By the age of seven, I was sick of school and I wanted out by any means. I went Dorsa elementary school, a local school in East Side San Jose. Coming from a Latino background, I was at a disadvantage because English was not my first language. So to fix this, the principal, Mrs. Rodriguez, decided to have an after school program which was meant to keep non native-english speakers for one to two hours after school. Being in class was hard enough because I didn’t understand what the teachers were saying, or let alone care. I used to sit in the back of the small classroom, staring at the whiteboard or wall, dazed into space. My hands were usually underneath the table and sometimes I would doodle on my class assignments. This would end up with me getting lectures after class. After each long, boring day, I was forced to stay behind. I used to line up on the blacktop with a group of non native speakers and a group of teachers would walk us to a random classroom. When I arrived in a classroom, the teachers would tell us to take a book from the bookshelf. We started out by learning the alphabet, then we used the letters to create words. With those words, we would have to pronounce them to the best of our ability. After that, the teachers would give us binder paper and crayons. The book was used to teach us how to write and read. Me along with other students would copy each page of a book word for word, while slowly reading each word. This made me feel depressed after a good
Throughout the course of this semester, I have continuously grown as a writer. Prior to taking this course, I had little experience or knowledge when it came to writing. I used to struggle with forming my thoughts into writing, let alone a paper. I was never confident with what I wrote. My writing had no greater purpose other than the assignment. My writing process included: writing my paper, proofreading it, and turning it in. Once the paper left my hands, it also left my mind. Throughout this course we worked with others, visited the writing lab, wrote critiques, and we were able to revise our papers. I believe that all of this is has caused me to grow greatly as a writer.
When I first decided to expand my education, it had been so long since I had been to school, and I was very hesitant. I talked at length about my decision with my husband and with his encouragement, decided to enroll but still was not quite sure which degree program to enroll in. I knew that this was something that I had always wanted to do since I obtained my Associates Degree in Nursing, but I did not have the courage, nor did I want to give up the time with my family and children. I second guessed my abilities and my knowledge because it had been so long since I had been in college. Now that my children are about to graduate high school and
High school was on my agenda to become a more focused learner (Malcom X 3). Once I started to get more of an understanding on where my learning abilities stood. I started to feel a sense of
As a believer in Christ grows they become more aware of the gifts that they may have been given by the Holy Spirit. It is up to us to use the gifts for the right reasons. We are to allow God to work through us to edify the body of Christ. I see a lot of so called Christians these days using what is supposed to be a spiritual gift to use for ministry of the local church using them for self-edification. They are looking to see how much praise they can get instead of how much pleasure God will get through their service. We as believers need to be able to discern between what a spiritual gift is and what virtue is. A spiritual gift is related to the ministry of Christ and a virtue is related to our character. It is very easy for someone to blur the line between two and get confused. Our spiritual gifts are not the same for everyone, where all who believe should show the fruit of the spirit. To some believers the Holy Spirit gives the gift of serving, teaching, administration, and so on. But in the end it is not what spiritual gift we have but how we use it; this is what makes the difference between edifying the body of Christ or oneself.
By age of seven I was sick of school and I wanted out by whatever means.
By age of seven I was sick of school and I wanted out by whatever means.
“Therefore, as you received Christ Jesus the Lord, so walk in him, rooted and built up in him and established in the faith, just as you were taught, abounding in thanksgiving. See to it that no one takes you captive by philosophy and empty deceit, according to human tradition, according to the elemental spirits of the world, and not according to Christ. For in him the whole fullness of deity dwells bodily, and you have been filled in him, who is the head of all rule and authority,” Colossians 2:6-9 (ESV). The words of the Apostle Paul echo in warning to the people of Colossae, ones stressing the importance of being firmly rooted in the Christian faith. The observations that took place in the classroom and on the playground lead me to believe in the importance of a strong Christian foundation starting at a young age.
“We sleep safely at night because rough men stand ready to visit violence on those who would harm us.” –Winston Churchill. I do remember my late grandfather narrating alluring anecdotes from his time in the Indian Air Force and a few of my late great grandfather’s heroics while he served in the British Army (1917-1946). I slowly started to develop a taste for war-time stories, military history as a whole which always intrigued me, possibly because of my family lineage. I am always curious to learn more about our past, about the mistakes made by our forefathers that however frivolous they may seem or sound but were enough to instigate a war.
