221. Your biggest loss
As a child, I took the poster of Ariel and copied it down exactly onto a blank piece of white paper. I tried to match the colors exactly the way they were and trace the lines as accurately as possible. No matter how hard I tried, it never looked the same. I was disappointed. I cried. My mother would run to be, take me in her arms, and rock me till I fell asleep. I would wake up later, having forgotten what had happened, and would sit down and try again.
When I feel off the bike, I would scrape my knee and lay there, being the dramatic child I was, and cry but act like a hero with a long, red cloth hanging from his shoulders. I would get up, run to my mother, and ask me to apply some Dettol, with cotton and everything just to look important.
When I scored high in my papers, I would have a winning smile on my face. I would show it to all my friends and shine in their admiration, without feeling the tiniest bit of guilt or shame for having showed-off. Even when I would fail again, I would still be happy of my previous accomplishments.
When my sister and I walked home from school, the scary shoe-man from the side of the road would call us. I would repeat the phrase "Don't talk to strangers" in my head, grab my little sister's hand, and walk briskly back home.
When there was a family gathering, they would ask me to sing and dance, while all of them sat back and relaxed. I would walk up confidently and dance to the beats of their clapping, while twirling around all on my own.
When I was taken to the library, I would pick out the books with large pictures. I would sit on the comfortable couch and flip through the pages, trying to make the illustrations real and become a part of it myself.
When it was Children's Day at my school, I would ask my mom to make me a dress just like the one Miss Nepal wore. With that height of honor and pleasure, I would walk into the school, feeling like a queen, with the green silk glowing majestically in the sunlight.
But, when I gave my first art exam, things started to seem different. I drew hills, and trees, and flowers, and a river, and also a sun with a big, smiling face. However, in front of the class, I heard the teacher scold another child for drawing a smiling face of the sun. She screamed, "Do you really thing the sun can smile?" Reality seemed to struck that day as I quickly erased the smiling face from mine.
All these things, the little things that are shown in these childish events, I have lost: the curiosity, the amazement, the confidence, the importance I felt, and the mind to take chances and to never give up. Reality seemed to have struck me as I drew away from my childhood. It became harder to be confident in front of a group of people and more difficult not to just thrown my hands into the air and admit that I can't do this anymore. I don't mean that I am a completely hopeless human being at present. No. I mean that these qualities became harder to enhance once I grew up. And other things started to matter more: what I wore, how I looked, what people thought, and things that really shouldn't bother me at all. So everyday, I try to gain back the innocence and the beauty of childhood and hope that I can take these qualities away from my childhood and into adulthood.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Challenge 34: I'm not listening.
246. What I think about when I'm not listening.
I think about...
How my hair feels oily because I haven't showered today.
How her mouth moves so much that I feel like I am watching her in a fast-forward motion.
How the tips of my fingers are cold from the chilly weather.
How her hands move animatedly as the anger is visible from her brows.
How the frames of my glasses limit what I can see.
How I could almost imagine the letters bubbling out of her mouth.
How my mouth is slightly open while I try to catch the words she is saying.
How the sky is such a clear blue today.
How the sun is gently playing with her brown, dyed hair and creating a yellow glow.
How she seems to blur in front of me as I focus into the distance.
How many times I am blinking.
How my legs are aching and how badly I wish to sit down.
How long this is going to last.
How I have to finish that assignment I am detesting.
How the flowers on the rooftop of the house across are shining, almost like plastic.
How I keep nodding though I don't really listen to what she is saying.
How I can taste the dryness of my mouth because I haven't spoken for so long.
How the smile is playing at my lips because I know I should be listening.
How her teeth seem to enlarge as she bends down towards me in anger.
How I can slowly see that she is getting tired of scolding me.
How this is finally coming to an end.
How life will be different 20 years from now if I had listened to her.
How she throws her arms in a jerky motion into the air; a sign of finally giving up.
How she sits down on the couch, close to tears.
How my legs are moving automatically towards her.
How I sit down calmly next to her and put my arms around her.
How, although I am a good daughter, I am happy that it is finally over.
I think about...
How my hair feels oily because I haven't showered today.
How her mouth moves so much that I feel like I am watching her in a fast-forward motion.
How the tips of my fingers are cold from the chilly weather.
How her hands move animatedly as the anger is visible from her brows.
How the frames of my glasses limit what I can see.
How I could almost imagine the letters bubbling out of her mouth.
How my mouth is slightly open while I try to catch the words she is saying.
How the sky is such a clear blue today.
How the sun is gently playing with her brown, dyed hair and creating a yellow glow.
How she seems to blur in front of me as I focus into the distance.
How many times I am blinking.
How my legs are aching and how badly I wish to sit down.
How long this is going to last.
How I have to finish that assignment I am detesting.
How the flowers on the rooftop of the house across are shining, almost like plastic.
How I keep nodding though I don't really listen to what she is saying.
How I can taste the dryness of my mouth because I haven't spoken for so long.
How the smile is playing at my lips because I know I should be listening.
How her teeth seem to enlarge as she bends down towards me in anger.
How I can slowly see that she is getting tired of scolding me.
How this is finally coming to an end.
How life will be different 20 years from now if I had listened to her.
How she throws her arms in a jerky motion into the air; a sign of finally giving up.
How she sits down on the couch, close to tears.
How my legs are moving automatically towards her.
How I sit down calmly next to her and put my arms around her.
How, although I am a good daughter, I am happy that it is finally over.
Challenge 33: Gifts
240. Is it better to give or receive gifts?
The tiny box wrapped in shiny pink paper with beautiful, white circles awaited me. It was my birthday present from my parents, for I had turned eleven. Feeling like an adult, I tried really hard to wipe out the excitement from my face, although I knew that as soon as I was alone, I would rip out the wrapping and engulf myself in what lay inside the box. It didn't matter to me as I child what lay inside. The part I enjoyed most was the excitement that rushed through me as I guessed so many times what gift could be waiting for me just a fold away! As I grew older, my mother asked me what I wanted and said that she would get that for my birthday. I refused, quite childishly, I admit. I didn't want to ruin the surprise for myself. Whatever the gift was, it didn't matter. As long as it was wrapped with a ribbon on, I was happy.
