Growing up in Southern California, I was surrounded by coastal culture, which has influenced me in many ways. No matter whether I lived in San Diego or Ventura county, I was never more than ten minutes away from the beach. Every weekend, it seemed, my dad would take us to the beach as family so we could play in the water, build sandcastles, catch hermit crabs, see the tide pools, and most of all, spend time together. I was enchanted by all the beach had to offer. Every sandcastle built was a palace for a hermit crab and every tide pool a thriving community. Whenever I stepped into the water, my imagination would run wild. Despite how often we went, I always enjoyed our days at the beach.
It was April of 1999. My family was at home. Children were running outside. The asphalt was burning. Cars rolled up to the entrance of the apartments and BANG. I grew up in Stockton, California. Surprisingly, as a minority, I wasn’t really a minority. There were, in fact, a large and diverse population of Asian-Americans. But, Stockton is not the ideal place to live. It was hot and dry, almost to the point of a drought. Stockton was also ranked as the one of the top 5 most dangerous cities in California. So, having a nice and safe family is kind of difficult. Eventually, my family decided to move to Crescent City, California when my dad retired. It was a world of difference. There were trees, plentiful water, and a nice cool temperature. This
I am one of the following students who had the chance to obtain the South Bay Promise Scholarship. I didn't know about the South Bay Promise, nor the First Year Experience. I am thankful for having such an amazing statistic’s teacher, Mr. Espinoza from Hawthorne High School. When he told the whole class about the opportunities here in El Camino College, I knew I had to apply because it would make different. If it wasn’t for him, a teacher so passionate on seeing his students not just graduate but to motivate them to go to an university or a college after, I would never be in the place that I am.
It was mid-winter of 1848, I was doing my daily chores when my neighbor brought news that two days earlier, on January 24, James W. Marshall made a discovery of gold on his piece of land in California. At first, I didn’t think that this would affect me in any way, but then I realized I could start a new life in California filled with gold and fortune, away from my small farm in Missouri. I decided to pack up my things and start on my long journey to California, I packed enough food, water, and supplies to last me a few months. The next morning I was surprised to see that not many others from my town were seeking gold, I knew it was unsafe for me to travel alone, but I was sure I’d meet others along the way.
I'm an established freelance writer based in San Diego covering environmental issues in the Southland and beyond. Although it's hard for me to
I wasn’t much of a golfer prior to relocating to Las Vegas, but I now work with a group who arranges outings on a regular basis, and I have been pretty excited with my progression in a pretty short time. I would actually get out to play more often, but I’m convinced there is no such thing as cheap golf in Vegas, but there is affordable golf in Vegas. So I jump on every opportunity to hit a new course when I find deals, a lot of times through Vegas Groupon. However, more often than not, Vegas golf deals on Groupon are for outlying areas.
I live in San Diego. My major is interior design and I am attending San Diego Miramar College I also have some courses in Mesa College. I am taking Political Science 102 to fulfill my general education. Moreover, I am married and have two children and English is my second language so I am nervous about understanding the material of this course, but I try to do my best. I have never protested or have attended any protests. To create a sign defending I would like to say “peaceful life for
I was thinking about an item in my life that held great meaning, an object that was full of nostalgia, and at first, I thought of my acoustic guitar, but I realized that my blanket was the right topic to write about. It seems strange that something so simple could be so important, but it holds many memories of my childhood, which felt like a sturdy subject for this write-up. My blanket has a calming aroma that smells of flowers and fresh air, and that scent is what reminds me of the many things I have been through. For example, there were many times when I struggled with challenges in my life I would comfort myself by wrapping it around me.
I know the feeling all too well of how life seems to move too fast. When I was in High School, I spent most of my summers at writing camps, and internships. By the time I knew it my senior year was beginning. It was the time for me to apply for the serious scholarships that would get me into prestigious colleges. So for me this was an opportunity I could not screw up, but in the back of my mind I knew I would never be a senior in high school again. The idea of all this troubled me for the beginning of my senior year. When the submission date of my scholarships came near, the stress was eating me alive. So with most issues people try to face themselves, most end up asking someone they trust. The person I trusted the most was my mentor, and Father. Who
Throughout my twenty two years of life I have had a love/hate relationship with writing. In school I’ve had English classes in which I enjoyed immensely. Then there were the classes I did not. Sadly a majority of the time it was the latter. Subsequently during my adolescence I was never really interested in writing. I cannot remember a time when I was angry or anxious while preparing to write a paper. I just wouldn’t go as far as to say I enjoyed writing papers. I viewed it as a chore that I wanted to be finished as quickly as possible. But at the same time I’ve always considered myself a average writer and viewed most of my work as well written papers with solid ideas. Yet I would still find myself receiving grades that were much lower than I expected.
There are writers and there are readers, I prefer to be placed in the categories of a reader. I will love to be called a writer, but I have a lot of complications when it comes to writing. For a starter I am not excellent at spelling so I get uncertain about writing. I pass my high school writing test with a decent grade, which I believe was a miracle. I may not be firm in writing, but I make sure that I do my best when it's mandatory. I'm not a big fan of writing but I write two to three hundreds words a day through social media. The site that I accomplish the most writing on is Facebook. whenever my friends post a picture or a funny video I intent to comment on it and my friend will response to that comment which will resolve in comments
I specifically searched for universities in entertainment hubs so that, alongside pursing my production degree, I could be working in the industry. This what I do in Austin currently: I perform with my two bands, rehearse, book shows, contribute to others or my own recording sessions, create bills for shows, and collaborate with other artists in the scene. It's been exciting to take my first audio engineering course with a respected, veteran Austin musician and engineer: Tim Dittmar. It's certainly got me further in the door of understanding and helped realize for certain that engineering and producing is a job I would enjoy. I've been able to apply some of what he has taught me into my mixes, though I'm still learning. Finding a mentor or
As a child, I never needed anything; I never wanted something that I did get. My father was a decent provider and my mother was a stay mother; however, becoming a parent a young age forces anyone to become an adult and start taking responsibilities.
Over the last 17 years Jerry Collins has been one of the most influential people in my life, he has been a major mentor and roll model for me. He was very kind and loving to everybody he met. He welcomed everyone with smile as bright as the stars above.
It was ten minutes until midnight in the Bohemian Paradise of Santa Monica. The streets were buzzing with street performers and tacky tourist, such as myself. My best friend and I sat in a cramped and antique French restaurant ready to devour our food. The room was filled with thick, buttery fumes that made me hungrier by the second. My stomach growled with each tray of food that passed by us but our food was still nowhere to be seen. Finally our waiter came to our table with the food. As she put down the worn out plates, she said “Bon Appetit” in her thick French accent.