Reflection Paper Essay

A few weeks go I was standing awkwardly in the commons area of my church. Teenagers surrounded me all of which were avoiding eye contact, absorbed into their phones. “No worries,” I thought, “It’s all good.” Then, I heard a scream, “Mrs. Farmer!” One sweet young lady grabbed a hold of me so tight I could hardly breathe, but I was so grateful. Then, I realized it was one of my students from the first full year of teaching. This young lady came from the most difficult home life, and I could hardly

If there is one thing in life I have learned, it is that I value the idea of staying true to myself through anything. Although life has a tendency of throwing you some curve balls you can’t let them define you. I often ask myself questions about how I am going to spend the day. I hear my many-sided mind reply “however you want” or “I don’t know but make it count.” The reason I label my thoughts as many sided is because I find myself being pulled back towards things I have been seeking to get away

There once was a time where I had no outlook on my life. Whenever I attempted to think about my future, I couldn’t; I didn’t know my future 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 new mindset and new goals. I finally found an activity I enjoyed and that I loved doing. Following that summer, I volunteered with VBS for the summers

Ever since I started going to school, my parents always expected me to perform at an elevated level. Being the only child, it was difficult for me to fulfill their wishes. As I grew up, it became more challenging as I felt like I was always being compared to my cousins for not performing as well as them. First and foremost, having moved from the Philippines to the United States in 2007, everything I know now is mostly self-taught. Parents and I had no knowledge about the Western culture when

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

Growing up I was very independent because my mom died when I was 4 and my dad was never around.Not having parental guidance made me very independent academically. Back then we lived in New Lebanon and I went to Dixie. When I went to Dixie is when I found out I was academically unique. I never really considered it until my 4th grade English teacher Mrs. Guggenbiller brought it up to me. My brother Anthony had Mrs.Guggenbiller and they were very close. He went to her whenever he needed help and talked

Mrs. Anderson is the 5th -grade teacher. She has 25 students, but two of her students disrupt the whole class by arguing and fighting with each other. Zack has a specific learning disability in reading. He likes math and geometry, he is a quiet worker during independent work and likes to stay after school to feed a guinea pig. Patrick enjoys telling funny stories and being limelight. He is an average student, likes sports. According to Mrs. Anderson’s observation, Zack likes to argue with Patrick

To Truly Make a Difference Spanning 169 million square miles, the Earth is composed of countless regions, all of them incredibly different from another. This is especially true of the two places I have been able to call my home: Houston, Texas and Carmel Valley, California. I lived in Houston for twelve years, and while I found myself complaining daily about local characteristics such as weather, traffic, or school, I never knew how taxing it would be to make the transition across the country, from

I remember, when I was in 4th grade, I used to try to write books or stories. When I was younger, I loved to read with my mom. After we would read something, would try to write something similar to the book we had finished. My mom would help me read books like The Magic Tree House by simplifying and slowing everything down for me so I could better understand what was going on and why. Nina Sankovitch, a reader who blogs about what she reads, captures my feelings when she talks about how “I discovered

There I was, standing in the grounds of my school, bound by judgemental onlooking eyes, which studied me for a sign of vulnerability; begging for me to collapse into my self-fabricated darkness. Like a cowardly criminal, I slumped, trembling uncontrollably in the middle of the secluded balcony, where I implored myself to “stop” as I yet again had a crippling anxiety attack which incarcerated my whole body, though this time because my counsellor had called my parents regarding my suicidal ideation