How can peace be obtained through violence
When violence is what repels peace?
“Violence is not the answer,” they say
But what is the answer
Why isn’t it heard
Why do we try to obtain it with violence?
War- “the event of violence to excuse inhumanity and murder”
To what extent can humans withstand war-
Is it when they
Turn on the TV and see recent reports on the war
Read magazines and newspapers about soldiers that have not survived
Hear about a funeral for a lieutenant
Or
Answer the door to two captains, dressed in full uniform, handing you a dog tag
You feel the cold metal rush through your body as though death was circling in the chain and waiting to enter your heart and mind
What is the price they are willing to pay
When will it be enough-
Fifty thousand, one million, ten million
How many men must die before peace is gained?
What is their definition of peace?
How can they believe that men have to die in order to achieve peace-
When peace cannot be achieved through violence, but living in
Serenity and
Unification and
Love.
Monday, December 1, 2008
Sunday, November 23, 2008
WA 3- Draft 1
How can peace be obtained through violence
When violence is what repels peace?
“Violence is not the answer,” they say
But what is the answer
Why isn’t it heard
Why do we try to obtain it with violence?
War- “the event of violence to excuse inhumanity and murder”
To what extent can humans withstand war-
Is it when they
Turn on the TV and see recent reports on the war
Read magazines and newspapers about soldiers that have not survived
Hear about a funeral for a lieutenant
Or
Answer the door to two captains, dressed in full uniform, handing you a dog tag
You feel the cold metal rush through your body as though death was circling in the chain and waiting to enter your heart and mind
What is the price they are willing to pay
When will it be enough-
Fifty thousand, one million, ten million
How many men must die before peace is gained?
What is their definition of peace?
How can they believe that men have to die in order to achieve peace-
When peace cannot be achieved through violence, but living in
Serenity and
Unification and
Love.
When violence is what repels peace?
“Violence is not the answer,” they say
But what is the answer
Why isn’t it heard
Why do we try to obtain it with violence?
War- “the event of violence to excuse inhumanity and murder”
To what extent can humans withstand war-
Is it when they
Turn on the TV and see recent reports on the war
Read magazines and newspapers about soldiers that have not survived
Hear about a funeral for a lieutenant
Or
Answer the door to two captains, dressed in full uniform, handing you a dog tag
You feel the cold metal rush through your body as though death was circling in the chain and waiting to enter your heart and mind
What is the price they are willing to pay
When will it be enough-
Fifty thousand, one million, ten million
How many men must die before peace is gained?
What is their definition of peace?
How can they believe that men have to die in order to achieve peace-
When peace cannot be achieved through violence, but living in
Serenity and
Unification and
Love.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
WA 2- Final Draft
She raised her arms over her head while pacing across the cold tile floor. The light in the far right corner flickered in accordance to her rapid heartbeat.
“What kind of person do they think I am?” she whispered to herself. She looked up at the mirror. Surely it was a two-way she wasn’t born yesterday. She walked over to the middle of the room and kicked the cold metal table while dumping herself in the armless chair. Across the table sat another chair, but it soon would have company. She looked at her watch.
“I’ve been in here for hours,” she thought. “They probably think I’m a crazy person,” she said under her breath. She glanced at the lonely chair, “Do you think I’m crazy? - Wait, what am I doing…I’m talking to a…a chair. Why shouldn’t they think I’m nut job? - Wait, they shouldn’t because I’m not. Because I wouldn’t do that to someone. And they can’t prove it either. I’m innocent.”
She had to calm down, because if she didn’t, then she might say or do something that could cause her life to have an unpleasant ending. She closed her eyes and wedged her clasped hands between her legs. When she felt her senses becoming reasonable again, she opened her eyes and stared blankly at the smooth silver table. BAM! Her hands smacked the top of the table and she began bawl. Her grip loosened and her sweaty palms slid toward the edge of the table, leaving behind a faint impression of fingers outlined by fog. She was on the verge of loosing all hope.
Through her glassy vision she studied the walls, counting the rectangular cinder blocks by rows then by columns. She had to find something to do to keep her mind from having irrational thoughts. As she came around the room the next block she counted was right next to the door. She thought about the concept of a door. “You can enter or leave rooms using doors,” she considered. At that moment she realized that the use of doors were precious to many people, because it represents freedom, being able to walk in or out. “People who have a jail sentence for life don’t have doors,” she sadly figured. She continued counting cinder blocks, “five, six, seven”- but she paused. The door handle began to turn the door as well as her stomach. “This is it,” she sickly thought.
A man walked in the room and quickly sat in the lonely chair. For the longest time, he read and studied her file that was easily sitting in his hands. “Like my life,” she thought as she let out a silent sigh. She was waiting on pins and needles- no, knives and daggers. It was the most menacing moment she had experienced in her life. All she wanted was for the man to say was that she could go home, and there would be no charges. As much as she had hoped for it would be that simple, she could tell from the expression on his face that it wasn’t going to be.
