My First Girlfriend Essay

The door slammed shut and we were both on the verge of tears; as I held her tightly in my arms we discussed everything that had just unfolded. What would become of our relationship? Emma's parents despised me as if their daughter was in love with Satan himself. We were both from completely different ends of society, but our love was inseparable, or so it seemed. Emma explained that even though she loved me we were just too different. After hours of conversation, we agreed to meet at a nearby restaurant the following day to discuss the future of our love. As I continue to reminisce, I lie wide awake, in a paralysed state, worrying about what tomorrow may bring. I know deep down in my heart that once that shining star dies so will I. Without her, I have no reason to live, no reason to continue fighting the cruel battle of life. Thus, if I lose my one and only angel there will be no hope, no light just a deep dark meaningless void filled with despair and suffering. However, despite the heartbreak and lack of light, I continue to cling to that last bit of thread, that last bit of hope, that last bit of

Much has been said about love, but if you search the horizon, you will discover that most of the things written about love are either pithy or cynical.

Facing death at any age is difficult, but for Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie and John Sullivan, it came early, resulting in two essays retelling their experience.  In their accounts of these situations, the author can see they both want to emphasise that death can come in very unexpected situations.  To My One Love, by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, begins on page 17 of 50 Essays by Samuel Cohen.  In her essay, set in present day, she has flashbacks to her relationship with a boy “from the wrong side of town” named Nnamdi.  They were in a loving relationship against their peers’ wishes.  When it came time for them to separate due to education in separate locations, they had ended the relationship, but not before Nnamdi had promised that them

In the insightful book “My Antonia,” Jim Burden tells about his life growing up with his grandparents and his relationship with the Shimerdas. Reflecting upon this marvelous novel, I find that I relate to several moments in the astonishing story. First, a part of the story I relate to is when the narrator speaks of how the Shimerdas are great people due to the fact that they are always willing to give, even when they do not have much for themselves. Second, I relate to the part when Antonia and Jim kill the massive rattlesnake, and Jim feels that he is a grown man for doing so. Lastly, when Mr. Shimerda kills himself, it reminds me of when my teacher, Mr. Anderson, told me that most suicides are caused by money. These details stuck out to me, and I found I was able to relate them to events that have occurred in my own life.

When I matriculated to Oregon State University, I realized how alone I really was, and that my popularity had meant nothing because I had no true connections with people in high school. I did not know how to work for anything because everything seemed to be handed to me. Finally my sophomore year of college, I met Harper, who immediately fit perfectly into my life. I’d never been that close to someone before, we did everything together. As I sat on the bus thinking about her my stomach began to contract violently and I masticated on one of my apple slices to try to calm it. Senior year Harper and I had decided to go to a big party for Halloween in Portland. Half way through the night Harper came up to me crying and insisted for me to drive her home, refusing to tell me why. I agreed because the party wasn’t that great anyway, but we got in a huge fight over why she wasn’t being honest with me or telling me what had happened. I had turned my head to look at her just for a moment, her red hair cascading around her shoulders, her eyes filled with

I sat in the back right corner of my fourth grade classroom next to my best friend, Hannah. We dutifully took notes, answered questions, and tried not to get in trouble for talking. Hannah had been my closest confidante through elementary school crushes, a shoulder to cry on over A-minuses, the kindest listener when I complained about being stuck with underachievers in group projects, and when my vision got blurry, she became my eyes. There was never a question of legitimacy between us - why would I lie about needing help? So she whispered the words to me while I squinted at the whiteboard, trying to will the smudges into letters.

All types of horror films are designed to unfold our most horrible fears and insecurities that lie deep within. It successfully focuses on the bizarre and illicit side of life that frights us by playing around our nightmares, vulnerability, and fears of the indefinite. However, despite how chaotic and terrifying these films are, the horror-genre still attracts and repel us. We crave to see the numerous film villains overtake our nightmares and then be defeated by a particular “Final Girl” who normally places society back to its stagnant normality.

