 miles away. I dreaded leaving the place for a week, but I gloomily head back to Baltimore, a charming city but nothing short of Florida.

I had been eagerly been anticipating this day ever since . The sun was beaming. A nice breeze was flowing. It was a good summer day. There was something different though. The second I came home from the bus, I flopped onto my bed and my eyelids instantly slid. It felt as if I had just rolled up a ball of all my stress and kicked it aside. I had just finished a laborious grade 8 and an exceedingly stressful last week of final exams. I couldn’t help but succumb to after countless days of sleeping late due to studying and homework. Unfortunately, I woke up to my parents calling me to dinner. Little did I know that this was my call to adventure.

I was always particularly early getting to class, but today I was running a little late. I shifted my backpack 's weight nervously from shoulder to shoulder as I hurriedly made my way down the fifth grade hallway. I skipped into the class room with just enough time to take my seat as the teacher began to take roll. The teacher managed to get the room quiet enough to tell us that we were expecting a guest speaker that morning. "Perfect timing! Here he is now." As she finished telling us his name he reached the doorway and knocked rhythmically on its frame. He waddled up to the front of the room and introduced himself with the biggest smile on his face. "Hey guys I 'm Mr. Womack!" He was a short fat man with patches of thin brown hair lining the sides of his head. "I am the band director at the middle school, and I am here to talk to you guys about joining band!" I perked up from my typical 'slid down in the bottom of my seat ' posture so I could pay more attention to what he had to say. "Has anyone ever had a family member play a musical instrument?" He looked around the room filled with wide eyed fifth graders squirming in their seats half listening. I wanted to pipe up from my small blue desk to say I have, but I was so painfully shy it made that action almost impossible to preform. After what seemed like forever he dismissed his question and moved onto the next. "Would anyone be interested in playing an instrument in the middle school band?" Almost instantly every hand in

“Bye mom I have to go to school and I’ll be back for a little while, but I won’t be back tonight because I have a party.” That’s what I said when I was excited for this party. But how do you think I feel now? Dead. I am dead. It also wasn 't no accident. I do remember my killer, but I do know that she was at the party that night. Maybe you can guess and figure out why.

“We have done everything we can, all that is left is to hope for the best” the intensivist said in a crackly voice. I felt powerless and distraught. It was the summer of 2015, just before my medical school final, thesis and graduation. My grandmother was her joyful self a few weeks ago, how was this possible? She always had a distrust and fear of doctors, the only person she opened up to with medical issues was me, her only grandchild. She had not seen a doctor in many years and never undertook any screening tests. Few months prior she began having low-grade fevers and constipation, this alarmed me, so I pleaded with her to see a physician. No luck. Her symptoms became worse; she was getting weaker each passing day. I could not sit and watch my beloved grandmother suffer.

I walked hastily to class, trying to beat the bell. I was weary and had an awful migraine. I dreaded English as it was my least favorite subject, but this was the last class of the day. I darted around people in the hallway frantically. “I can’t be late again’” I reminded myself. I stepped over the threshold as the bell rang. I slumped into my seat, closed my eyes. I reminded myself, “This is the last class, I can make it.” I let out a sigh and opened my eyes.

“Hey boy, what are you doing right now,” my uncle suspiciously glares into my soul. Urgh, I really hated it when he called me that. He dashes in and hands a piece of paper to me. “Do this” he chuckled as he crossed his arms. I took a single glance. Fractions? Math? WHAT! What did I do to get this type of punishment… Totally not fair. “I am not doing this.” I roared. He looked at me and said firmly, “Too bad. Do it or I will take away your computer.” He walks out promptly. Anger took over my body. I hate math, but I guess I have to do it. One day to the next, more assignments were thrown at me. I hated it. Will he always make me do these assignments? Shouldn’t I get a break like the other kids during the summer. I am going to hate summers with him. With time, my academics became stronger. There were no longer rows of “N’s”, or needs improvement on reports my mother brought home from the parent-teacher conferences. Hau would congratulate me by taking me out to ice cream at the mall across from our family’s apartment.