Stubborn is how my Mom would describe my personality. My Dad, on the other hand, always said I was tenacious. He believed our greatest strength can be found by understanding our weaknesses. As a child, he explained that being stubborn is a negative attribute. According to him, people do not like when they meet an inflexible brick wall. Tenacity, on the other hand, can be a powerful tool. It shows people you are determined and persistent. He wanted me to understand that a strength can sometimes be a weakness made to work in our favor. I have always remembered this advice and have used tenacity to achieve many of my life goals.
Over the course of the semester, I spent a wide variety of time working with high school students being trained for future employment through the program Project Search. Project Search is a program that serves high schoolers with significant intellectual and developmental disabilities, training them into possessing the skills to transition from the school system to the workforce. In the fall semester of 2017, five students from Blount County high schools who were interested in future employment took place in the program. Two students were female and three students were male. These students were in their last year of high school, around the age of twenty-one. Each individual had various abilities and skills that assisted them in building their skills for their future professions. The most observable skill was their ability to engage in social situations, which roughly ranged from having difficulty making eye contact to have little to no trouble in speaking. They also ranged in their abilities for a variety of other skills, such as staying in professional dress, completing work in a timely manner, and having a positive attitude during the workday. Over the course of the semester, I watched these students shape and develop their skills to prepare them for professional careers.
A peaceful Spring evening gave way to a moonlit crisis as I stumbled out of my house and through an empty neighborhood. I saw the stars on the pavement beneath my feet, and underside of the ocean in the skies above; I didn’t want to exist anymore. I wanted to cry and scream, but only bubbles would come out. I walked deeper into the void, and in my depressing soliloquy, I cried out; I asked why I’m like this, why must I overthink and overanalyze any situation, when did I lose the ability to accept, and why the hell can I not learn to love myself? Whether the response from the void was a spiritual experience, a message from God, or maybe just a personal epiphany, I do not know. But that’s what I learned to accept, that there’s a lot of stuff I do not know and that I will never know. That night, I realized that true acceptance is not where I fully come to terms with a situation, no matter how terrible, but it is acknowledging how I will never fully accept these things. It is looking at the bad things in my life directly, and respecting that I will never be completely okay with it, and welcoming my sadness. After this night, I learned to accept my overwhelming self-hatred and fear of failure, and I grew to become more motivated and hardworking because of this. I wanted to work so that I could feel good about myself and I hoped that it would make me truly happy one day. After accepting all the things I didn’t know, I began to believe that there was a light around the corner, out
Being a Christian is not something that everyone accepts wholeheartedly. It, at times, brings about ridicule and resentment, and it is typically a matter in which most people will try to avoid talking about for the sole fact that they do not want to be questioned on their beliefs. Deciding to follow Jesus is a huge deal, and for me, this decision came when I was 14 years old.
Beginning in September 1981, I was cheese-bused (school-bused) from Steele School to Mayfair Elementary in Northeast Philadelphia beginning in second grade. Amazingly, we were accepted in the desegregation program, which allowed minorities to start seeking education outside their own neighborhoods. I thought that the desegregation process began in the 60s, but I guess these Northeast Philadelphia neighborhoods remained defiant on keeping us out. I remember the green application form and clearly written on top of it “Desegregation”. Not knowing what it meant back then, I was clearly blind to the fact that racism still existed and unfortunately still does. Northeast Philadelphia was the place where the Irish lived. Rowhomes lined the streets and were always kept clean on the outside. There was always tension about going to the Northeast for anyone who wasn’t white. Initially, we weren't welcomed from the neighborhood, but the school had no choice, but to let us in.
I visualized the entire process in my head: the light coming from the sun, getting trapped as heat because of greenhouse gases instead of leaving the earth and thus heating it. I started to raise my hand to answer the question and got about halfway before it happened. My hands started trembling. My throat dried up and my voice decided to take a vacation off to who-knows-where. I wanted to keep going, but the anxiety wouldn’t let me. Defeated, I put my hand down and let someone else answer the question. I had major speech anxiety.
Have you ever thought of the idea of learning? I never really understood why kids my age have to go to school. I mean, here at home you have all the free time to do anything. At school is completely different. The teachers at the schools I’ve attended didn’t teach me anything that I needed to know before high school. At my old elementary school I didn’t quite get what my teacher was teaching. They said I’m above all of the learning at my old school, but when I transferred to Green Elementary I wasn’t at the correct level. I was behind. My old school was teaching, but in their way of teaching I didn’t quite understood what they were asking, and don’t get me started with questions.