This is what gifts means to me: the excitement. Other than the surprise, I love receiving gifts because I get to see how the other person thinks of me. If it is a beautiful, navy blue pen, then I become a writer. If it is a long, colorful scarf, then I become a complainer. If it is a book that I had been longing for, then I become a passionate reader. If it is an iPod that I had wanted since quite some time ago, I become patient. If it is a statue of two little houses with two names scribbled in blue ink at the bottom, then I become a friend. If it is a notebook with large characters in its cover, I become an artist. If it is a key chain with an outlandish yet cute animal hanging from it, then I am accepted the way I am. If it is a hair tie with a pretty, yellow flower with colorful polka dots, I become an amiable person. If it is just a notebook with beautiful flowers in red, blue, and yellow, then I become doodler or a scribbler. These gifts show what I appear to be to the person giving it. And this not only delights me, but also lets me know what kind of a person I am to other people.
The tiny box wrapped in shiny pink paper with beautiful, white circles awaited me. It was my birthday present from my parents, for I had turned eleven. Feeling like an adult, I tried really hard to wipe out the excitement from my face, although I knew that as soon as I was alone, I would rip out the wrapping and engulf myself in what lay inside the box. It didn't matter to me as I child what lay inside. The part I enjoyed most was the excitement that rushed through me as I guessed so many times what gift could be waiting for me just a fold away! As I grew older, my mother asked me what I wanted and said that she would get that for my birthday. I refused, quite childishly, I admit. I didn't want to ruin the surprise for myself. Whatever the gift was, it didn't matter. As long as it was wrapped with a ribbon on, I was happy.
This is what gifts means to me: the excitement. Other than the surprise, I love receiving gifts because I get to see how the other person thinks of me. If it is a beautiful, navy blue pen, then I become a writer. If it is a long, colorful scarf, then I become a complainer. If it is a book that I had been longing for, then I become a passionate reader. If it is an iPod that I had wanted since quite some time ago, I become patient. If it is a statue of two little houses with two names scribbled in blue ink at the bottom, then I become a friend. If it is a notebook with large characters in its cover, I become an artist. If it is a key chain with an outlandish yet cute animal hanging from it, then I am accepted the way I am. If it is a hair tie with a pretty, yellow flower with colorful polka dots, I become an amiable person. If it is just a notebook with beautiful flowers in red, blue, and yellow, then I become doodler or a scribbler. These gifts show what I appear to be to the person giving it. And this not only delights me, but also lets me know what kind of a person I am to other people.
Challenge 32: HERO
168. Imagine that you are a "hero" or "heroine" for one day during any time period and under any circumstances. Write a creative essay describing your experience. (Notre Dame)
It is around midday. I am sitting in the armchair that is clothed with red silk and decorated with green cushions. I am reading a book. The book is very interesting and is helping me gain knowledge about the world that existed so long ago. I see that I have read thirty pages in one hour. I am quite pleased at myself, seeing how the writing on the old, yellow pages are just so tiny. As tiny as ants, in fact. Although my mind starts to wonder off, I pull it right back and continue reading about the young African boy who has just found out that his headmaster had lied to him. REVENGE is all he can think right now. I imagine what I would do if someone betrayed me like that. I would probably want revenge too. Does that make me a bad person? Hm. I continue to wonder.
As the book slips off my hand and I stare into the distant pink wall bathed so elegantly in the bright, yellow sunlight, I notice something. Something that I could have sworn wasn't there previously. I thrown the book down and move swiftly across the room and towards the wall. My eyes are narrowed, my mouth open, and my hands gliding helpless in the air. I feel almost like I am floating. As I get closer to the wall, I see it. On the polished ground, just where the soft pink of the wall and the shiny brown of the polished wood meet, there is a living thing. A breathing thing, that has life just like me. It is lying there, with the appearance of a rock, although I can tell that it is breathing, very heavily. I bend down on my knees and bring my face very close to this peculiar object. I notice the thin feather-like substance that is covering every bit of this creature. As it rolls, I see two beady, delicate, brown balls, which I imagine are the eyes, on a head so small that I could circle it with my two fingers. The little eyes are crying for help and I can see them slowly shutting, meaning to close forever. As it rolls once more, I see two out-stretched wing-like things, which I assume are, of course, used to fly with. There seems to be bright, red paint smeared on of the wings and the contrasting brown of the feather tells me that something is not right.
Having never encountered such an alien object, it crosses my mind to call somebody else, someone who would know better. However, I want to handle this on my own. I delicately stretch my hands out and gather the helpless fellow in my hands. I take it back to the armchair and rest it there, while I go fetch some medicine. We usually don't have one around, but surprisingly, I see one lying right inside the cabinet. I hurry back, hoping desperately that I am not too late. I play with the medication and try to put everything I had learned in my classes into use. The little ball of feathers already starts to look better. And just like that, I feel like I am a superhero who has saved the day.
It is around midday. I am sitting in the armchair that is clothed with red silk and decorated with green cushions. I am reading a book. The book is very interesting and is helping me gain knowledge about the world that existed so long ago. I see that I have read thirty pages in one hour. I am quite pleased at myself, seeing how the writing on the old, yellow pages are just so tiny. As tiny as ants, in fact. Although my mind starts to wonder off, I pull it right back and continue reading about the young African boy who has just found out that his headmaster had lied to him. REVENGE is all he can think right now. I imagine what I would do if someone betrayed me like that. I would probably want revenge too. Does that make me a bad person? Hm. I continue to wonder.
As the book slips off my hand and I stare into the distant pink wall bathed so elegantly in the bright, yellow sunlight, I notice something. Something that I could have sworn wasn't there previously. I thrown the book down and move swiftly across the room and towards the wall. My eyes are narrowed, my mouth open, and my hands gliding helpless in the air. I feel almost like I am floating. As I get closer to the wall, I see it. On the polished ground, just where the soft pink of the wall and the shiny brown of the polished wood meet, there is a living thing. A breathing thing, that has life just like me. It is lying there, with the appearance of a rock, although I can tell that it is breathing, very heavily. I bend down on my knees and bring my face very close to this peculiar object. I notice the thin feather-like substance that is covering every bit of this creature. As it rolls, I see two beady, delicate, brown balls, which I imagine are the eyes, on a head so small that I could circle it with my two fingers. The little eyes are crying for help and I can see them slowly shutting, meaning to close forever. As it rolls once more, I see two out-stretched wing-like things, which I assume are, of course, used to fly with. There seems to be bright, red paint smeared on of the wings and the contrasting brown of the feather tells me that something is not right.