“Miss Thompson,” he spoke in a dry voice. “Yes???” she said. He took his hat off and placed it on the table. He rubbed his spiky, short hair, and then ventured down toward his beard.
He looked up to speak to her, “Miss Thompson, you are under the arrest for the murder of Sergeant William M. Johnson. You have the right to an attorney, but frankly, it wouldn’t do you any good.” She knew what he meant by that. Even though she had accidentally caused the fender bender, she wasn’t the one to finish off the Sergeant. The man in the room was the officer who came to the scene of the accident when she called 9-1-1. He knew who had killed the Sergeant, and he knew it wasn’t her. He also knew that nobody would believe this girl if she tried to tell the truth. But most of all, he knew how to frame her.
“What kind of person do they think I am?” she whispered to herself. She looked up at the mirror. Surely it was a two-way she wasn’t born yesterday. She walked over to the middle of the room and kicked the cold metal table while dumping herself in the armless chair. Across the table sat another chair, but it soon would have company. She looked at her watch.
“I’ve been in here for hours,” she thought. “They probably think I’m a crazy person,” she said under her breath. She glanced at the lonely chair, “Do you think I’m crazy? - Wait, what am I doing…I’m talking to a…a chair. Why shouldn’t they think I’m nut job? - Wait, they shouldn’t because I’m not. Because I wouldn’t do that to someone. And they can’t prove it either. I’m innocent.”
She had to calm down, because if she didn’t, then she might say or do something that could cause her life to have an unpleasant ending. She closed her eyes and wedged her clasped hands between her legs. When she felt her senses becoming reasonable again, she opened her eyes and stared blankly at the smooth silver table. BAM! Her hands smacked the top of the table and she began bawl. Her grip loosened and her sweaty palms slid toward the edge of the table, leaving behind a faint impression of fingers outlined by fog. She was on the verge of loosing all hope.
Through her glassy vision she studied the walls, counting the rectangular cinder blocks by rows then by columns. She had to find something to do to keep her mind from having irrational thoughts. As she came around the room the next block she counted was right next to the door. She thought about the concept of a door. “You can enter or leave rooms using doors,” she considered. At that moment she realized that the use of doors were precious to many people, because it represents freedom, being able to walk in or out. “People who have a jail sentence for life don’t have doors,” she sadly figured. She continued counting cinder blocks, “five, six, seven”- but she paused. The door handle began to turn the door as well as her stomach. “This is it,” she sickly thought.
A man walked in the room and quickly sat in the lonely chair. For the longest time, he read and studied her file that was easily sitting in his hands. “Like my life,” she thought as she let out a silent sigh. She was waiting on pins and needles- no, knives and daggers. It was the most menacing moment she had experienced in her life. All she wanted was for the man to say was that she could go home, and there would be no charges. As much as she had hoped for it would be that simple, she could tell from the expression on his face that it wasn’t going to be.
“Miss Thompson,” he spoke in a dry voice. “Yes???” she said. He took his hat off and placed it on the table. He rubbed his spiky, short hair, and then ventured down toward his beard.
He looked up to speak to her, “Miss Thompson, you are under the arrest for the murder of Sergeant William M. Johnson. You have the right to an attorney, but frankly, it wouldn’t do you any good.” She knew what he meant by that. Even though she had accidentally caused the fender bender, she wasn’t the one to finish off the Sergeant. The man in the room was the officer who came to the scene of the accident when she called 9-1-1. He knew who had killed the Sergeant, and he knew it wasn’t her. He also knew that nobody would believe this girl if she tried to tell the truth. But most of all, he knew how to frame her.
Monday, October 20, 2008
WA 2- Draft 2
She raised her arms over her head while pacing across the cold tile floor. The light in the far right corner flickered in accordance to her rapid heartbeat. “What kind of person do they think I am?” she whispered to herself. She looked up at the mirror. Of course it was two-way, she’d seen all of those shows with them. She walked over to the middle of the room and kicked the cold metal table while dumping herself in the armless chair. Across the table sat another chair, but it soon would have company. She looked at her watch. “I’ve been in here for hours,” she thought. “They probably think I’m a crazy person,” she said under her breath. She glanced at the lonely chair, “Do you think I’m crazy? - Wait, what am I doing…I’m talking to a…a chair. Why shouldn’t they think I’m nut job? - Wait, they shouldn’t because I’m not. Because I wouldn’t do that to someone. And they can’t prove it either. I’m innocent.” She had to calm down, because if she didn’t, then she might say or do something that could cause her life to have an unpleasant ending. She closed her eyes and wedged her clasped hands between her legs. When she felt her senses becoming reasonable again, she opened her eyes and stared blankly at the smooth silver table. BAM! Her hands smacked the top of the table and she began bawl. Her grip loosened and her sweaty palms slid toward the edge of the table, leaving behind a faint impression of fingers outlined by fog. She was on the verge of loosing all hope.
