What Makes You Me?

“Right is right. I will not murder but I am walking out with the orbs. You are defeated.”

She smiled. “The book you brought me helped me realize who I am, and how much I hate Nova,” she said, angrily. Ash started laughing. “What? I thought Nova was your enemy too,” she said, confused.

Through the means of her own experiences, Jill McCorkle uses Her Chee-to Heart to express the happiness that many get from padding their faces with junk food. To convince readers truly of this level of happiness, McCorkle uses an extraordinarily visceral form of writing, and sends readers on a gluttonous expedition, making them crave for almost every single food that she so zealously describes and mentions. McCorkle starts her piece of literature off with her “perfect day”, describing the mannerisms of every food she would indulge in, to intentionally provoke an unhealthy yearning for fatty foods. Then, she spends the next few pages continually alluring the readers’ ravenous stomachs, by establishing a certain type of zest. Readers become hungrier

“I don’t care,” you hissed, bristling like a cornered cat. “I’d rather leave than have to look at you, and I bet you want me gone, anyway!”

Ecstasy, I am in pure ecstasy just at the wild idea of opening the crinkly, smooth red wrapper of the kit kat bar. I feel imprudent at the thought of the crisp wafers and milky sweet chocolate on the tip of my tongue. I know that I should abandon temptation, not to put the sugary, divine goodness into my salivating mouth. But I yearn for just a taste, just a taste of the enticing treat, just a taste of delectable heaven resting on a cloud in my mouth. I give in, the first heart throbbing bite is too much to handle, for I am on a wild chocolatey milky way soaring through a galaxy of all exquisite processed ingredients in my kit kat. I lose all other thoughts, I am in pure euphoria, the crunch of the disintegrating wafer mixed in a sweet romance

The fluorescent lights bounced off the clear plastic of the cake tin. I smile looking at the soft buttercream swirls on the top of the delicious treat.. Slowly I unhinge the cake’s cove hearing the soft snaps of the plastic separating from the base. “Pop, pop, pop” the top comes off. As I release the cake from the covering an overwhelming scent of chocolate fills the air. It was as if I had just opened the door to the Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory. I look down at the cake to see the smooth brown buttercream spread in an even layer all across the top and sides of the cake, The drips of hardened dark chocolate flowing down the sides of the cake. Each slice is marked out neatly with a small, shallow indent in the frosting with a hard candy

I can’t be that hungry. I think to myself and roll my eyes. My stomach starts to growl. Hush, I guess I am that hungry. I need to find something, but nothing is really hitting the spot. I lean down and create a snowball…no, correction, an ice cream scoop in my hand. As I follow the cookie path eating my vanilla ice cream my stomach continues to growl. This just isn’t what I’m craving. Vanilla is the classic choice, but it’s too plain. I reach the apex of the trail and I can see hundreds of flavors dotting the landscape like a Monet painting. The trail takes me to birthday cake, which is just too colorful for me. Next to cookies and cream, which is a nice balance of both flavors in every bite, but I’m not that structured. Then I walk through coffee ice cream without even trying it since it has always been too much of an adult flavor for me. I’m coming to my wits’ end as I stroll through lychee, too exotic for me, and the other myriad of different tastes which aren’t quite right for me. I throw my hands in exhaustion and fall back onto the ground. After all of this searching, I haven’t found what fits me. It shouldn’t be this hard. These thought circling around my mind make me oblivious to the fact that I am slowly sinking into the ground. Once I realize this I start to struggle and fight back only to matters worse as I become engulfed by a fluffy, white mass. I taste my attacker. It’s marshmallow. My foot slowly hits something more solid, an

The steam from the pots rose to the top of the military tents, and Milton Hershey tried to keep the hot air from causing his hair to flair upwards. He tried to remember his life five years ago, when he was doing something he truly loved. Although, he supposes cooking is the next best thing, even if he isn’t making confectionaries like he did when he was a child. Despite his family’s bakery and sweets business, Milton Hershey had always had other plans in his life. While his father had a natural talent for making his sweets and never used a standard recipe, Milton Hershey was different. He liked to be precise when helping his father out, and he took note of the different combinations of chocolate and their colors and flavors. His parents don’t

The two categories that have made me who I am as a person were my religion and my family influence. Growing up in a Christian based household has shaped me as a person since the ten commandments have helped guide my life. My family has really shaped who I am, my parents have always taught me right from wrong and have helped become the good person I am today. That’s why both of these categories are rated as 30% because they both have equally influenced me to be who I am today and have helped get to where I am today.

