My Personal Statement On My Experience

It’s ENC 1101, Not knowing what to expect I entered the room with absolute fear, after all it was my first year of college. Although I’ve never been quite fond of English in the past, I’ve always excelled in the subject. I had yet to work for my grade and no English course I had taken proved to be a challenge through my eyes. I am a huge procrastinator, if not one of the biggest when it comes to assignments. I most likely wrote papers the night before or the day of and still managed to average an “A” on all of them. This bad habit led me to believe that I was cheating myself. Throughout my scholastic years I always had the mentality of asking “what could this class possibly teach me that I didn’t already know?” I believed that my writing

In this paper, I will illustrate my personal experience within the past few months by using my individual creations—i.e. dreams, active imaginings, and a few paintings. This experience is an ongoing process that allows me to look at the images carefully, take note of my feelings, journal freely, reflect, and analyze my creations and process using basic Jungian concepts, ultimately noticing the changes in myself.

That these grades students were so worried about didn’t prove how intelligent or talented I was. They only tested how a student had the discipline to retain information. I knew I was making excuses to avoid working in school. Instead, I took a less conservative point of view on school, and searched for motivation to help push myself to be someone who has more to offer to the world.

When I sat down, removed my calculator, three number two pencils, and my admission ticket, I started to relax more and more. As the supervisor of the classroom handed out the book of questions along with the answer sheet, I thought to myself, “what if I get a bad score like before?” I knew I wasn’t the best test taker, but I just had to keep telling myself to try my hardest and just see how it goes. As the supervisor said “you have 45 minutes to complete this section of the test, you may start,” I gripped the pencil with my hand, and began to read the question and fill in the best answer of four options.

The date of the offense was July 19, 2014. It was a night full of mistakes and bad decisions, which I will never make again. The charges that I have been cited with are 1 Class B Misdemeanor (Driving under the Influence), 1 Class B Misdemeanor (Unlawful Consumption), 1 Class B Misdemeanor (Possession of Paraphernalia), 1 Class B Misdemeanor (Possession of Marijuana) and 1 Third Degree Felony (Possession). Since that night I distanced the people who were bringing me down in life and they ended up dropping out of my life as they only wanted to bring me down and I would not allow that any longer. Since the night of the arrest I have not participated in taking any narcotics or any illegal substances since. I have been extremely focused on my work and making

Tears stung in my eyes as I gazed down at the dreaded product of neglect, already feeling a cold weight tug at my heart. Looking at my practice log, I determined that within the twenty-four hours remaining before it was due, I needed to make up the eight hours of practicing I had been lazily putting off. After informing my mom of this impossible feat, she told me that I would not be staying up past midnight to practicing as a meager attempt to salvage my grade. The next day I turned in my log with a hint of discouragement as I awaited my grade. I didn’t fail the class, but I still had to live with the knowledge that I could have done better. I tried to justify what happened by saying I wasn’t used to Jr. High with its additional seven classes,

I walked into my class and sat down. Mr. Baroody announced that we were going to get our tests back, but I wasn’t worried. I knew that I did not get a 100% on the quiz, but nothing could prepare me for what was to come.

A few days later, I am handed back the test. Per Ms. Evans’ usual policy, there is no grade, just an assortment of checks and X’s. My eyes zoom in to find my mistakes, sure that I had approached every question from the entirely wrong angle. The more I examine it, however, the more I can tell that I actually only made a few small mistakes. Nicholas Chan, next to me, remarks “Wow, you actually did pretty well!”, the surprise in his voice unmistakable. For some reason though, the trepidation and dread do not leave my stomach. I ask myself,

I was shocked to see I got a 67! I failed! I didn't want to tell my parents I failed so I lied and said I got a good grade. I kept up the lie for about a day when I knew I had to come clean and tell my mom and dad I failed so they could help me. I decided to tell them and they weren't as mad as I thought they would be. They understood that it was hard and they even offered to help me figure out what I did wrong and why I made mistakes. They helped me do some test corrections to increase my grade.My teacher also offered to help me. So every week on Thursday, I went to her for an hour after school and got help. This really raised my grade and increased my test scores. She taight me ways to remember certain things and the easiest way to set up and solve certain problems. I even was able to get a B+ in the class! I ended up being able to help my friends when they needed help. By the end of the year, I was getting B’s on all of my tests and quizzes. The same habit continued in 8th grade. I graduated 8th grade with a 90, which at my school was still a B. Even though I never got an A in the class, I was proud of

Tip toeing into the noisy classroom, I took a quick glance at the unfamiliar faces. The crowded room gave my nose a whiff of modeling clay, crayons and newly waxed floors. It was filled with dazzling pictures of the alphabet and a jigsaw puzzle rug. Ms. Soriano was mumbling. As I approached her, I heard her high