Having never encountered such an alien object, it crosses my mind to call somebody else, someone who would know better. However, I want to handle this on my own. I delicately stretch my hands out and gather the helpless fellow in my hands. I take it back to the armchair and rest it there, while I go fetch some medicine. We usually don't have one around, but surprisingly, I see one lying right inside the cabinet. I hurry back, hoping desperately that I am not too late. I play with the medication and try to put everything I had learned in my classes into use. The little ball of feathers already starts to look better. And just like that, I feel like I am a superhero who has saved the day.
Challenge 31: Confusion
165. What confuses you most in life, and why? (University of Virginia)
As an elder sister of two siblings, I am usually the role model in the family. However, when in comes to attitude and reactions to things that bother me, I have to admit my sister handles it better. For example, when I have a headache, my whole day is ruined. I cannot function and I just have to lay down and do nothing. I get grumpy and annoyed at little things and become quite selfish, I admit.I ruin my day as well as everyone else's. My sister, on the other hand, can handle an insignificant thing like a headache way better than me. Although the pain is bothering her, she will shrug it off, put a smile on her face, and move on with her life. But I can't do the same. Why can't I? Well, because I don't want to shrug off something that is bothering me, and instead, I want to see to it that I get a painkiller. And that is the difference between us. When it comes to situations like these where the attitude is concerned, rather than the problem itself, my sister can handle it better. However, does that mean that I have to change the way I am in order to approach life the way my sister does? They say, "Why can't you be more like your sister?" Well, no, I can't. And I won't change my attitude just to match my sister's. Yes, maybe I do need to keep in mind that I am taking up somebody else's time and being rather pessimistic, but is asking to be cared for too much? Usually, people get annoyed at me for being grumpy and inconsiderate. They think that I am just wasting my time complaining and that it is bothering them. This is where I get confused. Why can't I express my pessimistic side? Why can't I get to be angry or mad or frustrated or annoyed? Why are other people so bothered by them anyway? These are my emotions too, and I should be able to express them, right? And being cynical at times is good because I am expressing what I am feeling and am not trying to hide it. I want to show that I am bothered, that I am uncomfortable, and that I do not like way things are going. I want to express my feelings because being cynical or any other negative emotion is a part of me, whether everyone likes it or not. And because I am the one who gets to control my own emotions, I will choose to express them or not, no matter the case.
As an elder sister of two siblings, I am usually the role model in the family. However, when in comes to attitude and reactions to things that bother me, I have to admit my sister handles it better. For example, when I have a headache, my whole day is ruined. I cannot function and I just have to lay down and do nothing. I get grumpy and annoyed at little things and become quite selfish, I admit.I ruin my day as well as everyone else's. My sister, on the other hand, can handle an insignificant thing like a headache way better than me. Although the pain is bothering her, she will shrug it off, put a smile on her face, and move on with her life. But I can't do the same. Why can't I? Well, because I don't want to shrug off something that is bothering me, and instead, I want to see to it that I get a painkiller. And that is the difference between us. When it comes to situations like these where the attitude is concerned, rather than the problem itself, my sister can handle it better. However, does that mean that I have to change the way I am in order to approach life the way my sister does? They say, "Why can't you be more like your sister?" Well, no, I can't. And I won't change my attitude just to match my sister's. Yes, maybe I do need to keep in mind that I am taking up somebody else's time and being rather pessimistic, but is asking to be cared for too much? Usually, people get annoyed at me for being grumpy and inconsiderate. They think that I am just wasting my time complaining and that it is bothering them. This is where I get confused. Why can't I express my pessimistic side? Why can't I get to be angry or mad or frustrated or annoyed? Why are other people so bothered by them anyway? These are my emotions too, and I should be able to express them, right? And being cynical at times is good because I am expressing what I am feeling and am not trying to hide it. I want to show that I am bothered, that I am uncomfortable, and that I do not like way things are going. I want to express my feelings because being cynical or any other negative emotion is a part of me, whether everyone likes it or not. And because I am the one who gets to control my own emotions, I will choose to express them or not, no matter the case.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Challenge 30: Name
150. Names have a mysterious reality of their own. We may well feel an unexpected kinship with someone who shares our name, or may feel uneasy at the thought that our name is not as much our own as we imagined. Most of us do not choose our names; they come to us unbidden, sometimes with ungainly sounds and spellings, complicated family histories, allusions to people we never knew. Sometimes we have to make our peace with them, sometimes we bask in our names' associations. Ruminate on names and naming, your name, and your name's relationship to you. (University of Chicago)
We are all born. We are all given different names. Names give us a sense of identity. Names are what we all associate our personal selves with. Names can also originate from different languages. However, one name can mean many different things, like "Maya," which means different things in different languages. My grade school friends used to make fun of my name. They used to call me "Antenna" instead of "Athena." My father loved that Greek name and gave it to me as a second name, especially for when foreigners couldn't pronounce my Nepali name and said my name with a special stress on the "d," which is something that gets me red and glaring. Anyway, it was slightly odd to have a Greek name, knowing that I had not connections with it, whatsoever. Because of this, and because of the torture from my tiny friends, I decided to drop the name and went by "Bidushi" instead.
I have never met anybody with the same name as I. So, although I know there are people with the same name, I like to make myself feel unique for having a unique name. Now, my friends still tease me with my name, calling me all sorts of things that may not be appropriate to mention. However, even if I had a third name, I wouldn't drop this name. I have grown into this name, made it a part of myself, and strongly try to base my personality around it. "Bidushi," in Sanskrit, mean an intelligent woman. Every time I think of its meaning, I remember what my grandmother always says to me before I part for school: "Nanu, live up to the name your father has given you. Do your family proud." As I child, I didn't take this so seriously (just my grandmother being elderly), but as a teen, I try my best to live up to this name. An intelligent, independent woman who stands on her own two feet and doesn't need to rely on anybody. That's what I aim for.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Challenge 29: Routine
127. Describe a daily routine or tradition of yours that may seem ordinary to others but holds special meaning for you. Why is this practice significant to you? (Barnard)
High school? Two words: no drama. Yes, my high school is different from other high schools. It is better in many ways: it is situated somewhere where nobody can discover it, it has monkeys jumping off trees every now and then, it is located nowhere near a mall, and it has some of the most beautiful views I have seen. And, you know what the great thing is? I love it here. Though sometimes things can get a little messy and I feel like never being in this place again, eventually, everything becomes right and life moves on in the "foothills of the Himalayas," as they say.