Through her glassy vision she studied the walls, counting the rectangular cinder blocks by rows then by columns. She had to find something to do to keep her mind from having irrational thoughts. As she came around the room the next block she counted was right next to the door. She thought about the concept of a door. “You can enter or leave rooms using doors,” she considered. At that moment she realized that the use of doors were precious to many people, because it represents freedom, being able to walk in or out. “People who have a jail sentence for life don’t have doors,” she sadly figured. She continued counting cinder blocks, “five, six, seven”- but she paused. The door handle began to turn her stomach as well as the door. “This is it,” she sickly thought.
A man walked in the room and quickly sat in the lonely chair. For the longest time, he read and studied her file that was easily sitting in his hands. “Like my life,” she thought as she let out a silent sigh. She was waiting on pins and needles- no, knives and daggers. It was the most menacing moment she had experienced in her life. All she wanted was for the man to say was that she could go home, and there would be no charges. As much as she had hoped for it would be that simple, she could tell from the expression on his face that it wasn’t going to be. “Miss Thompson,” he spoke in a dry voice. “Yes???” she said. He took his hat off and placed it on the table. He rubbed his spiky, short hair, and then ventured down toward his beard. He looked up to speak to her, “Miss Thompson, you are under the arrest for the murder of Sergeant William M. Johnson. You have the right to an attorney, but frankly, it wouldn’t do you any good.” She knew what he meant by that. Even though she had accidentally caused the fender bender, she wasn’t the one to finish off the Sergeant. The man in the room was the officer who came to the scene of the accident when she called 9-1-1. He knew who had killed the Sergeant, and he knew it wasn’t her. He also knew that nobody would believe this girl if she tried to tell the truth. But most of all, he knew how to frame her.
Through her glassy vision she studied the walls, counting the rectangular cinder blocks by rows then by columns. She had to find something to do to keep her mind from having irrational thoughts. As she came around the room the next block she counted was right next to the door. She thought about the concept of a door. “You can enter or leave rooms using doors,” she considered. At that moment she realized that the use of doors were precious to many people, because it represents freedom, being able to walk in or out. “People who have a jail sentence for life don’t have doors,” she sadly figured. She continued counting cinder blocks, “five, six, seven”- but she paused. The door handle began to turn her stomach as well as the door. “This is it,” she sickly thought.
A man walked in the room and quickly sat in the lonely chair. For the longest time, he read and studied her file that was easily sitting in his hands. “Like my life,” she thought as she let out a silent sigh. She was waiting on pins and needles- no, knives and daggers. It was the most menacing moment she had experienced in her life. All she wanted was for the man to say was that she could go home, and there would be no charges. As much as she had hoped for it would be that simple, she could tell from the expression on his face that it wasn’t going to be. “Miss Thompson,” he spoke in a dry voice. “Yes???” she said. He took his hat off and placed it on the table. He rubbed his spiky, short hair, and then ventured down toward his beard. He looked up to speak to her, “Miss Thompson, you are under the arrest for the murder of Sergeant William M. Johnson. You have the right to an attorney, but frankly, it wouldn’t do you any good.” She knew what he meant by that. Even though she had accidentally caused the fender bender, she wasn’t the one to finish off the Sergeant. The man in the room was the officer who came to the scene of the accident when she called 9-1-1. He knew who had killed the Sergeant, and he knew it wasn’t her. He also knew that nobody would believe this girl if she tried to tell the truth. But most of all, he knew how to frame her.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
WA-2 Draft 1
She raised her arms over her head while pacing across the cold tile floor. The light in the far right corner flickered in accordance to her rapid heartbeat. “What kind of person do they think I am?” she whispered to herself. She looked up at the mirror. Of course it was two-way, she’d seen all of those shows with them. She walked over to the middle of the room and kicked the cold metal table while dumping herself in the armless chair. Across the table sat another chair, but it soon would have company. She looked at her watch. “I’ve been in here for hours,” she thought. “They probably think I’m a crazy person,” she said under her breath. She glanced at the lonely chair, “Do you think I’m crazy? - Wait, what am I doing…I’m talking to a…a chair. Why shouldn’t they think I’m nut job? - Wait, they shouldn’t because I’m not. Because I wouldn’t do that to someone. And they can’t prove it either. I’m innocent.” She had to calm down, because if she didn’t, then she might say or do something that could cause her life to have an unpleasant ending. She closed her eyes and wedged her clasped hands between her legs. When she felt her senses becoming reasonable again, she opened her eyes and stared blankly at the smooth silver table. BAM! Her hands smacked the