My New Home - Original Writing

They all labeled downtown El Paso’s buildings. I looked at them, lost for I had no knowledge of what they were talking about. I was still just a bird hatching from the shell. I turned left and there it was, classroom A1518. The two large, dark wooden doors were opened and on top of them was the sign “ARCHITECTURE”. I stood there with my breath taken away from me. “So… This is it. This is why you came into Northwest. This is your purpose” I took a deep breath, slowly exhaled, and continued on forward. Inside was a large room with computers on most of the side walls and desks the size of tables were located in the middle. All of the other students’ eyes were on me. I got even more nervous. They probably asked themselves if I was lost because of course, who would expect a 15-year-old to take an architecture college class? I walked slowly towards the 2nd desk in the front row. I sat in the tall black chair as the sound of the AC and the computer fans grew bigger and bigger. I’ve never heard anymore silence in my life. I opened my backpack’s side apartment and took out my pencil and place it on the side of the dark brown desk. I looked around and saw another room inside of

To many freshman the first day of high school is the opening chapter of a new novel, a fresh start to a sometimes embarrassing middle school experience we would all just love to erase from our memories. August 13th, 2012 was the beginning of my four year long narrative at Cypress Bay High School. Despite my desperate desire to grow up, become an adult, and move far away from my parents for college all that did not seem possible because I had never previously attended a public school. I was struck with fear that I would not be able to adjust to the fast pace dynamics of a large high school.

It was early July in Southern California: the sun was high, the air was warm, and the palm trees were swaying. Unfortunately, the bright sun could not light the darkness of the pit I had been slowly falling into during my tumultuous school year at my new charter school. On that day, when the other girls were tanning beachside, I was sitting deskside. I was trapped in a tiny, moldy, yellow-carpeted education office at the school I had transferred to the year prior. Like my fading hope, the dusty chandelier was barely hanging on from the ceiling. The room’s peculiarity added to my anxiety, as I felt failure lingering in the musty air. Though I had been sheltered by my parents’ optimism, I knew what I would soon hear: “I am so sorry sweetheart,

On September 1, 2012, I walked into my fifth grade teacher’s classroom for the first time in my life. Mrs.Cullen was standing in the front of the door with open arms ready to welcome her new fifth grade students. As I made my way to my desk and sat down next to Charlie Schutt and Quin Timmerman, I got the feeling that middle school would be a time of talking to some of my best friends and cruising through classes. As the school year progressed, and classroom seats changed, my thought of how Middle school would be changed as well. On the first day Mrs.Cullen explained our schedule, Homework detentions, and demerits. After about fifty questions, she sent us off to our first class, and the first step of our Middle School journey. The fifth grade

Consider the experience of Daniel Lopez, a fifth-grade student in Houston, Texas. Daniel and his family live on the south side of Houston, near William P. Hobby Airport. The public school nearest Daniel is an old, dilapidated building. When Daniel arrives

Middle school, when that word pops up in one’s head, it’s a sudden reminder of dreadfulness, broken promises, regrets, first crushes, and last but not least, learned lessons. Another morning had brought another school day. Seeing familiar faces and teachers I just wanted to get through the day with no hassle, but that’s not always the case. At least it wasn’t for me. Making my way through the extended halls and walls that seemed to enclose upon me, I felt nothing more than like a chained prisoner. The bell rung and I remained seated in my class, encompassed by boxed, outdated computers and rusty white walls, I felt

Someone broke into my car and about $400 worth of cash and items were stolen.

Let us remember those long days where every moment was a living nightmare. We left our jobs, our schools, and our possessions behind to never see them again. We remember the priests giving us our last rites before we even knew we were sick. We were cast off into a new world without a paddle and without a chance. I know people who, until those long days, had spent their entire lives in Harrisburg. They don’t live here anymore. They’re too afraid. They live in another place now, and pay another town’s taxes, and spend their money at another grocery, and see another doctor who doesn’t know them like their old doctor knew them. When I talk to them, they long for the days where they could walk into the Jacob’s Pharmacy on Green Street and say hi to Louie behind the counter and take a walk near Italian Lake and play baseball and grow up in a community rather than the stale, faceless suburbs they live in now. They have the four beds and the three kids and the two baths and the dog and nothing else. Harrisburg used to be their home – it’s now just a place they once lived. Let us remember them.