When I was younger, school meant, well, only school. Study hard, do a good job, please your parents, make good friends, and just the usual. However, as I grew up here, I started looking beyond just the ordinary. I wanted to make the most of my time here, whether it be in sports or just taking advantage of the place.
So, almost every day, I walk down to dorms alone. Yes, many others do too, but to me it holds special meaning. As my take my time, I look at the trees around me, observe the scenery, while being careful of wild monkeys. During winter time, the sunset looks magnificent: the soft blend between colors that decorate the sky that seems so far away. Red, pink, orange, purple, yellow, and blue, all at once. Next to the horizon lays the silhouette of the hill across, and overall, the scenery looks like a work of art, stuck in the sky just for me to enjoy. As I watch the sky, I think about, well, everything; I think about the fight I had with my sister, the friend who is annoying me, the teacher who cannot explain something to me, the book I forgot to bring to dorms, the amount of work I have. It may all seem so ordinary, but during this time, I reflect upon my day, try to understand what I need to improve, and think about what kind of a person I am. If I have a dispute with someone, I want to resolve and make up my mind to go and apologize. Besides these thoughts that are constantly occupying my mind, I try to connect to the environment around me, and try to make the most out of what my school has to offer.
High school? Two words: no drama. Yes, my high school is different from other high schools. It is better in many ways: it is situated somewhere where nobody can discover it, it has monkeys jumping off trees every now and then, it is located nowhere near a mall, and it has some of the most beautiful views I have seen. And, you know what the great thing is? I love it here. Though sometimes things can get a little messy and I feel like never being in this place again, eventually, everything becomes right and life moves on in the "foothills of the Himalayas," as they say.
When I was younger, school meant, well, only school. Study hard, do a good job, please your parents, make good friends, and just the usual. However, as I grew up here, I started looking beyond just the ordinary. I wanted to make the most of my time here, whether it be in sports or just taking advantage of the place.
So, almost every day, I walk down to dorms alone. Yes, many others do too, but to me it holds special meaning. As my take my time, I look at the trees around me, observe the scenery, while being careful of wild monkeys. During winter time, the sunset looks magnificent: the soft blend between colors that decorate the sky that seems so far away. Red, pink, orange, purple, yellow, and blue, all at once. Next to the horizon lays the silhouette of the hill across, and overall, the scenery looks like a work of art, stuck in the sky just for me to enjoy. As I watch the sky, I think about, well, everything; I think about the fight I had with my sister, the friend who is annoying me, the teacher who cannot explain something to me, the book I forgot to bring to dorms, the amount of work I have. It may all seem so ordinary, but during this time, I reflect upon my day, try to understand what I need to improve, and think about what kind of a person I am. If I have a dispute with someone, I want to resolve and make up my mind to go and apologize. Besides these thoughts that are constantly occupying my mind, I try to connect to the environment around me, and try to make the most out of what my school has to offer.
Challenge 28: Life
107. What is your approach to life? Reveal your life philosophy.
Parents have always been around. They always look out for you and take care of you. They give you your pocket money, pay for your school fees, educate you about risks, make sure you have a happy life, show you the importance of love and friendship, and much, much more. To me, my parents are people whom I can always trust and go to whenever I need. They have raised me, loved me, and have always been there whenever everything seems to fall apart. But, how long is this going to last? They are going to die eventually, everyone is. I depend so much on them and then, one day, just like that, they are just going to disappear and I will never see them again. And this is true not only for parents, but for everybody. One by one, everyone is going vanish and soon, I will be left by myself. So, yes, we are all alone in this world. We are thrown into the world with people who care for us and love us. But eventually, we will be left all by ourselves, no matter who we are. That's how life works and that's reality. You cannot always have comfort around you; you need to suffer, get a taste of what it is like being alone because this is all part of being human.
Honestly, I have imagined many time what it will be like when the people I love around me are gone. I will be alone and unsafe, friendless and abandoned. I will be left in this world to fend for myself, think for myself, and will be barely making it. But, hey, what can I do about it? Well, nothing really. This cycle, where people come and go, is not going to end just because I remorse about it and wish for it to end. People cannot live forever. This is reality and I need to accept it.
Parents have always been around. They always look out for you and take care of you. They give you your pocket money, pay for your school fees, educate you about risks, make sure you have a happy life, show you the importance of love and friendship, and much, much more. To me, my parents are people whom I can always trust and go to whenever I need. They have raised me, loved me, and have always been there whenever everything seems to fall apart. But, how long is this going to last? They are going to die eventually, everyone is. I depend so much on them and then, one day, just like that, they are just going to disappear and I will never see them again. And this is true not only for parents, but for everybody. One by one, everyone is going vanish and soon, I will be left by myself. So, yes, we are all alone in this world. We are thrown into the world with people who care for us and love us. But eventually, we will be left all by ourselves, no matter who we are. That's how life works and that's reality. You cannot always have comfort around you; you need to suffer, get a taste of what it is like being alone because this is all part of being human.
Honestly, I have imagined many time what it will be like when the people I love around me are gone. I will be alone and unsafe, friendless and abandoned. I will be left in this world to fend for myself, think for myself, and will be barely making it. But, hey, what can I do about it? Well, nothing really. This cycle, where people come and go, is not going to end just because I remorse about it and wish for it to end. People cannot live forever. This is reality and I need to accept it.
