Stereotypes: A Short Story

Racial stereotypes have always been a serious issue in society. The stereotypes impact many aspects of our life. We more or less get carried away by our perceptions toward race, and judge people in a certain frame unconsciously, as Omi set forth in In Living Color: Race and American Culture. Taken by Hilary Swift, this photo presents an African American woman, waiting for a bus that can take her to the Kitchen of Love, a food pantry that located in Philadelphia aiming to feed people suffering from hunger, where she volunteers. It happens in dawn so it’s still dark outside. The surroundings give us an idea that it should take place in a black neighborhood (Stolberg “Black Voters, Aghast at Trump, Find a Place of Food and Comfort”). The woman is staring at the direction where the bus is coming, with a smile on her face. As a photojournalistic image, this photo is aiming to portrait a kind and helpful African American woman, however, does this photo really “positively” portrait an African American woman?

The danger of a single story is that they let the powerful downgrade the weaker because they create stereotypes, they can hurt the people, and no one gets represented from the culture.

The single story is about how a people stereotypes one another based on what they learned through books, media, people, and other sources. For example, Chimamnda announced how she viewed Mexicans as immigrants and them trying to get through the borders, but the moment she stepped foot into Mexico the perspective she got from other sources changed everything. She was ashamed of herself because when she visit the view was completely different because what she saw was happiness, love, and fun. The single story is an image that is created based upon information that was given, but not on your own perspective. In other words, it is the truth to the reality. For example, when people hear of Niagara everyone think of land, poor, Africa, homeless,

With the roadblocks in Callie's adoption it's been a long couple of months, but she was finally getting adopted tomorrow. The whole family couldn't wait for her to officially be a Adams-Foster.

Lux stands there motionless. Mallory and Anastasia run over embracing her. Walking her over to the couch to sit down.

The past was best left in the past. Forgotten and ignored, buried in oblivion, and omitted from the present. That’s how one survives. That’s how one gets from day to day without breaking down in a puddle of mush. It didn’t work to face the problem, to confront it head on with the conception that you could overcome. That was just a fantasy, like fairy tale stories it was unrealistic. I learned the way to survive is by stuffing the invasion of feelings that surface when the bloodcurdling past threatens to suffocate you. If PHDs were awarded for perfecting this talent I would be first on the list to receive one. At least I thought so, at least up until this point it was my greatest ally and friend. But looking into the mirror now trying to focus

“Elders, this is a scan of Katherine Ayla Regan’s brain when she arrived here yesterday. I’d like you to note the unusual activity in the parietal lobe. She tapped the screen, and the parietal lobe became greater. Kat looked at the screen confused. A weird pink light was pulsing across the lobe.

We have the ability to completely block out things and people we are not focused on. They become invisible and we can only see the things that align with what we are focused on.

It was my sisters sixth birthday, and my mom was putting on a birthday party for her, the house was decorated with orange, pink and white streamers, the colors meshed like a beautiful sunset that hung from one corner to the next, with colorful balloons attach to the streamers like a nail in the wall, and as the sun shown through the curtains, the room seemed more lively and happy with every ray that shown through. The atmosphere of today was very fitting for my little sisters happy personality, even though the weight of the news my family received a couple weeks before still lingered, that my Grandma had a severe case of alzheimer's disease my family tried to be strong and happy for Marie, but I saw right through everyone's happy

Once upon a time a beautiful young girl by the name of Anastasia lived in a small village in England with her family. Anastasia was 20 years young and she blossomed with creativity. Anastasia’s physical appearance was very attention getting. She had long, blonde, wavy hair. She had beautiful blue eyes that were as blue as a robins egg. Sometimes when she would walk in town men would stop and stare at her. One time when she was walking to the farmer’s market, a boy on a bicycle was watching her and he ran into a telephone pole! Anastasia did not look for attention but a lot of it was drawn towards her because of her beauty. People would pay close attention to her when she was out and about, but when she was in her hometown people would talk

I was especially bored. I knew it would happen again. Addison was competing in a Glamour Girl pageant, but I had to go. I knew she would win and I was proud of her, but I had to practice the clarinet in my school band. Suddenly the announcer calls out my identical sister, Addison Hand, onstage. She had won $500 plus a 6” tall trophy. Addison and I are exact opposites except for our faces. She is an extrovert and popular and I am an introvert and nerdy. She came off stage acting so surprised that she won. “Great job Addi!” I said running up to her. She ran right past me into the arms of her boyfriend, Brady Anderson. Brady is a cute high school stereotype boy, plays football, gets bs and has the cutest girls in school being his girlfriends.

When I was only a little girl, I had been told that true beauty came from within. Yet as I grew up, I noticed that looks mattered. From their attractiveness, race, age, or gender, anyone’s image was always up for scrutiny. Under those circumstances, I grew up thinking that if people were to judge me based on my appearance, that I should judge them the same way. Though, as I became older, I at some point learned that how a person looked wasn’t always in their range of control. A person simply isn’t born with the choice of picking what they look like, nor are they born with the choice of having a genetic disorder or disease. In that case, I believe that nobody should be defined purely based on what they look like.

Throughout time there has always been differences between countries. Whether those differences are social, political, educational, or even within sport, there always seems to be some sort of conflict with other countries opinions. At that point why do so many countries try to interfere if everyone has a different opinion? Conformity. Everyone wants to rush in and judged if the other seems to be wronged or partake in unfair living. That remains why people tend to try and look at others views because everyone has the right to look at every view they choose. On the other hand, some do not get the right to choose and required to look at a certain thing as the government tells them. That visits how these communist countries are run with the sense

My mother always told me I was a collector of strange friends as I grew up. Mary was one of them. I met her on the first day of freshman year, sandwiched between the brick walls of the high school.

As I walked out of my nine-story apartment complex, I saw an interesting array of faces. Mixed genders, some male, some female, all very different deep down inside. I study their faces, wondering what it'd be like to walk a day in their shoes. Some people are like open books, you can look at their facial expression and instantly guess what their emotions are, yet others are like locked diaries. You can't tell what they're thinking and you'll probably never know. I shake the thought out of my head as I rummage through my pathetic excuse of a handbag, pulling out my most recent bank statement. Thirty-two cents to my name. How do I live like this? My train of thought is lost as my mind ponders elsewhere. Do you think people can tell I'm a broke