top of the table and she began bawl. Her grip loosened and her sweaty palms slid toward the edge of the table, leaving behind a faint impression of fingers outlined by fog. She was on the verge of loosing all hope. Through her glassy vision she studied the walls, counting the rectangular cinder blocks by rows then by columns. She had to find something to do to keep her mind from having irrational thoughts. As she came around the room the next block she counted was right next to the door. She thought about the concept of a door. “You can enter or leave rooms using doors,” she considered. At that moment she realized that the use of doors were precious to many people, because it represents freedom, being able to walk in or out. “People who have a jail sentence for life don’t have doors,” she sadly figured. She continued counting cinder blocks, “five, six, seven”- but she paused. The door handle began to turn her stomach as well as the door. “This is it,” she sickly thought. A man walked in the room and quickly sat in the lonely chair. For the longest time, he read and studied her file that was easily sitting in his hands. “Like my life,” she thought as she let out a silent sigh. She was waiting on pins and needles- no, knives and daggers. It was the most menacing moment she had experienced in her life. All she wanted was for the man to say was that she could go home, and there would be no charges. As much as she had hoped for it would be that simple, she could tell from the expression on his face that it wasn’t going to be. “Miss Thompson,” he spoke in a dry voice. “Yes???” she said. He took his hat off and placed it on the table. He rubbed his spiky, short hair, and then ventured down toward his beard. He looked up to speak to her, “Miss Thompson, you are under the arrest for the murder of Sergeant William M. Johnson. You have the right to an attorney, but frankly, it wouldn’t do you any good.” She knew what he meant by that. Even though she had accidentally caused the fender bender, she wasn’t the one to finish off the Sergeant. The man in the room was the officer who came to the scene of the accident when she called 9-1-1. He knew who had killed the Sergeant, and he knew it wasn’t her. He also knew that nobody would believe this girl if she tried to tell the truth. But most of all, he knew how to frame her.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
WA-1 Final Draft
Last fall I had the opportunity to go to Italy for a week with my dad on his business trip. We traveled to Taromina, Sicily, and Rome during that time. I had always wanted to travel, especially out of this country. I can remember the day when my dad whispered in my ear, “Do you want to go to Italy with me?” It was a late Saturday morning and of course I was sleeping in. But, I was enough awake that I could hear what he said. You’d think that I’d jump right out of bed and start packing, but I was extremely hesitant.
I was still half asleep when thousands of thoughts started racing through my head, “What if I get sick right before we leave, or while I’m there?”, “I hate airports”, “What if I get food poisoning?”, “What if I get lost?”, “What if some creep talks to me or tries to take my cash?”. I felt so stressed already and I hadn’t even gotten my passport or plane ticket. Stressed and obligated. I couldn’t say no, what idiot would pass up an offer like this? So what to do? I figured that I’d think of something after a little more sleep.
I decided that I needed a passport anyway, for future trips with my family or the school orchestra. So the same day that my dad introduced this idea to me, was the same day I went to the Post Office to receive my passport. It was definitely an idiotic idea to go to the Post Office on a Saturday because that is when it really gets crowded. And it was crowded, as in waiting in line for two hours crowded. But while I was waiting, I went into a deep train of thought about Italy. I pictured myself gazing up in the Sistine Chapel, trying to speak to someone with my unpracticed Italian, eating the most mouth watering gelato, buying knick knacks from street vendors, visiting local churches, and going into unaffordable designer stores and pretending to buy something. In that moment, I made up my mind. I wanted to live those thoughts. Later I received my passport in the mail and my dad bought the extra plane tickets. When both of those tasks were completed, everything became real. I was definitely going to be in another country in a few weeks.
The night before takeoff, I was sweating bullets. I had never felt so nervous or anxious about anything ever in my life. “I’m going to forget something!” kept flashing before my eyes. I thought, just wait until morning, that’s when I will really need the antacids. But surprisingly, the only emotion I felt was sadness, because I had never left home for more than a weekend. It wasn’t a homesick feeling, but one of being plucked out of my natural environment and put into one whose language I didn’t even know. But I just sucked it up, kissed my mom goodbye, wiped away my tear and went into the airport to await my plane. When walking into the room of security, I thought that I would be beeped and sniffed and scanned for hours. But that thought disappeared within one minute when my dad said, “Leah, aren’t you coming”? The scanning took about 30 seconds and apparently I didn’t need to be sniffed or beeped. We reached the waiting room and stayed there for only an hour. Luckily to sooth my boredom, my dad whipped out his MacBook and I took over creating a jam on GarageBand.