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Challenge 27: Book
63. Discuss an activity, interest, experience, or achievement in your life (this could be a book, movie, or an activity or experience at work, home, or at school) that has been particularly meaningful for you. (University of Florida)
The book is harshly realistic. It talks about how humanity has destroyed literature and its values, forgotten all that gives true knowledge, and moved on to depend on something that can provide no true emotions: technology. I felt the shivers run down my spine when Bradbury described the blood being pumped out and replaced by mechanics from the body of the wife. It disturbed me to think that humanity could reach such a point. And throughout the book, the lives of the people are described as though these aren't humans living, but rather machines and robots trained to enjoy life the way society wants. Though the novel seems to carry a negative message, the ending states otherwise. In the end, the book-lovers gather and walk towards the destructed city in hopes of rebuilding what has been destroyed. This shows that although there are people in this world to whom the destruction of knowledge doesn't matter, there are others who is rise above and beyond and do everything in their power to mend what has been destroyed. And this is the kind of person I want to become too.
Books provide knowledge and wisdom. They consist of numerous works and creations that will be a loss to the world if ever destroyed. Therefore, after reading this book, the importance of books and their stories became clear in my head. I sometimes disregard books, leave them lying around, without giving much thought to their importance. After reading this book, I understood how much knowledge I could gain from it, and even when books are taken away from me, if ever, the knowledge and wisdom I have gained will rest with me for the rest of my life, in my tiny head. After all, the son who built a library lived the happiest life.
Monday, November 28, 2011
Challenge 26: Home
149. Once you have completed your education, would you return to your hometown to begin your adult life? Why or why not? (William and Mary)
The smell of steamed momo's along the streets. The yellow, red, orange lights that colorfully decorate buildings. The silence lingering in the streets after the sun has set. The feel of the busy road on a hot day. The sea of happy faces engaged in their own little worlds. The loud conversations of the shop keepers across the street. The swarm of local students in blue streaming out of the public school. The occasional baah from the cows roaming awkwardly down the paved roads. Yes, I am going to miss every bit of it. My country Nepal, my hometown, the place where I belong. A country so different yet so special.
I have thought about a million times and I still do. I am young and still have a long, long way to go in life. I have dreams I want to pursue, goals I want to meet, things I want to experience. I love my country, and yet, I feel like I haven't seen enough, done enough, been exposed to change. My country gave birth to me, shaped the way I think, gave me an identity, let me have a place to call home. Yet, sometimes, I catch myself thinking about living somewhere else, somewhere far away from home, in a place so unimaginably different. Right now, I feel like the journey with my country ends here. I wish to not return, but instead, travel to places so different and new, and discover another life. Although I will miss the comfort of my hometown, I think that this age is pushing me to look in another direction, think in another way. However, when I am old and withered-out, desperately holding onto the small amount of life inside of me, I will look back and remember the place I grew up. I will catch a plane from there and fly straight home. I will brush away the tears that will obstruct my vision as the plane descends down the horizon and the city starts taking shape. Then, as I step on the soil of my beloved nation, I will feel victory for accomplishing the single cycle of my life and ending just where I had begun.
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Challenge 25: Colleges
69. One of Ramapo’s goals is to increase your capacity for learning and to teach you to think “outside the box.” Describe an experience that has had a significant impact on your intellectual development. (Ramapo College)
I had signed up for the trip, but on the night before, on Friday, I thought maybe I should not bother going. It was college fair in Doon School down in DehraDun. I had been there for another college fair, a Canadian one, but had got nothing out of it but just a visit to KFC. This time, however, it was a UK College Fair, where three top universities of the UK would be represented.
As I mentioned before, I had slept without giving the trip much thought and decided before falling asleep that I would skip this one. The next morning, however, my friends turned up early in the morning, at around 8:15 a.m., and told me to come along. I protested, but they started blackmailing me and telling me how important it was that I attend and that these were some of the best colleges in the UK. Grumpily, I got out of bed and hurriedly washed-up. I dressed quickly, ignoring my hair which needed urgent washing. I grabbed some breakfast, walked till New Road to get on the bus, and waited there for some of the late risers to turn up. While we were in the bus, our guidance councilor, who was accompanying us on the trip, prepared us for the trip.
Something she mentioned distracted me. She talked about how much importance these colleges gave to academics and grades and scores on external exams. She said that academics and your personal statement were the only things that mattered. I was shocked. This whole time, I thought about developing my personality, doing different things, engaging myself in a variety of activities to be an eligible candidate for colleges. And now, she stands in front of me and tells me how little these things are considered! And when we arrived there, too, the representative said that "we don't want to know you, your interests" and all.
It confused me. So is that all that college, in the UK mostly, was about? Having the highest grades? The best AP scores? Being the valedictorian? What about personality? Character development? Struggling? Overcoming obstacles? They didn't matter, now did they? That day I understood that I had to rise beyond my grades, beyond the academic barrier. And if these colleges don't want to see that, well, it's their loss. I will continue doing what I do and trying to give everything I do my best.
Friday, November 25, 2011
Challenge 24: Money
18. What invention would the world be better off without, and why? (Kalamazoo)
Money. Something we all need,
yet something that destroys us.
Something that strips us off of our trust,
and something that creates problems.
Money. Everybody wants some.
Some earn it, others work for it,
and some just steal it
because it seems to be the only way.
Money. You are judged by how much you have.
Can you afford the newest iPod?
Can you spend that much money every time you leave your house?
Can you buy a better car than before?
Money. Doesn't grow on trees.
Yet it seems to, when you have too much.
Doesn't grow on trees.
No, not for those in need.
Why? Why did they invent it?
Wasn’t taking my sock for your lace enough?
A fair give-and-take trade.
Simple and happily-resolved.
As I sit here in the dark hall,
Typing away in the computer,
I look at the money I just got,
And still can’t help but feel afraid.
Afraid of losing the money.
Afraid of being irresponsible.
Afraid of feeling the guilt.
Oh, to hell with money.
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Challenge 23: BOLD Prediction
128. Make a bold prediction about something in the year 2020 that no one else has made a bold prediction about. (U of Virginia)
People today predict that the world is going to end in 2013. Maybe it's true, maybe it isn't; that doesn't bother me. I am not going to say that the world is going to end in 2020. No. There is, however, another prediction I am about to make. Now, you may be alive when 2020 comes around and you may not. But if you are, then you are going to suddenly become 30 years older in age. Yes, that's right. If you are 30, then you will become 60. If you are 25, then you will become 55; you get the idea. Some of you may survive when we hit 2020. If you are below the age of 60, then you may live another five or six years. If you are 90, then you will drop dead, immediately.
