No Love Lost‚ No Love Found That father and daughter bond‚ the sweetest love I’ve never known. I’ve seen my father over a thousand times wondering if he’s ever seen me. Looking with his eyes wide shut. It seemed as if over the years he was disappearing‚ fading into the black. A fragment of what I thought I needed but in all reality became as pointless as the conclusion to book that I’ll never finish My father has managed for eighteen years to be a part of my life without being a part of my life
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We stop at a stop light in a town right outside of Panama‚ we roll down the windows and you can smell the salty ocean water. We are finally here after twelve long leg cramping‚ neck hurting‚ and back wrenching hours in the car. It was all worth it though just thinking about getting your toes in the tan hot sand. Once we were finally in the city and driving down the strip we rolled down the windows and just admired the view of the ocean and all the waves crashing in. I couldn’t wait to get to
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English 101 H Begench Atayev J.D. Miller Descriptive Paper Draft2 January 31‚ 2013 On a Monday afternoon‚ after discussing my computer science project with my professor‚ I find myself seated in a visitor’s chair in his office on the second floor of the Glatfelter Hall. The professor is about to leave the room to grab some books and a cup of coffee‚ but he allows me to stay. (Seeing myself as a professor in the future‚ I enjoy hanging out in my professor’s office
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I have been a National Basketball Association fan for decades now. I can remember when I was young; I would just sit there on a Sunday afternoon and just stare. Stare without any interruption at my family’s television. Watching the greatness of Michael Jordan‚ who I watched‚ win 6 Championships. The rivalry between the Miami Heat and the New York Knicks was one of the greatest series in playoff basketball in the history of the N.B.A. The love of basketball runs deep within me‚ not just with the sport
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raging for and hour or so now‚it was 8:30 at this point‚ there was no hope of having any fireworks or a nice fire now our chance had long since passed. So we sat in the house waiting even if the rain stopped right now it would still be too wet for my favorite 4th of July past time.There was no sun to be seen our solar powered house was stuck in the stone age.With no tv to watch and no island to explore I sat bored out of my mind
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Amanda Rae Argueta Descriptive Essay I am every bit the teenager that thinks she’s unique‚ and every bit the young-adult that many rely on. I have my Father’s creative mind and my Mother’s rollercoaster emotions. Although my traits come from someone somewhere‚ when they combine I am every bit unique in my own little ways. I excel in many creative and artistic things like my dad. We work well with our hands in creating‚ building‚ and even fixing things. We can build model cars in under an hour
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was a young girl‚ about five feet and 3 inches tall‚ who asked us in an accent if it was just the two of us today. Behind her about eight meters away‚ was a bar like counter that was higher than normal‚ for when the chef prepared your meal‚ he could place it there to be brought to the table. We sat down at our table right beside the big window with the neon sign‚ a table for four. Two glasses of water were brought to us‚ by Maria‚ our waitress‚ who all the while made suggestions on their selection
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greeted the statement and with no further questions we were led on a tour of the maternity ward where I was born. Moments like these began to open my eyes to the hidden influence that my Fijian heritage that had been in my life. The recipe for my favorite dish that my parents cook‚ chicken curry comes from the rich Indo-Fijian culture present on the Island. Perhaps even my love for football comes from a young exposure to the best rugby-7s team in the world. But beyond any superficial taste that may
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completely normal. However when I entered the living room it was bare. The brand new gaming system was swept out from under the television along with all the games and movies. All that was left of my laptop was the charging cord and mouse. My favorite pink book bag that I had utilized all through elementary school was emptied so that the main thing left were schoolbooks. Not just materialistic things were stolen‚ along with
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Ben Jonson I. Background The poet‚ essayist‚ and playwright Ben Jonson was born in 1572 in London‚ England. His father‚ a minister‚ died shortly before his birth and his mother remarried a bricklayer. Jonson was raised in Westminster and attended St. Martin’s parish school and Westminster School‚ where he came under the influence of the classical scholar William Camden. He left the Westminster school in 1589‚ worked briefly in his stepfather’s trade as a bricklayer‚ then served
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