From the time that I ran through the airplane tunnel to get onto the airplane to the time I stepped off onto Italian grounds, my heart was filled with much more than relief. I was incredibly energized and enthusiastic because I would soon discover things that I hadn’t even dreamt of. I wanted so badly for that bus to take my dad and I away to our five-star hotel. It was amazing enough that we were in this country, but to be apart of this kind of royal treatment, just blew me away. I felt like my heart was trying to rip through my chest with excitement. Finally we were on the bus with my dad’s other colleagues and were headed toward our hotel in Taromina. Luckily I didn’t puke my guts out because the driver had too much fun dodging traffic in a one-way area. To add to my nausea, we were driving in curves around these small mountains and hills. Just before opening the window to relieve myself, the building became present. My hotel get-away.
I ran straight off the bus, into the lobby, and was so awestruck by the interior of this room I just floated back on the most comfortable chair and starred literally with my mouth open. I thought, “ This is just the lobby, what could my room possibly look like?” I was filled with so much anticipation of this new place. My dad and I took the luggage up to the room and I ran to my bed and laid there in disbelief. This room looked as though it was cut from a section of the lobby and placed in this very spot. I walked over to the tall doors to the balcony and opened them in high spirits. I looked over the edge. The most beautiful landscape that flowed with a deep blue ocean scattered with rocky hills and vegetation filled my eyes. The swift breeze made the hairs of my arms stand up, and created a chill of warmth throughout my body. I sought to see more of this magnificence in the town. I hadn’t slept in a day, yet I felt this overpowering energy come over me when I realized that I could explore this area whenever I wanted, even without my dad. I was ready to see the unseen and I was definitely set to relax in this resort-like hotel. I felt a compelling vibe to experience this new culture and environment.
I was still half asleep when thousands of thoughts started racing through my head, “What if I get sick right before we leave, or while I’m there?”, “I hate airports”, “What if I get food poisoning?”, “What if I get lost?”, “What if some creep talks to me or tries to take my cash?”. I felt so stressed already and I hadn’t even gotten my passport or plane ticket. Stressed and obligated. I couldn’t say no, what idiot would pass up an offer like this? So what to do? I figured that I’d think of something after a little more sleep.
I decided that I needed a passport anyway, for future trips with my family or the school orchestra. So the same day that my dad introduced this idea to me, was the same day I went to the Post Office to receive my passport. It was definitely an idiotic idea to go to the Post Office on a Saturday because that is when it really gets crowded. And it was crowded, as in waiting in line for two hours crowded. But while I was waiting, I went into a deep train of thought about Italy. I pictured myself gazing up in the Sistine Chapel, trying to speak to someone with my unpracticed Italian, eating the most mouth watering gelato, buying knick knacks from street vendors, visiting local churches, and going into unaffordable designer stores and pretending to buy something. In that moment, I made up my mind. I wanted to live those thoughts. Later I received my passport in the mail and my dad bought the extra plane tickets. When both of those tasks were completed, everything became real. I was definitely going to be in another country in a few weeks.
The night before takeoff, I was sweating bullets. I had never felt so nervous or anxious about anything ever in my life. “I’m going to forget something!” kept flashing before my eyes. I thought, just wait until morning, that’s when I will really need the antacids. But surprisingly, the only emotion I felt was sadness, because I had never left home for more than a weekend. It wasn’t a homesick feeling, but one of being plucked out of my natural environment and put into one whose language I didn’t even know. But I just sucked it up, kissed my mom goodbye, wiped away my tear and went into the airport to await my plane. When walking into the room of security, I thought that I would be beeped and sniffed and scanned for hours. But that thought disappeared within one minute when my dad said, “Leah, aren’t you coming”? The scanning took about 30 seconds and apparently I didn’t need to be sniffed or beeped. We reached the waiting room and stayed there for only an hour. Luckily to sooth my boredom, my dad whipped out his MacBook and I took over creating a jam on GarageBand.
From the time that I ran through the airplane tunnel to get onto the airplane to the time I stepped off onto Italian grounds, my heart was filled with much more than relief. I was incredibly energized and enthusiastic because I would soon discover things that I hadn’t even dreamt of. I wanted so badly for that bus to take my dad and I away to our five-star hotel. It was amazing enough that we were in this country, but to be apart of this kind of royal treatment, just blew me away. I felt like my heart was trying to rip through my chest with excitement. Finally we were on the bus with my dad’s other colleagues and were headed toward our hotel in Taromina. Luckily I didn’t puke my guts out because the driver had too much fun dodging traffic in a one-way area. To add to my nausea, we were driving in curves around these small mountains and hills. Just before opening the window to relieve myself, the building became present. My hotel get-away.