Now, you may ask why I am making this awful prediction. Well, the answer is quite simple: the question wants me to. I am not a pessimist. The idea just landed in my mind while I sit in this noisy library and try to get my work done. Why do I say you will add exactly 30 years to your age? Well, I don't know. I just thought of that number. I didn't think twice and I thought 30 would be a good age to add. Is the prediction going to come true? Probably not. I am not a psychic, just a student would wants to make bold predictions. But, becuase it did hit my mind, it must have some meaning behind it. I mean, why didn't I make a prediction about the sun disappearing from the sky, or about us running out of chairs? Maybe on second thoughts, the prediction will come true. Instead of turning 26 in 2020, I will turn 56. Oh. I don't like the sound of that.
People today predict that the world is going to end in 2013. Maybe it's true, maybe it isn't; that doesn't bother me. I am not going to say that the world is going to end in 2020. No. There is, however, another prediction I am about to make. Now, you may be alive when 2020 comes around and you may not. But if you are, then you are going to suddenly become 30 years older in age. Yes, that's right. If you are 30, then you will become 60. If you are 25, then you will become 55; you get the idea. Some of you may survive when we hit 2020. If you are below the age of 60, then you may live another five or six years. If you are 90, then you will drop dead, immediately.
Now, you may ask why I am making this awful prediction. Well, the answer is quite simple: the question wants me to. I am not a pessimist. The idea just landed in my mind while I sit in this noisy library and try to get my work done. Why do I say you will add exactly 30 years to your age? Well, I don't know. I just thought of that number. I didn't think twice and I thought 30 would be a good age to add. Is the prediction going to come true? Probably not. I am not a psychic, just a student would wants to make bold predictions. But, becuase it did hit my mind, it must have some meaning behind it. I mean, why didn't I make a prediction about the sun disappearing from the sky, or about us running out of chairs? Maybe on second thoughts, the prediction will come true. Instead of turning 26 in 2020, I will turn 56. Oh. I don't like the sound of that.
Challenge 22: Third Stage
139. Spanish poet Antonio Machado wrote, “Between living and dreaming there is a third thing. Guess it.” Give us your guess. (U of Chicago)
When I am awake and living, I am confused. I am not sure what exactly is happening all the time. Maybe there is a math concept I don't understand, maybe the English essay seems to long, maybe the amount of information I collect throughtout the day is too much for my head. What do I do in these situation? Well, I sleep. Yes, just fall right asleep. Usually I dream about things that are bothering me, people I worry about, falling off cliffs, or getting chased by a man in black. When I get up in the morning, I still have that lingering feeling flowing through my body, whether it be frustration, anger, jelousy, nervousness, happiness, or satisfaction. However, the good thing about dreaming is, beside the feeling, I don't remember anything else when I wake up. It just floats right out of my mind and doesn't bother me anymore.
However, there is a third stage that lies between living and dreaming. Although quite important, this stage is often oblivious to some of us. The third stage is understanding. This stage is something we all need to go through and most of us do. During this phase, the human mind undstands something. It undestands the math concept, it understands the information provided, and it understand how to perform that specific task. It understands that the feeling felt after waking up from a nightmare is real. It understands that these feelings are hidden at the back and may only emerge while dreaming. Sometimes, in order to understand, the human mind must mix both reality and dreams, and somehow create meaning. Sometimes I feel like I am stuck between these two phases: dream and reality. I can't tell one from the other. Then, something clicks in my head. I understand something and it is part of both a dream and reality.
When I am awake and living, I am confused. I am not sure what exactly is happening all the time. Maybe there is a math concept I don't understand, maybe the English essay seems to long, maybe the amount of information I collect throughtout the day is too much for my head. What do I do in these situation? Well, I sleep. Yes, just fall right asleep. Usually I dream about things that are bothering me, people I worry about, falling off cliffs, or getting chased by a man in black. When I get up in the morning, I still have that lingering feeling flowing through my body, whether it be frustration, anger, jelousy, nervousness, happiness, or satisfaction. However, the good thing about dreaming is, beside the feeling, I don't remember anything else when I wake up. It just floats right out of my mind and doesn't bother me anymore.
However, there is a third stage that lies between living and dreaming. Although quite important, this stage is often oblivious to some of us. The third stage is understanding. This stage is something we all need to go through and most of us do. During this phase, the human mind undstands something. It undestands the math concept, it understands the information provided, and it understand how to perform that specific task. It understands that the feeling felt after waking up from a nightmare is real. It understands that these feelings are hidden at the back and may only emerge while dreaming. Sometimes, in order to understand, the human mind must mix both reality and dreams, and somehow create meaning. Sometimes I feel like I am stuck between these two phases: dream and reality. I can't tell one from the other. Then, something clicks in my head. I understand something and it is part of both a dream and reality.
Monday, November 21, 2011
Challenge 21: Influence
71. Write about a person who has had a significant influence on you, and describe that influence. (Hope College)
He knows he is balding but tries to act like it doesn't bother him.
He wears the same watch and carries the same wallet for 20 years and still refuses to replace them.
He cannot make out the difference between his brown pants and his cream pants.
He always finishes every grain of rice on his plate.
He likes his tea without any milk and the tiniest bit of sugar.
He has portraits of people who inspire him hung around the house: B.P. Koirala, Buddha, and Mahatma Gandhi.
He loves hiking because he knows it does good to his old heart.
He hates it when people disturb him while he is doing something.
He cannot type so fast so he asks me to do it for him.
He does not have patience for a keyboard with malfunctioning keys.
He won't stop doing something just because it doesn't seem possible.
He likes to steal ice-cream from the refrigerator once in a while.
He likes shaving his beard with the door ajar so that my little brother can watch him in amazement.
He believes that one cannot be a writer if he is not a reader.
He likes to tease me about getting old and disconnecting from the family.
He hates it when my mother scolds my siblings and me.
He likes to bring Disney movies back from his travels although he knows his kids are growing up.
He loves traveling and has been to more than 25 countries.
He is not particularly fond of dogs and is only tolerating the one at home because of us.
He lives by the words of Budhha when he wants to live in moderation.
He likes to work late into the night, although he tells me not to do the same.