My perspective of the world began to greatly alter once I began traveling to a great amount of countries. I began to understand the true cost of the possessions I owned when I traveled to those that were small and impoverished. I watched as those living in the area would do anything legal or illegal to obtain what they had seen as valuable. In result, this experience forced me into the realization that everything I had owned prior had been worked or struggled for by someone important to me. This forged a certain personal trait that has allowed me many achievements in my life. This personal trait has allowed me to achieve many academic awards and has allowed me to participate in many important events, such as personal training and clubs. This personal trait has also allowed me the strength and dedication to pursue an active roll in my learning environment. I have grown to experience the difficulties that were left by

This was the very first morning that I had decided to make pancaked on my own, and I can still remember the nervous excitement that occurred in my stomach. Mentally I prepared myself for the first pancake to have been poured into the pan. I reached for the batter and gave it a gentle stir with the ladle. With all my focus being strained on the pancake batter while it oozed around in the pan in an off circular shape. Bubbles began to surface slowly, and that’s when I had come to realize the significance of this pancake in my life, and how I was finally introduced into adulthood.

He walked back to his desk muttering about his wasted life. I don’t blame him, his job must really suck. Teaching moody teenagers all day then grading their obviously plagiarised assignments. And getting substandard pay must really suck. Teachers really don’t get enough recognition. Then the bell for next period, which was English with my friend Grace. We got test results back. “How come your grades are always so high?” I said to Grace. “Because I never procrastinate and spend my time wisely. Unlike you...” She squirmed over my desk to see a D. “You really have to get going on the assignment, its due in a week. C’mon. You’ll work with me in the library.” Grace whispered. She has no idea about the struggles I have with doing school work. I couldn’t tell anyone because they would just say don’t be ridiculous, everyone has to do them. In the library, Grace gaped at my assignment. “You didn’t do anything?! Look Johanna, you have get going on your assignment. Or you’ll be panicking on the day before its due.” I already do that. “Don’t worry Grace. I have plenty of time to do this assignment.” I grinned and opened up my history

Having been homeschooled for the first twelve years of my life, I had a rather untraditional childhood. While my friends were required to go to school from 6:20 in the morning to 3:30 in the afternoon, I was at home studying or on a field trip to a relevant lecture or museum. Incidentally, this less rigid environment also gave me the opportunity to freely explore my own interests. Following my curiosity, I realized that the pursuit of literature was one of the most compel-ling paths I could follow. As a result, I quickly developed a fondness for reading by the age of eight. Alternatively, my desire to read also inspired me to take up writing as a semi-serious hob-by. Despite all my passion, I never took the time to learn any particular writing style besides advanced placement essay format. Instead, I developed my own through imitation and experimentation.

What is it that makes us who we are? Is it how we were raised? Is it the specific time and location in space during our birth? Or is it by mere choice alone in every moment that makes us who we are at that moment, ever-changing? I could tell you that they are all are true. And I could also tell you that they are all false. And guess what, both statements would be correct. Here’s another shocker, truth is relative. You can turn something from an untruth into a truth and vise versa all with the power of belief, thought, and faith. If you truly believe with all of your heart that you are a product of your upbringing and nothing more, then you have made that true. You’ve also chosen to be a victim of your past but hey if that’s the truth you want you got it. Now if you believe that your upbringing is the past and nothing more, and that you choose moment by moment who you are, then that is true. Truth is based on your reality. And your reality is based on your thoughts and beliefs. There is no set reality. There are no set truths. Reality, just like truth, is relative to the being who perceives it. Now personally I have chosen not to be a victim of my past for that is all that it is, the past. And the past, just like the future, exists only in our minds. Without your mind, without you remembering the past or dreaming of future possibilities, there is no past and there is no future. There is only NOW. The universe has no concept of past or future. It only

After a few moments of silence, a time in which we let that thought sink into our heads, my older brother Michael broke the silence and said, “But seriously guys, let’s be honest. The funnel cake was the best.” Sounds of agreement followed this statement. I remembered the taste of the sweet, crunchy dessert, how it had seemed to melt in my mouth like cotton candy. Judging by the faces of my