Portals And The Unattainable Essay

As I lay there in the sand, the burning pain surging from where the surprisingly sharp-edged seat - that in a twist of tragic irony was the very same vehicle I attempted to draw satisfaction from - had dug into my legs, I mulled over what put me in that position. I was in Ottawa on holiday, the city before this city in which my life was idyllic, where I was surrounded by who I once considered to be lifelong friends playing in the park with me, enveloped in a deep passion for the place where I was born and my family still lived happily together. Being uprooted and haphazardly transported to a city seemingly an entire world away with only one of my rocks to rely on for reasons not entirely known to me was a horrible experience, and I fell into a deep depression when I made it here to Edmonton. I looked upon the dullness and unfamiliarity of oil country and compared it to the manicured government town that was the Ottawa I had so many fond memories in and found it falling hopelessly short; I then retreated back into those memories as a refugee. I grew older of course, and over time I began to create new memories and nurture a different kind of love for Edmonton and Alberta. Yet when I returned to Ottawa, and reconnected with old friends and family members I began to wonder just how different my life could’ve been if I stayed in Ottawa, if I didn’t have to dissolve old bonds to forge new ones or waste time wallowing in self-doubt over my parent’s separation. Would I

Lee’s writing is littered with descriptive and flowery visuals that truly capture both the environment and his emotions. In one such case, he recalls an evening where he “[stared] at the brightest star, viewing it not so much on this night as a beacon, something [he] wanted to believe would lead [he] out of this dark tunnel, but instead as a place [he’d] rather be” (155). His juvenile wistfulness is tangible in the words and the reader can almost feel the chill of the night air. He continues, wishing to be “anywhere but here…[wishing to have] been born anywhere but here.” (155). His yearning twists the heart with sympathy for his lonesome and pitiable plight. This moment is but a minute fraction of the incredibly intimate tale that Lee

Letting go of comfortable, familiar feelings is a task many individuals are not willing to forget. For example, in the final paragraph of “Goodbye to my Twinkie Days” Nguyen writes that she may never eat the ten pack of Twinkies purchased. Even all throughout Nguyen’s story, in excerpts from the first paragraph to the last, it is made clear that Twinkies are not healthy nor a necessity. Nevertheless, the author knows that there is a certain comfort in knowing that in only a short trip to the top of the fridge, the tasty packaged “time machines” would always be there, whenever

“There seemed to be nothing to see; no fences, no creeks or trees, no hills or fields. If there was a road, I could not make it out in the faint starlight. There was nothing but land…I had never before looked up at the sky when there was not a familiar mountain ridge against it. But this was the complete dome of heaven, all there was of it. I did not believe that my dead father and mother were watching me from up there; they would still be looking for me at the sheep-fold down by the creek…. I had left even their spirits behind me. The wagon jolted on, carrying me I knew not whither. I don't think I was homesick. If we never arrived anywhere, it did not matter. Between that earth and that sky I felt erased, blotted out. I did not say my prayers that night: here, I felt, what would be would be.” This new surrounding is the beginning of an adventure for

What laid in my hand was my literal golden ticket to the world. This small, flimsy card could take me anywhere I wished to go to in New York City but I didn’t enjoy this privilege all my life. I grew up in a neighborhood where my family and I didn’t need to travel far for a doctor’s checkup or a grocery run. My whole world consisted of a few streets in Brooklyn. Unfortunately, my parents could neither drive nor afford many rides on our MetroCard. I had seen places like the Empire State Building and Central Park merely in pictures so the inner adventurer in me yearned to see what was outside Brooklyn.

As a child, our home was a place anyone was welcomed in, thus as the saying goes, “Mi casa es su casa.” While my parents were married, we lived in a one story blue colored house with 3 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, 3 living rooms, 1 dining room, an attic, garage, porch, pool and backyard. Upon entry into the house from the front door you stared into a long hallway. Immediately to the left was 1 of 3 living rooms, where we occasionally ate Dominos thin crust pizza in the late hours of the day and watched TV and movies as a family. We had a 7-piece oak entertainment center with a built in aquarium, where we kept Ceaser our

Then, through the ocean of green trees, I’m riding in the back of a dusty truck. My belongings of cheap furniture, books, and way too much clothes are packed into the bed behind me. The barely static radio is tuning in an out of a country station as I take in the environment around me, anxious for the next big step of my life. These two journeys in my life are vivid memories to me.