As I paid my visits to Elkton, a new town revealed itself. Elkton was dying. The sign on the hardware store had fallen on one side, the movie store had bankrupted and closed, and the tiny library was a pathetic joke. I never went back to the thrift store, I had thrown away my stuffed animals long ago, and the place stank of cheap cigarettes. Worst of all, the little house I had once lived in was dead and vacant. Weeds almost swallowed the "For Sale" sign at the road, and a green film grew over the siding. To me, Elkton reeked of decay and hopelessness. I hated the

Making her way toward the sidewalk, she turned right on Doveland Drive. Without a car, Anita must walk two and a half miles to reach Forest Creek Lane, the predominantly upper-class part of town. As she walked, her stomach turned as if she had ridden a fast carnival ride and no matter what she tried to calm her nerves, her attempts were futile. When she reached the street, she couldn't help but stare in awe at the beautiful houses that lined it. Some had the latest car park in front, others had empty spaces while the owner was at work. Anita imagined handsome doctors carrying briefcases and housewives wearing wearing the latest fashions. Anita, at 22, still lived with her parents in the not-so-nice part of town, where houses where becoming dalapitated and the roads and sidewalks were cracked and never fixed. Always feeling as if she didn't belong where she lived, she often imagianed what it would be like to live as other

I remember sitting at our dining room table, looking past the window. I wasn’t much older than eleven. It was a sunny Saturday afternoon, and I was bored out of my mind. I sighed, wishing there was something exciting to do. My mother told me that I should go outside and play, but I had already played at our playground what seemed like a million times already. The playground was only ten yards away from our small 800 square foot apartment, in the heart of Omaha, Nebraska. This was a convenience to some kids, but to me it was aggravating. I sat there in that wooden dining chair thinking how this summer had been one of the most uneventful summers I had ever had. I daydreamed about the summers of when I was living in Upstate New York. Ever since

We say we can’t wait to get out of here and leave this small nose budding town but years from now these are the times we’re going to look back on and the way it has shaped me into who I am today has made the biggest impact on my life. Growing up never having an empty house, always knowing someone has got your back, and the support everyone shows is not something you get to experience in other places like big cities. The town may of not had much to do but that’s when it taught us that everyone needs to learn to live a little and quit hiding behind screens all day. Now as I start to come to the end of my high school education I am ready to go explore the real world and use everything this town has taught me to try and make it a better place. My life experiences and story have prepared me for the bigger and better things in life and as I prepare to move on I can’t wait to see where they take

When I was in my last year of middle school, I knew that Ramon C. Cortines of visual and performing arts was the school for me. However i encountered a slight problem that could have affected me from going. The school was in downtown and I live in south central. There was another high school that was right around the corner, where i could have taken an easier approach to my high school years. I could have woken up later, eaten breakfast and I didn’t need to rush myself. Going to my local school, Augustus F. Hawkins, would’ve given me a simple, painless morning where i didn’t have to wake up at six o’clock. However, Hawkins didn't offer the things that I wanted, and the environment of the school made me uncomfortable. It was a high school ridden

The first year, the time to prove myself had arrived. Classes, rooms, teachers, and some students were unfamiliar. Eventually, minutes melted into hours, hours to days, and days to weeks. It didn’t take long before my schedule was routine, something of second nature. Humor and happiness were found in the form of my advisory family, where school was transformed into something more than going through the same motions of day to day activity. By the closing point of sixth grade, I was having a hard time letting go of what I’d adapted to. “What’s wrong?” my dad asked when I was getting into the car after being picked up early on the last day. I explained how distressed I was that my first year of middle school exceeded my expectations, and that it had to come to an end. Although his outlook viewed my reason for sorrow as trivial, I didn’t.

Home is the place one spends more time in their life and share special moments with family. Where one expects to live permanently carefree and feel protected under the roof of their house. One day I want to have a home that makes me feel well and where I can be safe and happy. The purpose of this essay is to illustrate the decisions I made about designing my future dream house.