Graduation Speech - Original Writing

Nine years ago, I never could have imagined I’d be writing this essay. I was a senior in high school, and, like the rest of my classmates, I was apprehensive about the future. Unlike my classmates, I felt like I had missed the proverbial “you need to get your life together” message. I watched my classmates apply to colleges, their majors already decided and their future careers mapped out. While I was an above average student, I felt I lacked the decisiveness my classmates seemed to have. I did not feel passionate about a career or even a field of study. I felt defective. This was compounded by the financial strain I knew attending college would have on my family. It seemed wasteful to try to “find my passion” at school while squandering

“We have done everything we can, all that is left is to hope for the best” the intensivist said in a crackly voice. I felt powerless and distraught. It was the summer of 2015, just before my medical school final, thesis and graduation. My grandmother was her joyful self a few weeks ago, how was this possible? She always had a distrust and fear of doctors, the only person she opened up to with medical issues was me, her only grandchild. She had not seen a doctor in many years and never undertook any screening tests. Few months prior she began having low-grade fevers and constipation, this alarmed me, so I pleaded with her to see a physician. No luck. Her symptoms became worse; she was getting weaker each passing day. I could not sit and watch my beloved grandmother suffer.

When my family arrived in the United States as immigrants in December of 2000, we were foreigners in a strange place. We did not know any English so my siblings and I were placed in a school that had an English as a Second Language program specifically designed for immigrant students. I remember being pulled out of my normal classroom regularly to work with teachers and other students on activities that were designed to teach me English. The memory that stands out to me the most when thinking of those classes are the teachers who patiently worked with me sounding out words in books or writing sentences. The teachers made me excited about learning even when I was pulled out of my regular class at times when we were watching a movie or playing games. One day we were reading out loud in class and I nervously raised my hand to volunteer to read. I began reading the sentence in my small timid voice and as I continued reading I heard the voice of a girl who was comfortable and assured in the words she was speaking. There were no unsure pauses or nervous stutters in my reading and I remember feeling a sense of triumph that I could read so clearly. The separate time I received with these teachers played a large role in my success as a student. I was able to form a comfortable relationship that allowed me to be more engaged in the class and willing to learn without fear.

I don’t feel like getting out bed this morning. I’m here what more do you want. The only reason I’m getting up this morning is because breakfast starts in a few minutes. They have someone to make us our meals. Thank God. I would not be in the mood to cook my meals. When I get into the dining room everyone stares at me. They’re acting like I’m the new kid or something. Oh wait I am. There is only about seven or eight people here not including me. I guess that’s good. It means there are less people I have to talk to. I really don’t want to have this group session later. I plan on not saying anything the whole time if that’s possible.

I was always particularly early getting to class, but today I was running a little late. I shifted my backpack 's weight nervously from shoulder to shoulder as I hurriedly made my way down the fifth grade hallway. I skipped into the class room with just enough time to take my seat as the teacher began to take roll. The teacher managed to get the room quiet enough to tell us that we were expecting a guest speaker that morning. "Perfect timing! Here he is now." As she finished telling us his name he reached the doorway and knocked rhythmically on its frame. He waddled up to the front of the room and introduced himself with the biggest smile on his face. "Hey guys I 'm Mr. Womack!" He was a short fat man with patches of thin brown hair lining the sides of his head. "I am the band director at the middle school, and I am here to talk to you guys about joining band!" I perked up from my typical 'slid down in the bottom of my seat ' posture so I could pay more attention to what he had to say. "Has anyone ever had a family member play a musical instrument?" He looked around the room filled with wide eyed fifth graders squirming in their seats half listening. I wanted to pipe up from my small blue desk to say I have, but I was so painfully shy it made that action almost impossible to preform. After what seemed like forever he dismissed his question and moved onto the next. "Would anyone be interested in playing an instrument in the middle school band?" Almost instantly every hand in

It was her freshman year. She walked into the school feeling more nervous and frightened than she had ever felt previously in all nine years of attending school. Quaking in her shoes, she roamed the halls, frantically searching for the right classroom, fearing a possible encounter with a senior who would more than likely karate chop her to the ground before she even had a chance to run. Every year that she could remember there was a new friend whom she had latched onto in an attempt to survive the year. Yet freshman year, as she became more acquainted with her surroundings and the occupants of the building, friends were found in people she never would have imagined. She had finally found the group of friends she knew would stay by her side her entire highschool career; or all of theirs anyway.

Forget all my excuses, when I saw you sitting there I had to go to you. You were stunning. I couldn 't pass up the opportunity. I sat down in front of you and you gave me all your attention. The way you looked at me and spoke to me felt good.

It started off as a regular Friday. I woke up feeling relieved that I didn’t have classes that day, as I needed a break from school. Instead of rushing to get dressed, I chose to sleep in for a while. When I woke up again, it was already past noon and my roommate was gone. As I slowly crept out of bed, I realized that I was smiling. I wasn’t stressed out like I usually was, and that was because I never had classes on Fridays. It upsets me when I think about how excited I was to leave home and be independent. It never occurred to me that college would be hard. There would be no one here to hold my hand or force me to do any work. So I made my way to the bathroom and took a shower. After I had gotten dressed, I went to Shaw and had a nice lunch. Nothing special, just two slices of pizza and a salad. When I had finally finished eating, I decided to go for a walk.

Upon arrival on campus, I had no time to spare as I pulled into the student parking lot. I got out of my car and went straight to class. I took a seat, making sure I kept my dress down enough. I watched as Mason came into class and he sat next to me.

The next day I nearly skipped to school. I was in such a good mood that I couldn’t help but to smile. I don’t know what it is about Shay, but I couldn’t get him out of my head. He was a bad boy that was probably a terrible influence but I couldn’t help but hope that he would show up to class.

Today is just another normal day in seventh grade. I get to my Christian school, open my locker, and find all my stuff has been removed. There is a bright green post-it note that says “Get a life, loser...And if you want your stuff back, have a fun time looking for it,” I turn around when I hear snickering that sounds all too familiar.

I woke up that morning giddy bursting with excitement. I thought college was this scary monster where no teachers cared to learn your name and you were by yourself, but our first assignment was going on a nature walk, it was like elementary again. As I went to leave I was scared that our class wouldn’t be able to go because it was sprinkling outside and looked like it was going to get worse, despite that I kept my hopes high.

I dreaded to go home. I couldn’t stand the sound of my parents voices arguing. It just didn’t seem right. The two people that I have known my whole life fighting. It just didn’t seem normal. All of these thoughts were rushing through my head just as the noisy school bus pulled up to my stop.

When I first joined this English class, it wasn’t completely by choice. Since this was my very first semester of college (having just graduated high school in June), my dad helped me pick all my classes. I needed an English class to meet state requirements. While searching through the class catalog online, I discovered that my old English teacher was teaching an English class in the morning. I greatly anticipated joining the class, but, unfortunately, I wasn’t qualified to enter (I had to be in the ‘Camino program’, whatever that is). I informed my dad, so he rushed to find myself a new class at the last minute. English 1A - 41066 was open, so I tried sitting in for the day. The class (and the teacher) seemed interesting enough that I decided to try and get an open seat. Fortunately, as more students left, I was able to officially enroll in the class.

Setting my suitcase and bags next to my bed, I glanced around seeing that most of the things I kept here were where I left where I ha don 't them two months ago. summer break recently ended and class was scheduled to resume on Monday. It was my last year here at Maxwell College of Arts and I could already tell that this year was going to be stressful.