I look in the mirror. Instead of seeing my blond tresses, pale complexion and blue eyes staring back at me, I see a woman the color of caramel. Her skin is scarred as if she has been burned. Even so, her beauty shines through. Her hair falls down her back in cascading black tendrils framing intense coffee irises. Absorbed into her gaze, I search her emotions. She is drawing me into her story. As her eyes stare into mine, I feel her confusion, her anger, her desperation, and her defeat. All her energy connects in the pit of my being like a churning hurricane. I am at once compelled to tell her story. I name her Kavia, and through my writing I tell the journey of this courageous young Indian woman. I have embodied the struggle of so many

As I approached the kitchen I could hear my parents talking as usual. One step in revealed a teenage girl. I could just imagine the sparks in my brain, desperately trying to connect the dots short circuiting me into a long look. With a silver spoon sticking out of mouth and a piece of cereal falling from her lips she finally met my eyes. She held my gaze, her irises were stationary on mine. Staring had become our only form of communication. It was a contest and winning seemed to be the only thing that mattered. Although she seemed to look through me, like my face was transparent as if she was fascinated by something marveling behind me. Her heavy eyelids rested on mine, slowed to an effect that was both soft and harsh. Her lips didn't form a smile, but titled as if they meant to as she attempted to swallow. After a few seconds she turned her head back to her food as if I had never appeared.

To begin with, I am just mentioning one of the things i have gone through that has really effected my life emotionally. It all started when i first met her... she was my happiness, she brought out the goofiness inside me. We met at a church i use to go to. It was a bright sunny morning and me and my two brothers were on our way to our church classes for our first communion. My big brother already knew her sister so when he introduced us we actually got along immediately. We soon began to talk more and more and soon enough it was every day. This girl that I met just a couple of weeks ago now was the most important person ever in my life, I called her... my best friend.

It was morning again and I was anxious waiting for the pound to open. That means I have another chance of being adopted. The man opened the door while talking to a young family of three that needed a fourth member. They had a little girl. She had long blonde hair, just like mine. The man shows them around, and then the little girl comes towards me. Her hazel eyes staring into mine like if she was looking straight into my soul. She whispered “ You are mine.” I tilt my head in confusion asking myself “ Did she just say that I belonged to her? Is this all a dream?”

Love is difficult to define, difficult to measure, and difficult to understand. Love is what great writers write about, great singers sing about, and great philosophers ponder. Love is a powerful emotion, for which there is no wrong definition, for it suits each and every person differently. Whether love is between family, friends, or lovers, it is an overwhelming emotion that can be experienced in many different ways.

I met her two years ago and we did not have much to say at that time. Little did I know that she would later steal my heart and become an intimate part of my life. As the saying goes "there is someone for anyone at any time in this life" and I was about to find out that this saying was so true. I have had a wall built around me and my defense was as a stronghold to protect myself from all the relationships that have come and gone over the years. I thought that I was meant to be alone in this old life and happiness was forever gone from me. This wonderful woman I am speaking of is Mary Doe, and the joy she has given me has revived my hope and faith that I may have finally found love and peace within. She has made me feel like I am a child

Love is an abundant emotion that has different degrees. There is familial love, friendly love, unconditional love, and of course romantic love. Romantic love will be the superstar of this article. Romantic love may be around every corner whether between an old couple or a young teenage romance. However, love is not the easiest thing to attain. It is such a simple concept, though a difficult thing to actually have a person’s hands on.

The love from my family and friends are life’s greatest blessings as each relationship has molded me into the person that I am today. My relationships with my mother, father, Nanna, and my friends Addy and Kirsten are all ones that are meaningful to my life. By focusing on keeping these relationships strong, I, in turn, am rewarded with dependable relationships that I can rely on. To continue the longevity and stability with the following five people that have strongly impacted my life, I must continue to use specific relational maintenance strategies such as rituals and relational currencies.