Losing Fear of Writing

At this point, I am the equivalent to a broken record when I say “writing is not my strong suit”. I am not sure if it is the act of or the thought process needed that discourages me but I do not like writing. Additionally, I have never been confident or proud of my pieces which was apparent. Teachers would continuously make comments about how my essays were formatted correctly but lacked attention capturing content. Besides their remarks, I would be given a high grade which left me unsatisfied and yearning for improvement. Over this quarter I have learned to write honestly about private topics and to put a halt to my mentality of only writing in essay format. These are two major steps forward to being the writer I want to be.

With “Post-War Zone” and “Why I Care”, a new mindset brought a deeper sense of connection. Until recently, I have never considered how out-of-classroom experiences affected my writing styles.  This has been my first quarter as a freshman in college, in an all new setting, meeting all new people, and having all new experiences. Due to my new living and schooling circumstances, I have been challenging myself to travel beyond my comfort zone in order to become fully immersed. Extending this mindset into my writings has proved to be beneficial. I have allowed myself to write about my most closeted events and feelings openly. By doing so, my attachment to those two specific pieces is stronger than any writings I have done before. With this new found confidence, I feel that I can now be proud of my writings.

            During these past ten weeks, I was able to break the academic writing style that held me back from the general progress I needed. “Concert Anticipation” is the one piece that forced me to think and write in a way I have not done before. I have never had a writing assignment quite like this one. By choosing to write about one of my favorite topics, I thought it would make the writing process trouble-free. My tactic made for some ease but I quickly came to the conclusion that my thought process was wrong. Even with the instructions, I still felt I needed to write well thought out sentences in an organized manner. I began to type anything that came to mind related to concerts. Once I started to just write, I found this piece to be fun which is something I am not used to writing being. With this new found enjoyment, I began to think about different variations of sentences. The limitation of six word sentences contributed to putting an end to the restrictions I had placed on myself.

Fortunately, from these three pieces, I would have difficulty picking which I favor the most. Since I am known for my overbearing modest attitude, I feel deserving to say: “Post-War Zone”, “Concert Anticipation”, and “Why I Care” are three of my best writings so far in my academic career. By throwing away the constraints of essay writing styles and by allowing myself to journey past my comfort levels, I have lost the fear I associated with writing.

Post-War Zone

Original

     Notebooks opened to lengthy notes. Packets of paper scattered with random highlighted lines. Empty bottles of water here are there. A large plate with half eaten snacks laid on top of the piles of paper. My hair was in a knotty, unmanageable top bun. I was still in my froyo stained and bleach smelling work clothes. I had completely made my dining room a post-war zone of homework. Tonight I had to manage the store and lock up causing me to not get home till close to 12 on a school night. The pressure of being in high school and being a manager had finally hit. Everyone was impressed by how I was able to cope with having a part time job and still keep up my grades in school. All of the praise had gave me a false sense of having to continue the good work and not take a break for myself. The stress hit me like a ton of bricks which led to me having a small breakdown. I have always been a strong person with the ability to keep myself together so it hurt my family when they saw me crying and freaking out. My mother couldn’t handle seeing me in that state which caused her to also become upset. She told me that I needed a break but I knew I had to get my work done. That night I stayed up till the early hours of the morning and still went to school the next day with dark circles and bags under my eyes. Even with this incident, I’m still a workaholic.

Revised

Revisions Done: Created a short narrative from original writing.

     School days always felt like flashes of mundane classes and monotonous interactions until finally being released to officially start what was left of my afternoon. Once I had been promoted to manager at my job, a majority of my afternoons were taken from me. After the night shifts at work, I would rush home to stay up for hours in order to complete my school assignments. Learning to balance a part time job and being a full time student came easily but it was college applications that broke my stability.

     I do not get home until 11:30 pm after a full day of school and locking up the store once the night shift was over. Besides my apparent exhaustion, I still have a work load estimated to take at least two hours. Not wanting to waste any time, I threw my hair into a distressed top bun and stayed in my ice cream stained, bleach smelling work clothes. I knew I would be unable to sleep until I had finished the two pages of math problems, completed the two college applications I started, and wrapped up my major English essay. Before beginning, I made a cup of coffee, grabbed a few bottles of water, and a large plate of snacks. After bringing everything back to my bedroom, I instantly dove into the mountains of work waiting for me. Notebooks opened to lengthy notes. Packets of paper scattered with random highlighted lines. Multiple website tabs and word documents open on my laptop. Empty bottles of water here and there. A large plate with half eaten snacks laid on top of the piles of paper. In a matter of no time, I had made my bed into a post-war zone of partially done work and crumbs. 

     “I love you, but you look horrible, Jazmine.” My mother and I have always been comically honest to each other but her comment had more of an impact on me than she may have thought.

  

     Within a split second, all of the stress I pushed aside had crashed onto me like a tidal wave. I began to fling papers into the air, throw pens, and repeatedly scream about how I am a failure all the while crying profusely.  The pressure of being in high school and being a manager had finally hit. I have always been a strong person with the ability to keep myself together, so witnessing me snap struck my mother. She has never seen me in that state so her reaction to hold me tightly was highly apprehensive. My tantrum lasted for what felt like hours but was only mere minutes. After only slightly calming down, I began to clean up the mess I made only to continue my work with tear stained cheeks and uneven breathing.