As a child, I always loved school. Sometimes I struggled with the work but I managed to pull through. As I got older and attended middle school I struggled the most with my classwork, I didn’t think I was going to make it because of my grades, I didn’t think any high school would take me. Whenever I step foot into the classroom I always thought to myself, I’m never going to understand the work I’m never going to learn this, but then I realized grades don’t define who I am. I’m more than a letter grade. 8th grade graduation arrived, I was the only one who didn’t receive an award. During the ceremony I felt ashamed, I felt like I could’ve done better and I know I could have. I felt like I let my parents down. But that ceremony opened my eyes, I knew I was smart and I knew I had the potential to learn and expand my education. Freshman year of high school came. I was nervous, I thought I was going to fall back into the same place I was in. I proved myself wrong. All year I studied hard, up long nights, I received tutoring my freshmen year, and I maintained a 3.5 GPA throughout my high school career.

Mr. Smith ambled towards my direction holding a heap of stapled papers. From a distance all I could observe was boxes. As I extended my hands to seize the paper, I took a quick glimpse of his face. One of the most somber face expressions I’ve ever seen. His smirk made me cringe the most. Right when the sheet paper had a clasp of my fingers, Mr. Smith letted go, and I felt his glacial, boney hands gliding away from my pinky. I held the sheet of thin, flimsy paper in front of me, and the paper was entitled “Trigonometry Summative Assessment”. Instantaneously I had a blip of memory from Friday when I took this exam. My right wrist was consistently swaying left and right on the sheets of paper while holding my mechanical pencil, and a heat of tension flew rapiding from my head all the way down to my toes. I scrutinized through the boxed objectives on the rubric and I finally perceived what I’ve been waiting for since Friday afternoon, my score. Just as I saw my grade, I had this very heteromorphic feeling. I felt like I couldn’t breath as if someone was suffocating me.

Over the past summer, as well as the past 5 summers, I have worked at a place called Camp Vineyard. It is a fantastic summer camp run out of the Vineyard Chattanooga church where they bring in kids from over 20 different churches across the southeast and give them a place where they can experience God in a traditional overnight summer camp way. From the many fun activities such as the ridiculous games such as giant multi-ball soccer to the neat groups, which allow kids to build rockets and shoot them into the air and archery, there is never a dull moment throughout the day. In both the mornings and the evenings we have sessions where kids learn from a couple different speakers and have a time of worship. Finally, one night every week we also have a ministry where in the past kids have learned how to pray for others, sought both physical and spiritual healing, and have been spoken to by the other kids around them. It truly is quite an experience to see over 400 kids from 6th grade to 12th grade praying for each other and speaking into their lives who some have been changed forever because of this.

One of my personal experiences that I had was when my family decided to move from New Jersey to Florida. I never planned on moving with them but my mother basically forced me into moving with them. It wasn’t really all that moving stuff because the new house was actually pretty nice, it was just I had all my friends there and I was doing well in school. Nothing I said convinced my mother so after a week of packing we was off to Florida. The first week being there was a horrible week. Nothing was going right for me, I missed the school bus for a whole week, dropped my milk on my new shoes, and tripped over nothing in lunch. It was just trying to move back but parents always have this life lesson speech about trying to make new friends and try to get used to being here until we move again. It’s been about a month since we moved to Florida and I met about zero friends but I got used to living here since I’ve found something that interested me as an after school hobby and that was fishing. There’s barley any lakes or ponds in New Jersey so fishing wasn’t really something you do as a time waster. I usually fished right after I got home but on that day it was rainy and it wasn’t really a good time to fish so I just decided to practice my free shots until it started raining hard. I think I was outside for about 20minutes and suddenly a couple kids from my new school asked if they can shoot

It was seventh grade, and I was tired of imperfect grades. Now, my grades weren’t bad, all A’s and none below a ninety two, but to me that wasn’t good enough. Every time I heard a person say they had a grade higher than me; someone saying they got a ninety seven when I got a ninety six; I’d wince and cringe. I knew subconsciously that my grade was just fine, but inside I felt inferior. All my life I’d always been told to do my best, to put my everything into all the things I did, and to always strive to be the greatest. But here I was with a ninety six when I could’ve gotten a ninety seven. I could have had the best grade in the class, a grade without flaw, a perfect grade better than everyone else’s… So one day I decided that was what I wanted. I went home and I spent the whole day on my homework, outlining all of the artwork with ink, double checking all of my math homework, proofreading every single word of my writing homework, and wiping away every single mistake I could find. And then the next day I went into school, I turned in my homework, and I got all one hundreds. I finally felt worth something, like I had actually succeeded and done well for the first time in my life. And it was then, in this rush of sudden ecstasy, that I decided the only way to be happy was to always try my best. To always put my all into everything I do and eliminate every mistake I can find. So the next day I did the same thing, and then the day after, and the day after that, everyday coming home and diving into my homework, only breaking to eat or go to my