I ran straight off the bus, into the lobby, and was so awestruck by the interior of this room I just floated back on the most comfortable chair and starred literally with my mouth open. I thought, “ This is just the lobby, what could my room possibly look like?” I was filled with so much anticipation of this new place. My dad and I took the luggage up to the room and I ran to my bed and laid there in disbelief. This room looked as though it was cut from a section of the lobby and placed in this very spot. I walked over to the tall doors to the balcony and opened them in high spirits. I looked over the edge. The most beautiful landscape that flowed with a deep blue ocean scattered with rocky hills and vegetation filled my eyes. The swift breeze made the hairs of my arms stand up, and created a chill of warmth throughout my body. I sought to see more of this magnificence in the town. I hadn’t slept in a day, yet I felt this overpowering energy come over me when I realized that I could explore this area whenever I wanted, even without my dad. I was ready to see the unseen and I was definitely set to relax in this resort-like hotel. I felt a compelling vibe to experience this new culture and environment.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
WA-1 Draft 2
WA-1 Draft 2 Emotional Release Essay: By Leah Paschal
Last fall I had the opportunity of going to Italy with my dad on his business trip. I had always wanted to travel, especially out of this country. I can remember the day when my dad whispered in my ear, “Do you want to go to Italy with me?”. It was a late Saturday morning and of course I was sleeping in. But, I was enough awake that I could hear what he said. You’d think that I’d jump right out of bed and start packing, but I was extremely hesitant.
I was still half asleep when thousands of thoughts started racing through my head, “What if I get sick right before we leave, or while I’m there?”, “I hate airports”, “What if I get food poisoning?”, “What if I get lost?”, “What if some creep talks to me or tries to take my cash?”. I felt so stressed already and I hadn’t even gotten my passport or plane ticket. Stressed and obligated. I couldn’t say no, I mean who would pass up an offer like that. So what to do? I figured that I’d think of something after a little more sleep.
I decided that I needed a passport anyway, for future trips with my family or the school orchestra. But once I was waiting for like two hours to get the dumb thing, I realized that I really did want to go, and that was that. I received my passport in the mail and my dad bought the extra plane tickets.
The night before takeoff, I was sweating bullets. I had never felt so nervous or anxious about anything ever in my life. “I’m going to forget something!” kept flashing before my eyes. I thought, just wait until morning, that’s when I will really need the antacids. But surprisingly, the only emotion I felt was sadness, because I had never left home for more than a weekend. It wasn’t a homesick feeling, but one of being plucked out of my natural environment and put into one whose language I didn’t even know. But I just sucked it up, kissed my mom goodbye, wiped away my tear and went into the airport to await my plane. The waiting wasn’t horrible at all because there was free wireless Internet, and we just happened to bring our Mac Book.
From the time that I got onto the airplane to the time I stepped off onto Italian grounds, my heart was filled with much more than relief. I was so pumped up and enthusiastic because I would soon discover things that I hadn’t even dreamt of. I wanted so badly for that bus to take my dad and I away to our five-star hotel. It was amazing enough that we were in this country, but to be apart of this kind of royal treatment, just blew me away. This was feeling intense and I felt like my heart was trying to rip through my chest with excitement. Finally we were on the bus with my dad’s other colleagues and were headed toward our hotel in Taromina. Luckily I didn’t puke my guts out because the driver had too much fun dodging traffic in a one-way area. To add to my nausea, we were driving in curves around these small mountains and hills. Just before opening the window to relieve myself, the building became present.
I ran straight off the bus, into the lobby, and was so awestruck by the interior of this room I just floated back on the most comfortable chair and starred literally with my mouth open. I thought, “ This is just the lobby, what could my room possibly look like?” I was filled with so much anticipation of this new place. My dad and I took the luggage up to the room and I ran to my bed and laid there in disbelief. This room looked as though it was cut from a section of the lobby and placed in this very spot. I walked over to the tall doors to the balcony and opened them in high spirits. I looked over the edge. The most beautiful landscape that flowed with a deep blue ocean scattered with rocky hills and vegetation filled my eyes. The swift breeze made the hairs of my arms stand up, and created a chill of warmth throughout my body. I sought to see more of this magnificence in the town. I hadn’t slept in a day, yet I felt this overpowering energy come over me when I realized that I could explore this area whenever I wanted, even without my dad. I was ready to see the unseen and I was definitely set to relax in this resort-like hotel. I felt a compelling vibe to experience this new culture and environment.
Last fall I had the opportunity of going to Italy with my dad on his business trip. I had always wanted to travel, especially out of this country. I can remember the day when my dad whispered in my ear, “Do you want to go to Italy with me?”. It was a late Saturday morning and of course I was sleeping in. But, I was enough awake that I could hear what he said. You’d think that I’d jump right out of bed and start packing, but I was extremely hesitant.
I was still half asleep when thousands of thoughts started racing through my head, “What if I get sick right before we leave, or while I’m there?”, “I hate airports”, “What if I get food poisoning?”, “What if I get lost?”, “What if some creep talks to me or tries to take my cash?”. I felt so stressed already and I hadn’t even gotten my passport or plane ticket. Stressed and obligated. I couldn’t say no, I mean who would pass up an offer like that. So what to do? I figured that I’d think of something after a little more sleep.