Each time I recall the experiences I wanted to go back, back to the mindless days, thought it's a wild wish, more extravagant than anything in the world. Because when I went back to my precious stairs last summer, I realized the stairs are much smaller and dirtier than I thought they were, and I hesitated to sit down, it will soil my pants. They aren't comfortable at all (after I sat down), moreover, the views are terrible too, nothing comparable from the top of the high-rise. What was wrong with me during the tender age, that was where I settle in? Why they're so different than my memories. Accordingly, This trip made me disillusion from the tender memories. What I recalled weren't the stairs themselves, they are the experiences I had on them. This reminded me of one of Purbrick's idea that "To consider material forms as repositories of affection, not just desire" (Purbrick 11). I have affections over the experiences I had on the stairs, making me miss the stairs when I'm away from it, paradoxically, I both like and dislike the

After two long hours of traveling with nothing to look at but the passing trees, we finally arrived at the farm. As we piled out of the car, I looked at the dirt road we came in on and turned to the house. It was one story and had a red tin roof, surrounded by a large grassy field and then woods beyond that. Twirling around, I walked into the house and plopped onto the closes bed. As everyone else unpacked, I locked myself in the room like a petulant child.

As I sat on the ferry to Ellis Island, I took in the surroundings and was in awe at the beauty I was surrounded by. Granted, this was my first time traveling to Ellis Island, there was a sense of mystery in the air. A part of me felt aligned with the rich immigrant culture that surrounded Ellis Island a hundred years ago. I felt connected in the sense that I was looking at the same surroundings they looked out years ago. I viewed the

As I looked out the window of the airplane, nothing below me looked familiar. The tall beautiful buildings of Spain that I once saw every morning were gone. The smell of my favourite next door bakery was soon going to get replaced. All my sunday adventures after a fascinating church service ended. Spain was where I belonged; an incredible country with incredible people. But I had to leave Spain in my past; I was moving to a new place and things were never going to be the same. I was distressed and frightened. There were no words that could describe how I felt that day when I realized that "home" wasn't in Spain anymore.

The world and its great variety of places have had an impact on my life, but only one has turned me into the person I am today. My home, Zapzalka Farms, is the foundation of my life. Who would have thought a small farm just four miles north of the little town called Bowlus would teach a young man so many valuable lessons about working hard and strong moral values? Looking in from the driveway, I see the house where I grew up, the two story structure composed of 115 year old crusty yellow concrete brick surrounded by flower beds and 50 foot cedar trees. This house has helped me through everything, from birthday parties as a child, to writing Comp papers as a student, I do not know where I would be without it. As I make my way down the driveway surrounded by seven foot cornfields like a mouse searching its

I moved to Scotland at 6 years of age, kicking and screaming my way onto the plane. Through the narrow slit of an airplane window, I watched the place I once called home disappear beneath the dense clouds, growing faint in the distance, before becoming only a memory. We arrived in Scotland, the noise banged in my ears like a building site, the pungent odour of cigarettes and petrol made my eyes water, and hit me like a wave of nostalgia, sudden and uncontrollable. All around me, it was grey; we had moved to a colourless city. I immediately felt homesick, even pain, as though a part of my identity, my inner being was gone, a missing piece of a puzzle, left behind 2,094km in Racibórz, Poland, the place of eternal sunshine. Where miles of green

Before I knew it, my nomenclature for the Egg turned more affectionate, as I referred to her as my “baby.” This bond I felt with my car was an emotional manifestation of my lifelong desire to experience unknown roads yet to be discovered. My car became a rolling sanctuary, my favorite place—a promise of avoiding staticity in life. Even as a senior citizen in the world of cars, my car climbed the hills of Saratoga, taking me to viewpoints overlooking the Bay Area. As I looked out at city lights and the mountains in the distance, I understood that although I was born and raised in the “Saratoga Bubble,” the world held infinite promises of new experiences. I have never feared novel places—I yearn to experience them. I dream of gazing at the Northern Lights from underneath a glass dome in Finland, basking in the spray of Victoria Falls, and balancing on an elephant’s back through the jungles of

I was born in a very big house with 5 bedrooms, 2 living rooms, 2 kitchens, big lawns in front and back, servant quarters and couple of servants serving my family. This wasn’t like this because we were filthy rich or millionaires. It simply portrays a middle class home in my country.