ayaha
Evaluate a significant experience, achievement, risk you have taken, or ethical dilemma you have faced and its impact on you.
Books were my dream, reality, and the world itself. I grew up in a household where book shelves filled most of the walls, even extending to book piles on the floor. Most of my relatives were in someway working with books: as an editor, book translator, subtitle maker, poet, essayist, or, novelist. Books, I believed, was equally crucial to air or food in this world. As I became an ignorant silly elementary-child, I started to believe that, when all my siblings chose a path outside literature-careers, I had to be the one who would succeed the profession. Before anyone did, I pressured myself in a tiny pathway, when I was just a 7 years old child.
The reality wasn’t so sweet as books. I was in my first year of junior high, and my mother showed me a piece of newspaper article. It was for a regional secondary student only novel prize, held by the major newspaper company of the region. I was in, for sure. I worked for few weeks, revised few times, and handed in. The result came out in a month. I was a “Fine Work”. I was proud, however, not fully. I had to excuse myself again and again: it was only the first year, I’m only 12, I’ve never studied Japanese properly. I challenged again the next year. “Fine work”. The next. “Fine work”. The Grand Prix, where my future should be connected, was very far away.
I entered high school, with smoldering feelings of being a failure. I soon got busy in my studies. There came the AP World History which was a totally fresh interaction for a child who never had really studied history, and first understood the meaning of “Cold War” in 9th grade. I’ve learned that there are reasons for this world to be like this. Then came the AP Calculus course. Mathematics was a world completely unrelated to books, however, was fascinating. All of my hopeless despairing feelings were now forgotten behind all of those newcomers. I’ve started to see a much broader world than I used to. Books were important, but the world wasn’t all about it.
After 2 years past high school, I suddenly changed my way of writing. I clearly the shameful thinness in my past writings, and struggled to add, bolden, thicken it with all what I’ve sawn in high school. That was the first year I won the Grand Prix. So did I the next year too.
According to my father, who is 72 years old, even seventy years isn’t sufficient to know this world enough. In my 17 years, I finally started to see what I don’t know. Therefore, for my next 80 years, I’ve decided to stop rushing myself blindly, but to turn my eyes on this big world to explore my life. Anyhow, books are only papers reflecting this world.
The reality wasn’t so sweet as books. I was in my first year of junior high, and my mother showed me a piece of newspaper article. It was for a regional secondary student only novel prize, held by the major newspaper company of the region. I was in, for sure. I worked for few weeks, revised few times, and handed in. The result came out in a month. I was a “Fine Work”. I was proud, however, not fully. I had to excuse myself again and again: it was only the first year, I’m only 12, I’ve never studied Japanese properly. I challenged again the next year. “Fine work”. The next. “Fine work”. The Grand Prix, where my future should be connected, was very far away.
I entered high school, with smoldering feelings of being a failure. I soon got busy in my studies. There came the AP World History which was a totally fresh interaction for a child who never had really studied history, and first understood the meaning of “Cold War” in 9th grade. I’ve learned that there are reasons for this world to be like this. Then came the AP Calculus course. Mathematics was a world completely unrelated to books, however, was fascinating. All of my hopeless despairing feelings were now forgotten behind all of those newcomers. I’ve started to see a much broader world than I used to. Books were important, but the world wasn’t all about it.
After 2 years past high school, I suddenly changed my way of writing. I clearly the shameful thinness in my past writings, and struggled to add, bolden, thicken it with all what I’ve sawn in high school. That was the first year I won the Grand Prix. So did I the next year too.
According to my father, who is 72 years old, even seventy years isn’t sufficient to know this world enough. In my 17 years, I finally started to see what I don’t know. Therefore, for my next 80 years, I’ve decided to stop rushing myself blindly, but to turn my eyes on this big world to explore my life. Anyhow, books are only papers reflecting this world.
480 words