I decided that I needed a passport anyway, for future trips with my family or the school orchestra. But once I was waiting for like two hours to get the dumb thing, I realized that I really did want to go, and that was that. I received my passport in the mail and my dad bought the extra plane tickets.
The night before takeoff, I was sweating bullets. I had never felt so nervous or anxious about anything ever in my life. “I’m going to forget something!” kept flashing before my eyes. I thought, just wait until morning, that’s when I will really need the antacids. But surprisingly, the only emotion I felt was sadness, because I had never left home for more than a weekend. It wasn’t a homesick feeling, but one of being plucked out of my natural environment and put into one whose language I didn’t even know. But I just sucked it up, kissed my mom goodbye, wiped away my tear and went into the airport to await my plane. The waiting wasn’t horrible at all because there was free wireless Internet, and we just happened to bring our Mac Book.
From the time that I got onto the airplane to the time I stepped off onto Italian grounds, my heart was filled with much more than relief. I was so pumped up and enthusiastic because I would soon discover things that I hadn’t even dreamt of. I wanted so badly for that bus to take my dad and I away to our five-star hotel. It was amazing enough that we were in this country, but to be apart of this kind of royal treatment, just blew me away. This was feeling intense and I felt like my heart was trying to rip through my chest with excitement. Finally we were on the bus with my dad’s other colleagues and were headed toward our hotel in Taromina. Luckily I didn’t puke my guts out because the driver had too much fun dodging traffic in a one-way area. To add to my nausea, we were driving in curves around these small mountains and hills. Just before opening the window to relieve myself, the building became present.
I ran straight off the bus, into the lobby, and was so awestruck by the interior of this room I just floated back on the most comfortable chair and starred literally with my mouth open. I thought, “ This is just the lobby, what could my room possibly look like?” I was filled with so much anticipation of this new place. My dad and I took the luggage up to the room and I ran to my bed and laid there in disbelief. This room looked as though it was cut from a section of the lobby and placed in this very spot. I walked over to the tall doors to the balcony and opened them in high spirits. I looked over the edge. The most beautiful landscape that flowed with a deep blue ocean scattered with rocky hills and vegetation filled my eyes. The swift breeze made the hairs of my arms stand up, and created a chill of warmth throughout my body. I sought to see more of this magnificence in the town. I hadn’t slept in a day, yet I felt this overpowering energy come over me when I realized that I could explore this area whenever I wanted, even without my dad. I was ready to see the unseen and I was definitely set to relax in this resort-like hotel. I felt a compelling vibe to experience this new culture and environment.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
WA-1 Emotional Release Essay
WA-1 Emotional Release Essay: By Leah Paschal
Last fall I had the opportunity of going to Italy with my dad on his business trip. I had always wanted to travel, especially out of this country. I can remember the day when my dad whispered in my ear, “Do you want to go to Italy with me?”. It was a late Saturday morning and of course I was sleeping in. But, I was enough awake that I could hear what he said. You’d think that I’d jump right out of bed and start packing, but I was extremely hesitant. I was still half asleep when thousands of thoughts started racing through my head, “What if I get sick right before we leave, or while I’m there?”, “I hate airports”, “What if I get food poisoning?”, “What if I get lost?”, “What if some creep talks to me or tries to take my cash?”. I felt so stressed already and I hadn’t even gotten my passport or plane ticket. Stressed and obligated. I couldn’t say no, I mean who would pass up an offer like that. So what to do? I figured that I’d think of something after a little more sleep. I decided that I needed a passport anyway, for future trips with my family or the school orchestra. But once I was waiting for like two hours to get the dumb thing, I realized that I really did want to go, and that was that. I received my passport in the mail and my dad bought the extra plane tickets. The night before takeoff, I was sweating bullets. I had never felt so nervous or anxious about anything ever in my life. “I’m going to forget something!” kept flashing before my eyes. I thought, just wait until morning, that’s when I will really need the antacids. But surprisingly, the only emotion I felt was sadness, because I had never left home for more than a weekend. It wasn’t a homesick feeling, but one of being plucked out of my natural environment and put into one whose language I didn’t even know. But I just sucked it up, kissed my mom goodbye, wiped away my tear and went into the airport to await my plane. The waiting wasn’t horrible at all because there was free wireless Internet, and we just happened to bring our Mac Book. From the time that I got onto the airplane to the time I stepped off onto Italian grounds, my heart was filled with much more than relief. I was so pumped up and enthusiastic because I would soon discover things that I hadn’t even dreamt of. I wanted so badly for that bus to take my dad and I away to our five-star hotel. It was amazing enough that we were in this country, but to be apart of this kind of royal treatment, just blew me away. This was feeling intense and I felt like my heart was trying to rip through my chest with excitement. Finally we were on the bus with my dad’s other colleagues and were headed toward our hotel in Taromina. Luckily I didn’t puke my guts out because the driver had too much fun dodging traffic in a one-way area. To add to my nausea, we were driving in curves around these small mountains and hills. Just before opening the window to relieve myself, the building became present. I ran straight off the bus, into the lobby, and was so awestruck by the interior of this room I just floated back on the most comfortable chair and starred literally with my mouth open. I thought, “ This is just the lobby, what could my room possibly look like?” I was filled with so much anticipation of this new place. My dad and I took the luggage up to the room and I ran to my bed and laid there in disbelief. This room looked as though it was cut from a section of the lobby and placed in this very spot. I walked over to the tall doors to the balcony and opened them in high spirits. I looked over the edge. The most beautiful landscape that flowed with a deep blue ocean scattered with rocky hills and vegetation filled my eyes. The swift breeze made the hairs of my arms stand up, and created a chill of warmth throughout my body. I sought to see more of this magnificence in the town. I hadn’t slept in a day, yet I felt this overpowering energy come over me when I realized that I could explore this area whenever I wanted, even without my dad. I was ready to see the unseen and I was definitely set to relax in this resort-like hotel. I felt a compelling vibe to experience this new culture and environment.
