*Warning: Long Post Approaching*
I don't know why i waited so long to do this, but i've been wanting to see what everyone else has done. i know it's gonna be extremely long, but w/e i'd like to see how other people write.
speaking of long essays, mine goes way past the "recommended" length and hopefully you'll soon understand why. the one i will post was my most used essay for schools that allowed me to choose a topic of my own, and this one was edited down to 3 pages. if for some reason you want to see the original 4 page essay, let me know and i'll be sure to post it up.
so here it is. you can critique it or w/e, but i don't care because as you'll find out, that's not what an essay is supposed to be about to me. this is personal, and no one got a look at it until it was complete.
I hate essays. It’s 11:30 a.m. on a Saturday morning and I should be leaving the SAT testing center. Instead, I’m instructed to turn the page and begin the writing component of the test. It’s my second time taking this exam, and the topic for the essay is just as extraneous to my interest as it was the first time around. This test, however, wasn’t what led me to have such strong feelings against essays, it just fueled the flame. Unfortunately, essays and I have spent too much time together, and perhaps just like an unhappy couple, we began to notice flaws and negative aspects about each other.
I’m not sure of the exact date, but sometime about eight years ago I formally met an essay for the first time. While being introduced, she held her ground and seemed very intimidating, while I nervously fidgeted around in my desk. There was an immediate attraction, however, when I looked deeper, and I could see a great future for the two of us. Her openness and willingness to listen to my thoughts, no matter how extensive or detailed, was a characteristic I knew I couldn’t find in many others. There was also something about this essay that let me know I would be able to communicate with her about anything, and she would try her best to understand my feelings.
After our initial introduction, we probably met only three or four more times throughout the remainder of that fourth grade school year. Having a limited number of visits with essays allowed me to really appreciate them, and always have something new and exciting to share. She was able to see me grow, mature, and respond to the many changes that occurred in my life over the next few years. A strange thing happened though at the beginning of seventh grade, and this is when an essential turning point in our relationship took place. I don’t know what made her change, but as I progressed through seventh and eighth grade, our conversations seemed to become more frequent, but directed only by her, allowing me little room to express how I really felt. She became less accepting and created stricter guidelines and regulations I was instructed to follow, and I no longer felt a real deep bond between the two of us.
I was optimistic after eighth grade though, hoping that maybe high school would permit essays and I to take a much needed break to evaluate our relationship. Just the opposite was proven true, however, as with more students and more teachers came more essays. Avoiding essays was impossible, and soon we began seeing each other at least once a week. Besides the fact that she was becoming less personal and more controlling and austere, I noticed some other unappealing qualities that became more prevalent as we spent additional time together. After the middle school years, she established a firm time limit, often not allowing me to finish my thoughts and project my ideas completely. I couldn’t understand how an essay’s most attractive trait could diminish so easily with time. She transformed from being so tolerant and perceptive, to becoming demanding and imperious. While we were once very personal and intimate, she suddenly began to share my thoughts and expressions for others to review and offer criticism. How can a relationship truly be meaningful and passionate when others are constantly trying to examine and analyze it? In addition to discussing my feelings and ideas to an open forum of friends, I was soon being compared to work in popular literature, where so called “experts” explained how to properly and appropriately convey one’s thoughts and emotions to paper. These writers contradicted themselves, stating that it is the individuals’ personal response and ideas that make an essay powerful, yet they create guidelines for others to follow to attain a successful essay. How personal is a writing sample when its format and design is taken from a book written by someone who knows nothing about your life and beliefs? Our conversations also altered from being open-ended, unrestricted exchanges, to discussions designed around works of literature I had no interest in and was forced to read. Time together was no longer spent enjoying each other’s company and joyfully chatting about personal events or happenings; rather, we occupied ourselves by bickering over trivial occurrences in our relationship.
After numerous unhappy years of being together, it ultimately became obvious that our connection had not been as sturdy and personal as initially planned. Nevertheless, it was a relief to finally agree, as a couple, and come to the conclusion that we had one major blemish in our relationship that rose above all. There was a severe lack of communication. I should have recognized it earlier, but I was so busy trying to make our relationship work, that I shied away from the thought of communication errors ever occurring. As I reminisce about our past, it is apparent that we have never connected as profoundly as I had wanted to believe. No matter how detailed and comprehensive my writing, nothing can match the power and superiority of a life in progress. No matter how advanced and evocative my vocabulary, no words or phrases can truly describe an individual. No matter what anyone else says, there is simply no other way to truly get to know a person other than through physical contact.
Now as I’m taken back to this Saturday morning in a classroom, completing the “personal response” section of what is assumed to be the most important test of my life, I can’t help but whisper, “I hate you.” Again I don’t have enough time to thoroughly finish my reply, but this time I just smile and think, “Who cares?” If someone won’t allow me to completely express my opinions so that they can gain a better insight to my life, then they’re not someone I want to be with anyway.