He shows me the importance of being with the elders in the family. He thinks that I cannot hike for two hours without complaining, no matter how much I deny that fact.
He loves red wine.
When he is drunk, it seems to me like all the worries in the world are put to a rest with his deep, hearty laughs.
I tease him of dressing up like a Nepali politician but I can see the pride when he wears his national clothes.
He has a longing passion for the work he does.
He truly believes that he can make some difference to the world.
This is my father, whom I love very, very much. The pride and faith he has in his family, his job, his country, and his culture never fails to amaze me. He is a man of simplicity and wants nothing for himself. He works hard to make a living, to make sure his children grow up the right way, and to make sure that everyone he cares about is happy. His passion for his job and what he stands for is something that not many people posses. He loves what he does, and when I ask him when he is planning to retire, he says he is going to work till the very end. What my father is is everything I want to be. The kind heart that he possess, the amount of love he has for those he cares about, and his carefree nature about what other people think is something that I want, something that I am striving to have. He is my father, my idol, my inspiration.
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Challenge 19: Impression
142. First experiences can be defining. Cite a first experience that you have had and explain its impact on you. (University of Pennsylvania)
As I stepped into my bedroom, which would be the one I would stay in for the next two years, I had a little panic attack. Yes, I was a brand new student and had barely made any friends. I glanced at the door and looked at the names of my roommates who were complete strangers at that time: Fayza, Nina, Prakruti, Ji Sung, and Jin Young. I looked inside the room and found that I was the last one to arrive: all the beds except for one were made and the cupboards filled with clothes. None of my roommates were there at that moment. I smiled at the thought of having to sleep on a bunk bed as that too was new to me.
As I stepped into my bedroom, which would be the one I would stay in for the next two years, I had a little panic attack. Yes, I was a brand new student and had barely made any friends. I glanced at the door and looked at the names of my roommates who were complete strangers at that time: Fayza, Nina, Prakruti, Ji Sung, and Jin Young. I looked inside the room and found that I was the last one to arrive: all the beds except for one were made and the cupboards filled with clothes. None of my roommates were there at that moment. I smiled at the thought of having to sleep on a bunk bed as that too was new to me.
My parents and sister followed me close behind and we started unpacking my stuff. I set up my bed, put my clothes in the cupboard, and arranged my drawer. Before I could have my fill of chatting with my family, for I wouldn't be seeing them for the next five months, it was time to go. We walked to Ridge Wood field together, enjoying the last of the moments we had together before I was to leave them for, what seemed to me like, a long, long time. As they drove away in the small, white car, tears swelled up in my eyes and I quickly brushed them away. I stood there for some time, as the eleven-year-old inside me hoped to see the white car emerge from around the corner again. I realized that it wasn't going to happen, so I turned around and made my way back to Alter Ridge, and then to my room.
As I entered, I noticed that someone else was there. It was a small, Indian girl with short, curly hair. She was wearing a tiny-framed pair of glasses, and I remember thinking how very small her face was. She was sitting on the chair, calm and relaxed, next to a cupboard where her mother, I assumed, and big sister were unpacking the last bit of her clothes for her. As they saw me, they politely greeted me as did I. We introduced ourselves to each other. As I sat there, getting to know the girl and and her family, I felt happy. I was happy that I had finally started making friends.
Her mother and sister went out for a while while the girl and I continued to chat. She was jumpy and hyper and had lots of energy. She went on and on about herself, her sister, and her family. As we were talking, I saw an album on her table and asked her if I could take a look. I flipped through the album and saw many baby pictures of two little girls with one older-looking one. She told me that the big one was her elder sister and the little on was her twin sister. I remember thinking how cool it was that they didn't look similar at all. Then, she offered me some chocolate. Even today, we argue whether it was a KitKat she offered me or if it was Bar One.
Then, for the next five years, we became really close friends. We lived through middle school together and made some of the most unforgettable memories. When I look at her now, I still see the little, Indian girl who was the first friend I made when I was new, scared, and friendless.
Saturday, November 19, 2011
Challenge 18: Negative
172. Discuss how some negative experience (disability, illness, failure) has had a positive influence on your life.
It was end of my second semester of tenth grade, and the holidays were approaching quickly. With my exams around the corner, I was busy being me: panicking, yet trying to stay calm at the same time. My homeroom teacher announced that soon, those who wanted to stand up for positions as the class representatives would have to give in their names in and give a speech to the whole class. I had been thinking for a long time to stand up for the Class Governor, although I was extremely nervous. I had not stood up for a position since middle school, and I thought this would be the perfect opportunity to pull myself together. I finally made the decision and prepared, what I though to be, quite a good speech.
The day finally arrived. I arrived early to homeroom and started rehearsing my speech. We had the homeroom outside and the weather was very beautiful. I had worn some bright pink to make myself feel better. Some of my friends wished me luck as they took their places. I looked around to see the places getting filled up and eager faces staring at me. The nervousness got even worse. I had never been a good public speaker, however, I understood how much I need to improve that skill. My homeroom teacher introduced the candidates for the position. There were two other girls standing up for the position as well. I wished them luck, as one after the other, they went up to give their speeches. I thought both of them did really well. When my turn came, I got nervous, but I went in front of the class and showed them what I had prepared. They all listened quietly.
After I was done, I went and sat back down and felt a kind of victory explode inside of me. I did it. And it felt good. From then on, it didn't even matter if I got the position because I had overcome something that felt like an almost impossible task. I waited for the results to come. When I saw that I hadn't gotten the position, I felt bad, but not too bad, because I knew that I had given it my best. The rest wasn't up to me. So, here I am today, a better-skilled person than yesterday.
Friday, November 18, 2011
Challenge 17: Jogging?
186. Jogging has become extremely popular. Explain why you jog or why you don't.
For the life of me, I cannot seem to understand why people like jogging. I mean, okay, maybe it is better than having to see your dog take a leak or crap in front of you. But still, why would anybody in their right minds would want to get up early in the morning, and I mean early, just to "enjoy the fresh air and the cool breeze and the beautiful sunrise." If I wanted to "enjoy the fresh air and the cool breeze and the beautiful sunrise," I would just go live on a stupid hill. (It's funny because I do live on a hill. Just saying.) Apparently, jogging provides a calm and relaxing environment for these helpless souls. As for me, I know that jogging definitely doesn't do the trick.
