childhood memories I really remember is the garden my father had in our backyard‚ vegies behind the garage to the left and a fruit garden to the right in front of the back fence. Down the right side bordering the fence were several trees‚ one of them being a plum tree. Right at the back of the property my father had build a three sided hut in which we could sit and have afternoon tea and where we could play all sorts of games in shelter from sun or rain. My brother and sister‚ or perhaps it was my Dad
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It’s considered that childhood memory is special for everybody because it’s very personal. I can’t imagine my childhood without reminding the time that I’ve spent at our summer cottage. I can even say that it’s the most precious time in my life. It’s situated in half an hour from city by the most beautiful sea that I’ve ever seen in my life. Unfortunately we sold it 6 years ago‚ and maybe that is why I appreciate it so much‚ people always desires what they’ve lost and aren’t able to get back for
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In fifth grade I broke my wrist on Thanksgiving Day. I was jumping on the bed and got pushed off and of course I had to immediately go to the hospital. Once we got there the Nurses were super nice and took care of me the whole time. Since that moment‚ I have just wanted to have the same effect on other people as they did for me. Also I want to be the first to graduate from college in my family. I want to show my family that I will succeed in life just like they want me to. My family wants to me to
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The cold numb feeling was freezing every part of me as I sat quietly inside the car that was twirling in the middle of the highway. Sitting there and patiently waiting for the airbag to explode and cover me as if it was my moms arms took some fear out of me but my body still shivered as if there would be no tomorrow. Even though its been almost four years‚ I can still recall that day as clear as crystal‚ yet most of me wished it would just turn into thin air and disappear. As I sit still today‚ I
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was this event which happened during my childhood keeps grinding in my brain. The one thing which I favor the most was to watch cartoon all day long. My childhood was so much influenced by Disney cartoons. The little girl would always have the thoughts of breaking the TV glass and get into it to join them. Me as the youngest in the family would let myself to play in a place of my own creation with the characters present in the cartoon. My parents were aware of my craze towards the fantasy land and
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Butterflies – a short story by Patricia Grace | | The grandmother plaited her granddaughter’s (0) hair and then she said‚ “Get your lunch. Put it in your bag. Get your | | |apple. You come (1) straight back after school‚ straight home here. Listen to the teacher‚” she said. “Do what she say. “ | | |Her grandfather was out on the step. He walked down the (2) path with her and out on to the footpath. He said to a neighbour‚ | | |“Our granddaughter goes
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Childhood Memory Childhood is full of imagination and memories. My fondest childhood memory would have to be when I was around four years old. At that time‚ I had a stuffed frog. I took it where ever I went. The stuffed frog was a gift and from the moment I received it‚ it became my best friend. I still remember the day I got it. It was Christmas Day‚ and out of all of the other gifts that I received‚ this one caught my eye immediately. He was a present from my grandfather
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When I was young I lived in my grandmother’s house because both my mother and father had a job. The house was little bit small‚ but it was most comfortable place in the world. Color of the house was light yellow‚ so my neighbor called my home ‘yellow house’. Since my grandmother’s house was located in near mountain and also around the house‚ there were many trees‚ I could smell the scent of grass and flowers. In addition‚ early in the morning‚ I could hear the song of birds. Sometimes‚ the song
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government to acknowledge their crimes shows the disputes between hegemonic history and memory as their claim implies that memories of individuals were not enough evidences to prove such crime. However‚ memory is not just about remembering an event‚ but “it includes structures of feeling and all the ways that people with culturally specific identifications remember precisely” (Oliva-Alvarado 4). This means that the memories of these comfort women do not only include their experiences‚ but also the pain‚
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Writing Memory Curves‚ strokes‚ dots‚ and lines all twisting and turning around each other like some sort of messed up balloon animals. To me‚ these symbols are as complex as Chinese letters are to the snobs that spits out this language. “English”‚ they call it. “Why can you speak English?’ they ask. But from the day I stepped into that class‚ the one they call kindergarten‚ I knew it‚ “English” would be the beginning of a lifelong migraine. Vietnamese; that is the language I speak. It is my native
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