“Do‚ Re‚ Mi‚ Fa‚ Sol‚ La‚ Ti‚ Do!”‚ I exclaimed to my piano teacher at the age of seven. Since then‚ I knew that piano would become a significant part of my life. Outside of my activities in health sciences‚ piano takes a major part of my time. When I came to the United States at the age of eight from Egypt‚ I was not ready to give up such a huge part of me. I began joining music camps and courses such as S.O.A.R‚ where I met my future piano teacher‚ Mrs. Jane. She inspired me to continue playing
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sexually‚ or any type of background. My parents’ identities are incomprehensible to me‚ because I do not experience life the same way they did‚ and I did not grow up in the same situations in which they did. My cultural identity is inherited from my parents in a way that does not particularly connect with them--that is‚ it is inherited from their sense of self identity and capability to recognize who they are as people. While my my mom may associate herself as one way‚ my dad may associate himself as another
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sleep; I feared that the upcoming baby would steal my mom’s love from me. It is normal for children to desire their parents’ love and attention‚ especially for a kid like me who grew up with a single mom. At the age of four‚ my mom was my whole world. I thought she felt the same way until she announced that she would have a baby. I would not have accepted the fact that my mom could divide her love between me and my sister. However‚ when I observed my mom holding a tiny crying baby in her arms‚ witnessing
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With all the hours I poured into my last essay‚ it felt like a slap in the face that they didn’t even send a “thank you for trying” letter. I spent the announcement day sitting on my in-law’s porch sipping coffee with Baileys and stewing over yet another essay contest loss. Lacking in ideas of where I went wrong‚ I tried imitating old photos of authors again for inspiration. Leaning on the arm of the wicker chair with my chin resting on curled fingers; I held my pen like a cigarette‚ hoping to channel
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season of fun; the season where kids get to be outside play all day long because the day is illuminated by the sun almost until eight at night. I got to play all day and it was even better when my cousins came over‚ I especially enjoyed this season when I was little. I have four other cousins that are about my age so you can imagine how chaotic it was with six kids from ages six to ten years old being together. As all kids we looked for adventure with our imagination‚ we invented games‚ and our parents
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done with me. My dreams are way bigger than me‚ dreams so big I had no choice but to buckle down and obtain them‚ my dreams and goals continuously reminded me they were still unaccomplished‚ they still
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Kaylin Knops Ms. McCleaf Written Communication I—11977 14 September 2013 1st draft 1000 words She Has Courage My mother‚ Christine‚ epitomizes the heroic quality of courage in that she grew up without a mother of her own‚ and now she is a single mother and she struggles on a constant basis to conquer depression. One day my mom came home from school and all her stuff was on the front lawn. Her mom kicked her out and didn’t want to raise her anymore. She was only 8-years-old. She moved
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My mother was then able to choose my birth date‚ which the doctors gave options that were at the very end of November. My mother requested the cesarean section to be done on December 1st. Her reasoning was that November had an ugly birthstone (she really hates yellow). December 1st‚ 1993 at 10:27 am I was born into this world with minimal complications. I was 8 pounds and 11 ounces‚ and was about 21 inches long. I was born looking orange‚ due to having jaundice‚ which was taken care of immediately
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there in the hard seat of my desk and waited patiently. The scent of bleach was overwhelming in the room‚ but I knew by the second week it would be covered up by the smell of musty children and chalk dust. I could not wait for my new teacher to stroll up to me‚ eyes full of amazement‚ and give me my paper. I had worked hard on it for nearly a month during the summer prior to this new school year. My writing skills were top-notch‚ of course. Looking around the room at my new classmates‚ it was easy
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box and stored away. My teacher read interesting books to my class. She would take two weeks to read a 500 page book. I enjoyed cuddling up next to watch each expression she expressed. Every couple of months my teacher set up blanket forts and let us read independently all day long. We’d read beside the light of a lamp and bring our own pillows to lay on. This was my favorite time of the year. From there‚ she let us write stories and read them aloud. My teacher helped develop my love for writing.
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