Lillekha
Member
Posts: 5
Joined: Dec 28, 07
Ref.#: 4441
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Edited by: Moderator
Dec 28, 07, 12:30pm ¦ #1
I decided to post up my other two essays. Um... I'm really worried about the boredom level of the second essay (pajamas). Should I rewrite it? And if anyone's read my "Prince Charming" essay (posted a couple hours ago), could they tell me if the three essays make me seem like a well-rounded person? Thanks in advance!
Tell us about an experience which, at the time, really felt like "the end of the world" -- but had it not happened, you would not be who you are today. Describe the process through which you discovered value in the negative. (500 world limit)
Today is the first day of Hindi class. As our guru calls attendance, I attach names to faces of fellow Indians. "Komal?" (The girl congratulated for track.) "Adarsh Saheba?" (The boy with slicked back hair.) "Varun?" (The one wearing glasses.) As he continues to call roll, I sigh, satisfied with the prospect of belonging for the first time. "L. Ku... Ku... How do you pronounce that?" For a moment, I am paralyzed as my scattered thoughts recover from the shock. Suddenly, I realize that I do not belong; they know that I am not Indian.
"It's Kuhananthan." I wince at background giggles.
"Oh, okay. Why don't you go to the front of the room and introduce yourself?"
It is not a question but a command. I am alienated, ostracized by a name that has never been Indian. What should I tell them? I have always called myself Indian, but the stares discourage me from doing so again. My body takes control, and I involuntarily open my mouth. My voice recites, "I'm Sri Lankan. Both my parents are from Sri Lanka. It's an island. I was born in Chicago. We moved to the Dominican Republic and then to El Paso." My voice trails off, and my feet hurry back to my seat. Instead of applause, silent stares reject my Indian emulation.
As I walk home after class, my immature gasps of despair transform into a determined search for self identity. I promise myself that by the same time next year, I will know who I am.
The quest begins instantly. I unearth buried family photos and cautiously ask Mom about life in Sri Lanka. She reminisces about childhood memories as she repeats her father's stern chide, "A frog's own mouth is its destruction; do not croak around predators." Mom is priceless, and I find myself returning to her for more. Can I have Ummachi's (Grandma's) photo? Does Kumar Uncle still drive his tuk-tuk (three-wheeled taxi)? What stories were told while growing up in boarding school?
She dreamily recalls, "There was a Sri Lankan woman who, disliking her family, married an Indian. Lazy, she never cared for her mother-in-law until a large bag of coins was presented as a gift to the person who spent the most time with the mother-in-law. The woman then took care of her mother-in-law until the mother-in-law's death, when she was rewarded with the bag. When it was opened, there were only shattered plate pieces, and the woman cried."
Mom is sly; she has chosen the story to fit the moment. Under her continued guidance, I listen to more fables, learn to cook idli, and begin to speak fluent Tamil. Other changes occur. I notice a strengthened bond with Mom, and in Hindi class, a two-way respect forms between the Indians and the Sri Lankan.
A year later, I finally know. I am not Indian. I do not need to be Indian. Instead, I am proud to be Sri Lankan.
(495 words)
Tell us about something that you have created. This can be, for example, a design, a device, an object, an idea or concept.
Mom stood in front of Wal-Mart's fabric section and announced matter-of-factly, "L., you're old enough to learn to sew."
Woah! Let's backtrack: I'm the girl who chooses football over Barbie dolls, who doesn't sweat doing push-ups but can't squeeze into a pair of high-heels, who squishes cockroaches but never applies make-up. I'm the girl who loves to hang out with the boys but can't strike up a single conversation with a girl. I'm the girl they call "tomboy." And now I'm expected to sew?
My mind whirled with despair as I imagined eighth-grade cackles ringing through the cafeteria halls and accusing fingers pointing at the pink blouse that replaced my usual stained T-shirt. I was going to be the school's laughing stock!
Mom must have seen the horrified look on my face, because she amended, "Don't worry! We're only going to start with pajama bottoms." She sounded reassuring, but I remained wary as we selected the materials.
As soon as we returned home, Mom and I busied ourselves, ripping apart my old pajama and tracing an outline onto newspaper. Then, we used the improvised newspaper outline and scissors to cut the new pajama material, leaving a half inch sewing allowance. Afterwards, Mom made me baste the legs together before letting me use the sewing machine. Next, I backstitched the hems and waistline. After reinforcing my backstitch with the machine, I carefully eased elastic through the waistline. The finished Mickey Mouse pajama was so comfortable that I spent the rest of the day admiring my work.
After showing me how to sew my first pair, Mom expected me to finish the other six pajamas on my own. I picked the army camouflage material next. I clumsily cut the fabric, forgot sewing allowance, skipped basting, and finished using the machine within an hour. When I finally turned to admire my work, I was appalled! The legs were unequally long and jagged, and the waist was completely lopsided! At best, the pajama was a disaster!
Mom's reaction was no consolation. After a lecture on the value of patience, I was told to undo every stitch and redo my cuts. In the end, my army pajama was wearable and as snug as wearing cardboard, but I learned from it. On my next five pajamas, I spent two meticulous days per pajama. My final football pajama was nothing short of a masterpiece!
I still choose mud fights over "chick flick" movies, but sewing isn't about being a girl. It's about being patient, persistent, and mature. Of course I still sew, stitching personalized designs onto homemade shirts with ever-so-patient fingers. Once, I even made a soldier's uniform for my brother's Halloween costume! No project, however, will ever compare to my first encounter with sewing, the adventures of Impatient L. and the Seven Pajamas.
(467 words)
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EF_Team2
Moderator
Posts: 2319
Joined: Mar 1, 06
Ref.#: 4453
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Greetings!
Believe me, you have nothing to worry about! The best writers can take any subject, no matter how mundane, and turn the story into a ride the reader hates to see come to an end. Your essays do just that! It's a matter of the details, something which you seem to understand intrinsically.
I can find nothing that needs revision, with the possible exception of the word "Woah!" which I believe should be "Whoa!" if you mean it in the usual sense. And yes, I think your essays make you seem like a well-rounded, intelligent, talented young woman who would be an asset to any university! :-)
Thanks,
Sarah, EssayForum.com
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