I don't jog because I think it is pointless. Like I said earlier, you have to wake up super early from your dream in the La La Land. Then, you put on some dirty clothes, your sweaty, disgusting running shoes from yesterday and do some lame breathing exercises. They you go out and jog. Right. Then what? I know that these joggers claim that it gives them a "fresh start in the morning." I can only imagine a day like that being anything but "fresh." Once I did jog in the morning in the gym and almost fell off the treadmill. Then, the rest of the day was a disaster because I was so sore and so sleepy that I couldn't concentrate in my classes. And I had to go down early to dorms to catch up on my sleep which was disrupted by two whole hours. That brings me to jogging in the evenings or not in the morning, lets say. I am a busy, busy girl, and I need my time off when I have it. So, jogging in the evenings is next to impossible because school and the workload wears me out so much that I'd rather just stay in bed and "enjoy the fresh air and the cool breeze" and the beautiful sunset, in this case, from my window.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Challenge 16: Advice
58. Discuss the most important piece of advice you have ever received and explain its effect on your life.
We have all heard it, many times, I might add. I even remember reading a story when I was little that gave the same advice I heard from numerous people. It is about a woman who leaves her baby with her pet mongoose as she goes to work in the farm. When she returns, she sees that the mongoose has blood stains on its mouth. Concluding that it must have killed the baby, the woman beats the mongoose to death. She rushes into her bedroom, where she finds her baby sound asleep with a dead snake lying on the ground.
After reading the story, I remember thinking how incredible stupid it was of the woman to rush into making such a hasty conclusion. I also remember thinking that I, being the egoistic person I was, was never going to make such an absurd mistake. I promised myself that I was always going to think before I leaped. Then it happened.
It was just the usual French class where my teacher would greet us politely, and we would start talking in French. In the beginning, we talked about our day, the weather, and other less important stuff before actually moving into the plan for the day. This particular French class, a boy was supposed to do an oral presentation. He was late, as usual, so the teacher asked us about the classes we had before French. She asked me what I had, and I said English. She asked me if I was in AP English or AS English. I told her that I was in the AP class. Then, her next question interrupted the rhythm of the class.
She asked me what the difference was. Of course, I knew that students who were struggling with English were usually in the AS class. However, what I said next didn't come out exactly the way I wanted it to. Now, for the benefit of the reader, and to avoid humiliation, I am going to skip my reply, but you can probably imagine what it was.
After I said what I shouldn't have said, without thinking much about it because I was in a particularly good mood that day, the class fell silent. Then, my teacher looked at me with great big eyes that seem to have magnified in the split of a second. Her mouth formed an oval as she sucked in a short breath, as did the rest of the class.
I stopped for a moment and realized what hurtful and insulting words had escaped my mouth. I immediately took back any offence, though I couldn't, and told the class that I was sorry and that it didn't come out the way I wanted it too. Some giggled, but we moved on after that, and by the end of the class, no one remembered what had happened.
As for me, throughout the whole class and through the day, I felt a big black hole emerging at my chest and eating up my insides. I felt guilty, extremely guilty. Even though nobody from the AS class was in my class, I still realized how rude it would have been of me to say something so blunt. I had always pictured myself to be collected and careful of what I said and did. However, that incident really forced my eyes open and I realized how I could hurt other's feelings if I wasn't careful with my words. I realized how important it was that I follow the advice that I have heard so many times that it seems almost meaningless: think before you speak.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Challenge 15: Adjectives
60. Select three adjectives that describe you and explain.
Simple question, but difficult to answer. People say a lot of different things about me. Some say I have a kind heart, others say I am too naïve, many say that I have a good sense of humor (although slightly strange at times), and also that I can be a little demanding at times. This is coming from people I know quite well, so I guess it is all true. As for me, there are certain things that I think of myself as.
I can be very childish. Yes, maybe your average teenager is not like that, but I am, especially when I am around my mother. Being in a boarding school builds an independent character inside you who does not rely on other people anymore. However, when I am around my mother or my family in general, that childishness buried deep inside me suddenly arises as my emotions start to amplify. My mother gets especially irritated when I ask her to feed me, giving her my pleading face. My mother takes one good look at me, and with a smile on her face, says, “I can’t understand if you are sixteen-years-old or sixteen-months-old! Even your brother can feed himself now, and he is only three!” I do get a little embarrassed by that fact, but I do not care because I know I can act the way I do because she is my mother and is older than me. Silly things make me cry, like when I hit my toe real hard or bang my foot somewhere. For some odd reason, I cannot bear to be scolded by my teachers, when instead, I should be talking back. I think.
I would also describe myself as being lazy, the typical kind of lazy. During weekends, I live on my bed, literally. I sleep till 11 a.m, wake up soon after, wash up, eat breakfast, and continue my T.V. series from last night. Then, I sit in the same position, for hours on end, browsing the net for hours, and not all of it is useless, I assure you. I do actually check the news and try to be informed, as living in Mussoorie is like living under a rock because we are so isolated. My roommate sometimes gets a little frustrated, so she tell me to move around a bit and exercise; I just offer her some chips. I feel guilty after some time, so I stop the movie marathon and try to read a few pages of the book that I am supposed to finish by the end of the week. I can also be lazy when it comes to finishing up my work. I leave it till Sunday evening and stay up till 12 a.m. doing my work. I hate myself for that, so each Saturday, I try to do as much work as I can so that it won't be piled up. And, in my defense, the week really wears me out so a little break is necessary.
Despite these negative aspects (as you may consider) of my personality, I would also call myself sensitive. This trait can be a positive and as well as a negative thing. When somebody angers me, the dislike for the person is magnified in my heart. Though I am poor at expressing my discomfort, the anger is there. When someone lies to me on my face, I feel confused because I do not know why they are doing such a thing. When I am watching a movie, and it becomes really sad as the daughter bids goodbye to her dying father, tears swell in my eyes and I start crying. When a child out in the street, with just a dirty vest on, begs me for money, compassion gets the best of me. When my friends say something hateful to me, be it a joke or not, it still hurts my feelings and I feel horrible. When a teacher scold me for being incompetent, I can get hurt easily. Despite these emotions, this is who I am and I am proud to be me.
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