Reflection Paper

“Writing an essay is not difficult! I am actually great at it.” This is a common statement that I would formally say, and even believe. In the past, I had never felt the need to thoroughly revise my essays before. In all my past essays, I would work intensely on my first draft and then just turn the essay in. I never spent too much time re-evaluating my writing decisions before turning it in. This process had worked well for myself in the past, and as a result, each essay I turned it would be an easy “A”. When I signed up for EN100 I figured that it would be just like the other easy English class that I have taken. I assumed that I would work on an essay, turn it in, and then earn an A on it, but this was not the case. When I signed up for EN100 I figured that I could continue my previous essay writing methods, but that was quickly disproven. When I received my first graded essay, I was unsure why I earned anything but an “A” on it. It soon became clear to me that I was going to be required to change the way I formerly wrote my essays and spend more time with correcting them.

Since arriving on campus, I have been asked how I came to Miami several times. Some would say that coming here is destiny, but I disagree. Psalm 139 says that before I was born, “in Your book they all were written, the days fashioned for me, when as yet there were none of them” (NKJV, Psalms 139:16). While there are several main components about which I will write, I keep coming back to the fact that God placed me here.

In school, I used to loathe the icebreakers that involved saying an interesting fact about oneself. I would fumble around and iterate some unoriginal sentiment about my favorite color or animal and leave without actually providing substance about myself. This all changed after I lost the vision in my right eye and could tell people about the three-inch needle that pierces my eye multiple times every year. I thoroughly enjoy watching people squirm as I chuckle and explain the process.

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.

This summer has been quiet a busy time to say the least. Since I recently started a new job, I was unable to partner with an organization for my community engagement project. Instead, I worked with my neighbor, Betty, who is 78 years old woman who has recently transitioned home from a six week stay in a rehabilitation center due to a severe fall that prompted her stay. Betty was discharged after Medicare would no longer cover her stay at the rehabilitation center. When she returned home, she returned to home where her grandson stayed but could not relyed on. Betty was basically on her own at home, unable to walk, care for herself the way she was used to, and felt that her needs were not being met upon her return. The purpose of this paper is to reflect on how my personal involvement has been service oriented, helped her achieve her goal, and ¬¬¬to critically reflect on the integration this course has provided in carrying out this assignment.

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.

Over the course of the semester we have done numerous writing assignments in order to help us dig deeper into topics that we might not have known about previously and to improve our writing skills. I have never been an excellent writer. I’ve had trouble planning out where details would go in my past papers. However, there has been a clear improvement in my writing when looking back on the work that I have done in this class.

I grew up in Greenville, South Carolina. Having had grown up in the south, I was always around people who are more traditional in viewpoints, especially when surrounding the Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transsexual/Transgender, Questioning, and more community. I received my education at a high school where no one hesitated to throw around extremely derogatory terms. Throughout my schooling I had found close friends who had expressed their feelings of not fitting into their biological sex. Every time I heard them talk about their feelings I felt my heart sinking. I knew it was not fair. I found myself constantly feeling their pain. Feeling all their fear, anger, and sadness along with them because I knew that they lived in fear of people finding out who they really were and what their reactions might be. It broke my heart that they were forced into constantly fearing for their safety.

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.

Over the history of this country, many families across the globe have come to the U.S. in hopes of a better life. My family was one of the many that decided to leave our home country and come to the United States. We never realistically imagined coming to America, but when we did, it was a real dream come true. Knowing I was coming to this country as a student was especially exciting for me personally. We were so excited about this new adventure and the opportunities we would have, despite the many challenges that lay ahead. Two of the obstacles I had to overcome, were having to learn a new language, and build new relationships.

Last summer my cousin and I were enjoying a meal with our families in China. It’s been 7 years since I last saw my cousin. We are about the same age and my favorite memory of her was celebrating her 11th birthday. I remember my uncle and aunt sitting to my right and my grandparents sitting to my left singing happy birthday as she blew out her candles. It has been so long I almost couldn’t recognize her when I arrived at the airport 2 weeks prior. My mom receives a call and leaves the room to pick up her phone. She comes back 10 minutes later in tears. She breaks the news to the family and that our trip would be cut short. She was diagnosed with breast cancer. In the following week, we pack up our bags and head out to the airport. She had to start treatment as soon as possible. I knew I would become the man of the house to take care of my mother and brother, who has autism, while my dad worked in New York.

To go along with being an athlete, I am a student. To be able to get playing time, you need to have good grades. My parents didn’t just push me to be a good athlete, but to get good grades. I had higher expectations compared to my brother. But that pushed me to keep my grades up and do get an A on assignments and tests. This impacted who I was and what I decided to value. It was important to my parents that I got good grades, but to me it was too because it helped me get into college and it made me feel good about myself. Being a student, just like being an athlete, teaches me to be diligent in the work that I have in front of me. It also teaches me time management, and what I need to get done compared to going out with my friends.

“Sir, we’d like you to step outside you car so we can search your car.”

A brief overview and background: I went on a mission trip with my church Youth group to a deaf village in Jamaica. While we were there, we built dorm rooms and classrooms for the children living there. The impact that trip had on my life was amazing. It made me realize just how good we have it in the United States of America.When I am hungry or upset and I didn't get the newest trend clothing, I always think back to the children down in Jamaica. They literally have nothing. At the deaf village, all the children are foster kids. Their parents gave them away because they did not want to deal with their disabilities. I have never taken my parents for granted again, because of what we have and the relationships we have in the U.S.are very precious, We are a very blessed nation.

For most students in the public-school system, seeing a private school classroom with under fifteen students in the classroom would be an uncommon sight to them: Since most public-school classes hold up to twenty-five students to one teacher. Although this close interaction between student and teacher greatly shaped me as well as my reading and writing skills today, it did not come without drawbacks when I transferred to a public school for the first time. Highschool was the first time that I attended public school. This is when I discovered just how much personal accountability it would take to stay on top of all the essays and Shakespeare worksheets not to mention the other three teachers that expected I complete their assigned homework