Personal Essay

For English, we were assigned to create an essay answering the question to "Wcho am I?" and use a personal symbol as our main focus. In my personal essay, I tried to answer the question by focusing on the part of me that is still trying to find herself, and uses the experiences she has to solve her own question of "Where will I be in the Future?" Once we finished our essays, we then used Adobe Flash to create a podcast based on them. We made them into a podcast to make it more interactive for our viewers, and to make it a little more interesting to see.

       

       

 Uncapping the pen, the ink starts to roll out as it joins with a thinly lined piece of paper. Long written phrases searching for closure reveal my thoughts. Layered images leave no blank spaces within the infinite roll of sheets. My mind consistently draws lines, while images are taken into question, though the pen is tired from overuse. Inevitable like destructive sandstorms in the middle of the day, my frustration takes hold of me. I find myself cast out in my world of contemplation. As I lay in bed I feel the constricting walls start to close in, and the urge for answers envelopes me.

 I step outside, inhaling the rich Californian air. Curiosity surges around me rushing like air into my lungs. The sun a little farther West than it is at high noon, the warmth brought on my skin gives me satisfaction. My hair sways left to right as I walk on the sidewalk, each part of my body fluidly in sync with the rhythm in my head. The sun breaks through the trees with overcast shadows onto the pathway I walk, but as I head towards civilization cascades of light erase the shade. The thoughts flowing through me scatter like a game of pick up sticks, waiting to be cleared. Sweat forms on my back cooling me as the breeze hits me. My breath starts to pump out light air, slowly accelerating, causing me to inhale deeply.

 I abruptly pause at a stop light. Across the street I spy a pungent homeless man, bearded with uncombed hair, tattered clothing and a sign. He’s begging. At the same time, I spot a confident man walking right past him who I know is positioned on the complete opposite end of our social hierarchy. Contradicting the homeless man, he wears well-pressed pants with a rolled-up collared shirt, and is well-groomed, looking determined to reach his meeting point, showing no compassion towards the migrant vagabond. Watching the scene play out, I wonder who these people are, what they do, and how they came to be who they are. Will I eventually be the homeless traveler cast aside and ignored or the self-assured man who nonchalantly passes by on the street?

 The day starts getting shorter, as I move further along. I start to get tired, which of course means a food break, but while I search for what is purely essential in life at that moment, I am unplugged and I stop paying attention to the things around me. My thoughts flood me like a vast ocean of emotions as ideas begin to run through my head. I ponder what the future holds for me. I imagine a version of myself in a loud, extravagant, fast-paced city as a confident business woman wearing heels too high for me to handle. Now, I fast-forward to see myself with a family of my own in a house in the suburbs loving each moment of it, and reuniting with old time friends. Although, before reaching these dreams, there are still many adventures that lie ahead. Feeling myself absorbing into the rush of water around me as I cliff-dive into the Mediterranean sea of Greece. Sitting in a café corner, sipping un chocolat chaud with an old and tattered copy of Catcher In the Rye. Roaming the city streets of Barcelona with only a backpack filled with clothes, I capture the essence of urban life in a whole new world.

 I look again at the setting around me. Step-by-step the wind gets colder and colder on my skin, and the sun has begun to set. I start to return to my sanctuary in confinement, and people around me gather for their nightly rendezvous. I look back to where the homeless man was, and to justify my expectation, he is gone like the endless traveler he is. Passionate voices sing in the background with the light picking of strings, hoping to entertain the bystanders who silently acknowledge their presence. The crosswalks filled with hordes of pedestrians interrupt the speeding cars. Slowly, I can feel my anxious soul returning to introspection. I fish for my keys, just as I unlock the door, with ink waiting to color blank pages.