Who Is The Same Old Thing Every Day?

It’s been so long since I’ve written here and I’m truly sorry. I’ve decided to stay up late and write tonight while everyone else is asleep. There is no light, so I must use the moonlight from our only window. My hours have been so long at the factory and i just haven’t found spare time. I wake up at 4 six days a week to get to work by 5. Actually, let me rephrase that. I am abruptly woken at 4 by mother so I will make it the factory by 5. It is horrid to be woken at such hours, but I can’t be late. I sympathize for the kids who arrive late because they get the strap from Mrs. Richards. She is the supervisor for my area and is the most cruel, cold hearted woman in London. Whenever she hits kids, she looks as if she gets enjoyment from it and their crying is music to her ears.

I was struggling to remember. Remember why I was working all summer, why I was outside in the hundred degree heat, remember that no matter how upset I felt, I had to nicely listen to my neighbor lecture me about what I was doing wrong with my life.

We stole, robbed and mugged people day in and day out. Life seemed so beautiful at that point. I constantly took out my family and friends for dinners to the fanciest restaurants. I wore expensive clothes from the finest stores in Beverly Hills. No more shopping in Flea markets and looking for bargains. I was living the life I’d always wanted and didn’t have to work so hard in getting it like everybody else.

Feeling thwarted in every effort to set circumstances right, in my life - not between us, becomes intense with patterns and connections. Illuminating my mind, emulating the strings from ballistics in a crime scene, or worse, a schizophrenic’s garage, complete with wall covered newspaper clippings and red marker lines that model no reality but chaos. My connections are evidence based, empirically proven models of physical systems; my subjective realizations were at least based on such arrangements and configurations, architectures and harmonies. Between the visits to the women trying to help me I have assignments. The next two weeks include writing my strengths, progress in the past year, and compliments. One of those is your supportive, wonderful email that doling out strokes for learning proper grammar. That felt

world, to even the job god bless me with that provides for my family; Back in 1988

Two months after mom turned 18 she and dad got married, December 24, 1935. She was a farm wife until the last of her three children was in high school and she was finally able to return to the job market and complete some of those dreams she had as a 16 year old, though there was a 20 some year interruption. The Great Depression changed and reshaped the lives of so many people. Had not that new direction occurred for my mother, I might not have been here to write about her early

“I believe that today is the day you should know how I chose my career” and suddenly everyone's eyes and ears opened up. Mrs. Chavez had abandoned her normal playful tone and opted for a more serious one. I was wearing my red and white summer uniform. It was already about 20 degrees outside and as I gently rubbed my hands against each other, my palms started to sweat. I didn't know what to expect from the story as she began telling it. However, each word she said pulled me in closer and closer.

How is your life different today from what you thought it would be like when you were in your early twenties?

My life wouldn’t be considered normal. My parents were immigrants from Pakistan trying to create a better life for them and their children, and they’re the only ones from their families to move to America. They moved from New York, to Richardson, and lastly to Rockwall, Texas in 2005. I was born in 2000 but when events in my life truly started shaping me was in the summer of 2004.

On her head, she donned a short, black, and slick bob. She cut her hair that way in order to look classy, even only at certain angles. This morning, it was a struggle to keep the stray hairs in place, so she skipped taking a selfie. She had many times proudly called herself ugly in front of her friends, but can't stand the ugliness she was seeing in her reflection. She wanted to be paler, skinnier, taller...

When I matriculated to Oregon State University, I realized how alone I really was, and that my popularity had meant nothing because I had no true connections with people in high school. I did not know how to work for anything because everything seemed to be handed to me. Finally my sophomore year of college, I met Harper, who immediately fit perfectly into my life. I’d never been that close to someone before, we did everything together. As I sat on the bus thinking about her my stomach began to contract violently and I masticated on one of my apple slices to try to calm it. Senior year Harper and I had decided to go to a big party for Halloween in Portland. Half way through the night Harper came up to me crying and insisted for me to drive her home, refusing to tell me why. I agreed because the party wasn’t that great anyway, but we got in a huge fight over why she wasn’t being honest with me or telling me what had happened. I had turned my head to look at her just for a moment, her red hair cascading around her shoulders, her eyes filled with

In the past week I have gone from being displayed before an audience like an animal, had all my money stolen from me and left for dead by the one person I could trust, and been picked up from nothing to being assisted by a gracious doctor named Frederick Treves who I met when he saved me in Belgaum. Only a few weeks ago I almost thought I could be independent from the freakshow. All those people who would walk by they would all see my differently. Some would laugh, others scream, and some cry, but never once was a treated like a person. It was so hard to do that to myself for so long but I knew even if I could find something I was physically able to do I would never be employed because of how I look. Even if I did find a job somewhere like

I’d shrunk from a waist of 36 to a 32 and sprouted from 5’4 in height to 5’10 which was taller than most boys in my grade. I still wasn't ripped like the Hollister models, but I began to grow in self-confidence which was the importance of the my journey through school . I began to care less about what others possessed that I didn't and spent more time appreciating what I naturally had all along. I can't swim, but I'm a good long distance runner. I’m not the best athlete, but I have a 4.0 GPA. Also I don't have the most expensive material to wear, but I have a keen sense of fashion that sets trends from the simplicity of thrift stores. I suppose my newly discovered confidence proved to be a success, because shortly after my realization a nice young lady felt compelled to be my girlfriend. After some sessions of texting, it became an offer I couldn't decline. In the midst of understanding myself, I began to think of the quote my grandmother use to recite by Malcolm S. Forbes which stated,“Too many people overvalue what they are not and undervalue what they are.” when I decided to place less value upon what I wasn't and appreciate what I was. I found out I wasn't missing anything all

She is nineteen, pretty, and has a one month paid scholarship for Ladies Day magazine in New York City. Everyday she is showered in expensive gifts and taken out to expensive lunches. On the outside is perfect, but on the inside she is slowly losing control. On one of the first pages on the book she says, “I knew there was something wrong with me that summer,” (Plath 2). Her downfall is beginning, and she does not completely know it yet.

I was born in Santa Ana California in 1951. I was the second of seven children. From a very young age I was my mother’s babysitter and helper. With each one of my mother pregnancys I took on more of my mothers house work. By the time I was in my junior year at high school I was cooking meals and washing the clothes every night and hanging them out, then removed them when I got home from school and start all over again.