“Perfect!” As always‚ I leap out of my bed at the first ring‚ hastily change out of my night clothes‚ and run down the stairs to eat my breakfast. Breakfast was always the same: 2 eggs; sunny side up‚ 3 slices of bacon; over-cooked to the perfect amount of crisp‚ and a glass of 2% fat milk in my favorite mug; the “Employee of the Month” mug from 3 years ago. Finally after devouring my food‚ I rush out the door to go to work‚ taking a quick detour to visit the Starbucks for my usual frappuccino; I don’t like
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ARIFF ZAKWAN BIN ABDULLAH ZAWAWI M11C MY ToK MOMENT My TOK moment was tonight 02/02/12 when the year one students had a batch meeting at the mosque having some games to create a stronger bond between us. As usual this kind of thing made my instinct to escape getting bigger and stronger. So‚ I decide to sneak out from the program pretending that I had to make some important call. So I ask the permission of our class rep to go out for a while with my best friend. Then we straight forward go to
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My exploding moment is when I was doing gym and my pants ripped when we are play clean the boat and when I was squatting and I heard the rip then I know something had happened and I told the gym teacher and she started to laugh. So I walked out the gym with my shirt over my pants and went to the office.Then I called my mom and asked her to pick me‚ but she was gone somewhere so she called my aunt to pick me up. Then I went to my mom’s job and I went on to the store and other things. After that
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crushing pressure and dark‚ dank air felt like my only company. I was dying‚ or so every part of my being was telling me. The immense‚ clutching pains radiating from my chest to my jaw could be only one thing… a heart attack. I lay there silently‚ overwhelmed with crippling fear and panic; frozen‚ immobile‚ waiting for what my mind had deemed inevitable. Wait…the pain was beginning to ease. The powerful clutch of dread freezing me was beginning to weaken. My mind flooded with hope. I’m going to be okay
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irrationally. My friends would always do things with spontaneity while I would get left behind sitting alone shrouded by my fear. As life gradually moved on‚ I grew to overcome my fears and not overanalyze situations with the help of a few moments in my life. One event I remember with startling clarity was when I was seven. Like many children‚ my brother and cousins loved to ride roller coasters and enjoyed the thrill that accompanied it. However‚ I never relished the execrable feeling of my
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won’t come‚ my heart pounding. I don’t know what time it is and for a minute I don’t know where I am‚ I’m still trapped in whatever hellscape I was in. It takes me another minute to realise that I am home in my bed‚ and another minute to calm my racing heart and even out my breathing. In and out‚ in and out‚ over and over again until I’ve calmed down. At this point I’m too exhausted to go to find my parents so I settle for trying to sleep‚ even though exhaustion claws at the back of my throat I can’t
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that my parents would handle anything. I was the youngest in the family‚ the “porcelain doll” that no one could touch. I was doing things not because I wanted to but because I felt I needed too. Part of my struggle was that I believed that my thoughts and ideas were too fragile for the harshness of the world and refused to let them see the light of day. Everyone around me was evolving; they were finding the thing that made them “them”. My sister had law school‚ my cousin had music and all my friends
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happen for ourselves if we want it. For children‚ however‚ dreams and wishes are an active part of their fantasies‚ because they are innocent‚ naive‚ and life is easy when you are little. But sometimes‚ childhood can be difficult‚ when children become sick. In these cases‚ I think‚ that having a dream is even more important‚ because it makes life more colorful‚ gives hope and motivates them to overcome their illness. I remember when I was 5 years old I got a little sick - running nose and sore
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Like many before me one of my most defining moments came from my high school days when I was still attempting to find a balance between getting good grades and maintaining a social life. During that time‚ I was just entering a period where I had dealt with bullying without standing up for myself in school. As a result‚ I entered high school somewhat embittered but also made it intentionally difficult for others to get close to me since many of the people I had once held close to me had turned on
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The hands that I look down upon can’t be mine‚ why because they’re covered in blood. But they must be‚ I also taste the blood on my lips every time I breathe. I can’t feel my face‚ all I feel is the adrenaline rushing through me. The blood‚ the adrenaline‚ and the metallic taste‚ all mixed together is too much. I start running to my mom. I can’t yell because if I do the blood will get in and the taste will remind me of how hurt I am. How could such a childhood experience end in blood and a broken
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