Last fall I had the opportunity of going to Italy with my dad on his business trip. I had always wanted to travel, especially out of this country. I can remember the day when my dad whispered in my ear, “Do you want to go to Italy with me?”. It was a late Saturday morning and of course I was sleeping in. But, I was enough awake that I could hear what he said. You’d think that I’d jump right out of bed and start packing, but I was extremely hesitant. I was still half asleep when thousands of thoughts started racing through my head, “What if I get sick right before we leave, or while I’m there?”, “I hate airports”, “What if I get food poisoning?”, “What if I get lost?”, “What if some creep talks to me or tries to take my cash?”. I felt so stressed already and I hadn’t even gotten my passport or plane ticket. Stressed and obligated. I couldn’t say no, I mean who would pass up an offer like that. So what to do? I figured that I’d think of something after a little more sleep. I decided that I needed a passport anyway, for future trips with my family or the school orchestra. But once I was waiting for like two hours to get the dumb thing, I realized that I really did want to go, and that was that. I received my passport in the mail and my dad bought the extra plane tickets. The night before takeoff, I was sweating bullets. I had never felt so nervous or anxious about anything ever in my life. “I’m going to forget something!” kept flashing before my eyes. I thought, just wait until morning, that’s when I will really need the antacids. But surprisingly, the only emotion I felt was sadness, because I had never left home for more than a weekend. It wasn’t a homesick feeling, but one of being plucked out of my natural environment and put into one whose language I didn’t even know. But I just sucked it up, kissed my mom goodbye, wiped away my tear and went into the airport to await my plane. The waiting wasn’t horrible at all because there was free wireless Internet, and we just happened to bring our Mac Book. From the time that I got onto the airplane to the time I stepped off onto Italian grounds, my heart was filled with much more than relief. I was so pumped up and enthusiastic because I would soon discover things that I hadn’t even dreamt of. I wanted so badly for that bus to take my dad and I away to our five-star hotel. It was amazing enough that we were in this country, but to be apart of this kind of royal treatment, just blew me away. This was feeling intense and I felt like my heart was trying to rip through my chest with excitement. Finally we were on the bus with my dad’s other colleagues and were headed toward our hotel in Taromina. Luckily I didn’t puke my guts out because the driver had too much fun dodging traffic in a one-way area. To add to my nausea, we were driving in curves around these small mountains and hills. Just before opening the window to relieve myself, the building became present. I ran straight off the bus, into the lobby, and was so awestruck by the interior of this room I just floated back on the most comfortable chair and starred literally with my mouth open. I thought, “ This is just the lobby, what could my room possibly look like?” I was filled with so much anticipation of this new place. My dad and I took the luggage up to the room and I ran to my bed and laid there in disbelief. This room looked as though it was cut from a section of the lobby and placed in this very spot. I walked over to the tall doors to the balcony and opened them in high spirits. I looked over the edge. The most beautiful landscape that flowed with a deep blue ocean scattered with rocky hills and vegetation filled my eyes. The swift breeze made the hairs of my arms stand up, and created a chill of warmth throughout my body. I sought to see more of this magnificence in the town. I hadn’t slept in a day, yet I felt this overpowering energy come over me when I realized that I could explore this area whenever I wanted, even without my dad. I was ready to see the unseen and I was definitely set to relax in this resort-like hotel. I felt a compelling vibe to experience this new culture and environment.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)