Reflection Paper

On September 6, 2017, I were documented for an incident that involved a University Housing policy violation. I was charged with violating the University Housing Alcohol 1.2 policy. With my violation, came consequences. I met with The Residence Conduct Coordinator to discuss my actions and came to the conclusion that I would have to schedule a meeting with The Campus Alcohol and Drug Education Center (CADEC) and with that, a reflection paper.

Writing has never been one of my strengths. Even in high school, when I took an AP English literature course, I did not enjoy writing papers if need be. Since I did not fancy writing papers, I never developed a systematic writing process. I would write the paper last minute and pray for an A, but college doesn’t work like that. When I came to college, I placed into music classes first so that I could develop those skills, thus leaving my core classes (including English) on the backburner. Although I do not regret this decision, having a two-year gap between English classes made it difficult to readapt. Instead of spending hours practicing instruments and music theory, I faced the challenging task of shifting gears to spend a majority of my time behind my laptop. How was I supposed to manage this new workload?

There once was a time where I had no expectations on what was to come. Whenever I attempted to picture my future, I couldn’t. I did not know my career goals or any of my hobbies. Fortunately, the summer of 2014 changed everything for me. It was the summer I first volunteered to help with vacation bible school at my church. From that moment on, I had a fresh mindset and new goals. I permanently found an activity I enjoyed doing. Following that summer, I volunteered with VBS the three summers after. I enjoyed engaging with the children so much that I ventured into teaching second and third graders on Wednesday nights. Throughout this journey, I have been greatly inspired. Volunteering with children through my church has transformed me into a better and different person, through strength, career goals, and my faith.

I have never been more vulnerable than at the end of my Junior year of highschool. I was exhausted not because of my work load, but because my best friend was in love with me and I was, for the first time, in a class that openly talked about race. The English class, taught by a black woman, was predominantly white (as was my school) and not only discussed race, but specifically discussed whiteness. For the first few months of my year, I was closed off despite believing I was participating. While the year went on, I realized I had been cruel to my (white) best friend. I had been completely unaware of the harm I was causing until, in December she told me that I didn’t actually listen when people spoke to me. I apologized in January and her forgiveness was something I had never before experienced. Over the last semester of my Junior year, while she reminded me how deeply important love is, I begun to see myself as white. On the last day of my English class, I thought of how hard I had worked the past few months to accept and express love, how I had come to believe that love was the most important thing in the world to possess, and I wondered why I had never known this before. I realized, suddenly, that whiteness can, and has, prevented me from feeling and receiving real, unconditional, and unracialized love. I began to sob. As my whiteness became visible, so did my deficit of love. I realized the comfort I, a white person, felt in isolation, narcissism and apathy enabled me to

The act of reading, writing, and listening to literature for enjoyment has always astounded me. Humans are the most complex animals on Earth, yet literature is still a novelty to some. It might be because of what we learn in school that turns us off from literature, but I may be different. I found a love for poetry and creative writing during my freshman year in high school. It was important for me to project what I could not say outloud, and that is where I felt unified with literature. When I put pen to paper, I felt like life had stopped and I was in the moment. Life became increasingly hard as I went through school, but each time I came back to writing, I felt as if I was drifting away in myself yet still in control. It was hard for me to find a way to cope with my ever changing life. The act of writing helped me tell my story in ways that I could not express to others due to our social expectations. Storytelling is important, for it provides a nessecary outlet in order to cope with life more easily.

Over the summer, I volunteered at my church, North Cleveland Baptist, during Vacation Bible School. This was a special time for several reasons. First, I was helping in a four-year old’s class. Watching them was a lot of fun. There was one girl who knew the Bible stories and it was incredible just how much she knew at such a young age. Being able to share the Bible stories and plant a seed in their lives is a blessing. I can continue to watch most of these kids grow in their faith as they get older. Knowing that you helped to get them to where they are in their relationship with God is such an amazing thing. There is nothing else you could do in a child’s life to make a greater impact. You can teach them many things, but teaching them the love of Christ is the greatest thing you could ever teach them. It is by far the greatest message that could be shared with anyone.

Pencils rolled and minds drifted. Time seemed to pass at least twice as slow as usual when a usually energetic and lively class of fourth graders was brought to steady silence while their teacher droned on about kinetic energy later passing out a reading and worksheet. In the end worksheets ended up half finished and students left the class full of confusion and disinterest. In a later lesson, the class was transformed. The classroom was littered with poster paper, markers, and ideas. The students were finishing up posters explaining kinetic energy based on an experiment done earlier in the unit using a marble and toy car track. The room was filled with a steady stream of chatter that only diminished once the students sat down to watch a video on the effects of kinetic energy on two very different cars: a toy car and an actual car. After observing these two very different lessons and comparing them to others I noticed a distinct pattern. When learning through experiments, projects, and videos the students were not only more engaged, but they appeared to have learned more that they had in the previous lesson. A question was quickly raised on what we should do as teachers if students do not respond well to our lesson plans.

