Hey guys! It's been so long since I've last written to you. Well, I don't have much to say now. I have been working on an essay for the last day and I want to get back to that. But I do not want to leave you hanging. Here's a blog post I submitted for another website a little while ago. It's really good!
I wrote my first "story" in kindergarten. I can't remember what exactly it was about (I think it might have been related to Pokemon) but what I remember is that it included a "gril" (I had spelled girl wrong) and a boy running from something. Then I remember when I was in the third grade, when my sentences and thoughts became a little more complex. That was the time when I really fell in love with writing. I was always eager-- yet extremely embarrassed-- to share my writing with the class, and for the most part, people really liked it. Then, in the sixth grade, I shared some more of my writing, and people still liked it.
Writing has always been a very significant part of my life, and up until recently, it's been my dream to be a writer. I've have recently been faced with reality. Last year, I was in what you can call an "advanced writing class" at my school. It's a class for the sadistic freaks who like doing extra work and like to deprive themselves of sleep to perfect a two-paragraph essay (it's happened before, and that class wasn't even weighted). I scored very, very low in that class and I'll tell you why. All my life, I've been told by everyone around me that I'm really smart and that I write very well. I was almost skipped up a grade twice! But of course all that praise got to my head. I started to actually believe that I was smarter than everyone else and this happened because it was the only thing I knew. So I started getting lazy. I figured that since I was already a genius, what would be the point of trying to learn more? However, it felt like when I was in that writing class everything I had ever been told was a lie. I realized that there were people in the world who actually knew more than I knew and did way more thinking than I did. It was an epiphany. But still, I was lazy and thought that since I wrote everyday, my writing was already perfect and not have any flaws. I was so wrong about that, and was thus devastated by the scoring I'd received on many of my essays. I cried almost every single day last year because of it.
However, because I realized that I really needed to work on my writing, I never gave up. I'm one of those people who gets stabbed so many times in battle fights but does not back down until their very last limb gives out. I corrected my papers, asked other people to help me, harassed all of my teachers-- including the ones who taught math and science--and never stopped asking questions. I won't say that I got perfect scores on my essays because after that because I didn't and they still sucked, but I will say that I have grown from the process. If you were to see my writing from the beginning of Sophomore year to now, you would clearly notice that so much has changed since the beginning of last year. And even now I still have some things to work -- run on sentences, incorrect or excessive use of semi-colons hyphens, rambling, starting sentences with conjunctions, etc...-- but no one is perfect. Seriously, no one is. Not even the president or the best selling writers are perfect; they've got issues too. But realizing their mistakes is what makes them better people and that is mostly what life is about-- realizing your mistakes and fixing them. If I did not stopped being so arrogant and realize that I was wrong, I would never have known the things that I know today. I never would have made friends with the people I know today, and I never, ever, ever would have been the person I am right now.
I am still sixteen, and I know I have a lot more to learn because what I am experiencing now is just the beginning. But realizing that there's so much more to life than being better than everyone else just feels... good. I am now realizing that it pays to have an open mind and perhaps through my experience, you will too.
Until next time folks,
Adieu.
Reflective Rambling
I wrote my first "story" in kindergarten. I can't remember what exactly it was about (I think it might have been related to Pokemon) but what I remember is that it included a "gril" (I had spelled girl wrong) and a boy running from something. Then I remember when I was in the third grade, when my sentences and thoughts became a little more complex. That was the time when I really fell in love with writing. I was always eager-- yet extremely embarrassed-- to share my writing with the class, and for the most part, people really liked it. Then, in the sixth grade, I shared some more of my writing, and people still liked it.
Writing has always been a very significant part of my life, and up until recently, it's been my dream to be a writer. I've have recently been faced with reality. Last year, I was in what you can call an "advanced writing class" at my school. It's a class for the sadistic freaks who like doing extra work and like to deprive themselves of sleep to perfect a two-paragraph essay (it's happened before, and that class wasn't even weighted). I scored very, very low in that class and I'll tell you why. All my life, I've been told by everyone around me that I'm really smart and that I write very well. I was almost skipped up a grade twice! But of course all that praise got to my head. I started to actually believe that I was smarter than everyone else and this happened because it was the only thing I knew. So I started getting lazy. I figured that since I was already a genius, what would be the point of trying to learn more? However, it felt like when I was in that writing class everything I had ever been told was a lie. I realized that there were people in the world who actually knew more than I knew and did way more thinking than I did. It was an epiphany. But still, I was lazy and thought that since I wrote everyday, my writing was already perfect and not have any flaws. I was so wrong about that, and was thus devastated by the scoring I'd received on many of my essays. I cried almost every single day last year because of it.
However, because I realized that I really needed to work on my writing, I never gave up. I'm one of those people who gets stabbed so many times in battle fights but does not back down until their very last limb gives out. I corrected my papers, asked other people to help me, harassed all of my teachers-- including the ones who taught math and science--and never stopped asking questions. I won't say that I got perfect scores on my essays because after that because I didn't and they still sucked, but I will say that I have grown from the process. If you were to see my writing from the beginning of Sophomore year to now, you would clearly notice that so much has changed since the beginning of last year. And even now I still have some things to work -- run on sentences, incorrect or excessive use of semi-colons hyphens, rambling, starting sentences with conjunctions, etc...-- but no one is perfect. Seriously, no one is. Not even the president or the best selling writers are perfect; they've got issues too. But realizing their mistakes is what makes them better people and that is mostly what life is about-- realizing your mistakes and fixing them. If I did not stopped being so arrogant and realize that I was wrong, I would never have known the things that I know today. I never would have made friends with the people I know today, and I never, ever, ever would have been the person I am right now.
I am still sixteen, and I know I have a lot more to learn because what I am experiencing now is just the beginning. But realizing that there's so much more to life than being better than everyone else just feels... good. I am now realizing that it pays to have an open mind and perhaps through my experience, you will too.
Until next time folks,
Adieu.