From the first day I could walk my mom started to develop my athletic abilities and attitude. She would play catch with me, kick around a soccer ball, and teach me how to dribble, all at home in her free time. I was exposed to sports quite often because her, my dad, and their friends, played coed volleyball and softball. I additionally have multiple older cousins who she would take me to watch play in high school games. Here I saw not only how the games were played; as well as what a team player and how the correct attitude appears out there on the floor. As soon as I was old enough, she signed me up for recreational sports in a neighboring town. Most of the time those teams end up with coaches who don’t know what they’re doing and my mom was not okay with that. She decided to take it in to her own initiative and coach my team that way she knew I would actually be learning the sports the correct way and making improvements. She coached me in flag football, soccer, basketball, volleyball, and softball. Quite often one of my friend’s parents would help her coach. My mom led some severely successful teams in my childhood. Especially in softball where we won multiple trophies. Sometimes I would become frustrated because it seemed as if she expected more out of me than the other players and I was always getting yelled at; although, now looking back I’m thankful for all the yelling and correcting me that she did because it pushed me to be a better player.

In our everyday lives, we tend to categorize people because of their race, culture, their socioeconomic status, and judge people by their looks, age, ability, and gender. When I was working at a daycare past summer of grade 9, I met one Chinese girl who was around 4-5 years old. One time I witness her classmates making fun of her because she has a asian accent when she talks in English, her eyes are small, her mom works at a restaurant with low pay. Even during break, I would always see her sitting in a corner all alone, while others were having fun. Therefore, I took the courage to talk to her. Throughout the conversation, I realized that she was mad at herself because she has a different race from others, language barrier between her and her classmates and she was ashamed of her mother working at a restaurant because other parents work at a higher pay occupation.

Writing is a tool that will be used throughout my lifetime. It is a tool that is worth taking the time to perfect because it will only be beneficial in the long run. On my writing assignments, I earn A’s, but I still have areas that I need to work on. The areas that I struggle the most would be with simple grammar errors such as the use of commas, writing with an active voice, and writing short,simple sentences. First of all, I often do not know where to place commas in my sentence. I struggle with this because I tend to add commas in the wrong place, so I have become confused with the proper use of commas. This is a small grammar error that I can easily correct by learning where and when commas are needed. I have also found and been told that I write in a passive voice when I should be using an active voice. This is a technique that I have to work on by practicing it and noticing the difference while I am writing and reading. Finally, I often write run on sentences or sentences that include unnecessary information. This makes my writing unclear and difficult for the reader to understand. I could improve by writing shorter and simpler sentences that include only the essential information to get my point across. I have noticed these mistakes in my writing and it has also been brought up by others, so I am currently working on improving it.

Growing up in a Christian home, I was surrounded by people telling me about Jesus and what he for me by dying on the cross and saving me from my sins. Not putting together that it isn’t just about the knowledge of God, but fully believing what His word says. However, in eighth grade I started to see faith differently. That winter, four years ago, the church planned on going to Hume Lake as they do every year. I had gone to this camp multiple times, considered myself saved as a result of knowing bible stories. On one eye-opening night, a speaker explained the difference between knowing the real Jesus with all your heart and not just your head. I felt a tugging in my heart that night and decided to give my life to Christ.

She compared her life to a hurricane, a natural disaster that took everything in its path and destroy any shred of light in her life. Thus, the weeks turned into years of regressive behavior that led her to believe that she was not good enough to truly be herself. She only allowed herself to be her mother’s puppet, an item only used for public occasions, for if she ever became her own self, she would be outcasted. Yet, during those times I recall a shout in the cave of darkness, a murmured voice saying: Carpe Diem. Seize the day. My brother used those words when I was little —he was an extroverted fellow who vocalized whatever he felt because he was confident in whom he was. Nevertheless, I was an introverted, insecure, and self-conscious kid who was silenced by the public because they scared me. Fear ruled my actions. Fear ruled my mind. Fear ruled me; yet, my brother’s words rang a certain alarm in my head when I grew up. Thus, I realized that my individuality was stolen. My silence was bought, and my uniqueness was used as a weapon for society’s cruel expectations. I noticed that the world has so many beliefs, ideas, and aspirations that I wanted my own drum to beat in my own rhythm.

My mother does genology for my family so I know that I am mostly a mix of African, Native American and not enough European to really think about. I look like a normal African-American girl and most people I come in contact with assume the same thing. To define myself without race I would say I am invested in the betterment of other peoples lives and performing in front of an audience. As a black woman I am affected mostly in my major, theatre, because being black is a factor in whether or not I am cast in certain roles. Personally it has been a rollercoaster going to predominately white-schools and still finding a way to love and appreiciate my blackness. I’m reminded of my race daily when I have to mix my foundations to find a shade that isn’t offered or when my theatre professors suggest I do a monologue from “A Raisin in the Sun’ and as of recently when I look at the news I am affected by the fact that the injustice in the world based on race could happen to me or a loved one in a heartbeat.

My mother constantly reminds me of the importance of education. She tells me, “You’re smart because I read books to you everyday you were in my tummy.” I used to laugh and say, “Yeah, I’m sure that’s it” as if I could’ve comprehend the words she was saying at three weeks gestation.

I remember sitting in my first grade classroom and staring at the whiteboard while Mrs. Amen talked. “What if all this church stuff is a lie fooling the world?” I thought and would continue to for a while afterwards. Growing up, I had always assumed I became a Christian when I was 6 years old but now I’m convinced it wasn’t authentic. Everyone else in my church and school was one so I essentially thought, "Why not?" However, I was never convinced of its authenticity, having never felt the presence of the Holy Spirit or the Father’s perfect love. It was in no way my church’s fault but the Holy Spirit waited to show Himself to me. Until then I would tune out every time God being brought up and only saw the Bible as a resource for world history. However, when I was 12, God brought me to my knees and over the years has thoroughly convinced me logically, emotionally, and practically of His existence moreover the Bible.