     “I won’t be able to sleep peacefully until my work is done, I’m sorry.” 

     By the time I completed the pile of work and fell asleep it was already 3 am. Even with less than three hours of sleep, I still dragged myself to school the next day. Peers, coworkers, family, and friends were all impressed by my ability to handle a part time job while maintaining high grades in school. All of the praise put me under the false sense that I had to continue the good work before taking a break for my own well-being. 

Concert Anitcipation

Original 

     Parking is nothing but absolute havoc. Finding a spot seemed quite impossible. One is found and taken immediately. We leap out of the car. My friends and I are ready. Endless lines wrap around the venue. We join the other thrilled attendees. Smiles can’t be wiped off faces. Only a couple minutes have passed. Yet, the wait feels almost unending. Our anticipation can fight off armies. Our tickets are scanned and accepted. We squeeze past crowds of people. Arms are linked to stay together. Distance from the stage is decreasing. I want to be even closer.  The bars are at my chest. This is where I’m the most content. We still can’t believe we’re here. Another wait begins to drag on. Still, nothing could kill my excitement. Stage crew quickly sets up everything. Glimpses of the artists create insanity. The lights dim and we scream. A drum begins to be played. A melody begins on a guitar. Lyrics begin to be sung hypnotically. The jumping crowd abruptly sings along. Colorful, flashing lights fill the room. The bass is shaking my ribs. Our eyes could not be wider. For some reason, it feels unreal. Without a doubt, I belong here. 

Revised

Revisions Done: Expanded on length.

Concert of the year is announced. A lineup like this is unheard of. The group chat has become relentless. There is no question I’m attending. My friends and I purchase our tickets. The date has been marked down. We wish time could be fast-forwarded. The wait is going to take forever.

It’s the night before the night. My outfit has been picked out. Complete with my comfortable, timeless Converses. Transportation with friends is planned out. The quickest route has been chosen. “Driving To” playlist has been made. Energy fueled songs for the journey. “Driving From” playlist is also done. Mellow songs for the ride back. Concert tickets are ready to go. Phone rings with excitement filled texts. Sleep escapes me, eagerness fills in. This time tomorrow will be exuberant.

The next day is dragging on. I need time to speed up. When the afternoon arrives, we prepare. My friends and I are ecstatic. Before we leave, we eat up. Content, we pile into the car. The drive begins with nonstop music. Laughs and stories are exchanged throughout. The estimated arrival time clocks down. The venue is in clear sight.  Parking is nothing but absolute havoc. Finding a spot seemed quite impossible. One is found and taken immediately. We leap out of the car. My friends and I are ready. Endless lines wrap around the venue. We join the other thrilled attendees. Smiles can’t be wiped off faces. Conversations strike up effortlessly between everyone. Only a couple minutes have passed. Yet, the wait feels almost unending. Door open time is tiptoeing closer. The line begins to move forward. Attendees are inching closer with excitement. The entrance is nearby, yet far. We have reached the main door. Our tickets are scanned and accepted. 

Our anticipation could fight off armies.

Seeing the stage erupts our emotions. Expedition for the front has begun. Arms are linked to stay together. We squeeze past crowds of people. Distance from the stage is decreasing. I want to be even closer.  The bars are at my chest. This is where I’m most content. We still can’t believe we’re here. Now we begin the waiting game. Still, nothing could kill my excitement. Stage crew quickly sets up everything. Glimpses of the artists create insanity. They smile and wave back cheerfully. Their smirks show their own enthusiasm. Suddenly, the stage is seen vacant. Only mic stands and drums visible.

The lights have been shut off.  Darkness ensues a rush of emotions. My friends and I are screaming. Its seconds before sound is heard. Again, these seconds feel like years. A drum begins to be played. The crowd erupts into roaring cheers. A melody begins on a guitar. Undoubtingly, the roars become even louder. Lyrics begin to be sung hypnotically. The jumping crowd abruptly sings along. Colorful, flashing lights fill the stage. Fog begins to fill the venue. Lights can be seen in the air. Now, the display is beyond mesmerizing. My eyes could not be wider. My ribs shake with the bass. My voice is screaming the lyrics. My hands clap to the beat. My body is in constant motion. For some reason, it feels unreal.

Without a doubt, I belong here. 

Why I Care

Original

     I care about how I look. I care about how I feel. I care about what I do. The most important thing I care about is other people. This is not only a blessing but also a complete downfall of mine. From a young age I would treat everything and everyone with kindness. My innate thoughtful personality was furthered by my grandmother. Growing up, my young mother had to work two jobs in order to make ends meet. Since she was working a majority of the time, most of my childhood was spent with my grandmother. It is common to take on various personality traits from prominent caretakers which is why I continue to put others first. My grandmother would make surprise presents, baked goods, and help out others without ever expecting something in return. She would go through hell and back if it meant that she was able to care for someone in any way needed. Naturally, I began to take on similar selfless actions. One of my favorite things to do is surprise friends with their favorite candies for no reason. Unfortunately, it is looked down on to be too considerate. Although I have been told countless times that I’m going to be taken advantage of, I still always offer to help. A 6 year friendship of mine was recently ended because of the friend humiliating my in front of a group of people as well as completely cutting me off. Although the ending of the friendship hurt me more than anything, I would not hesitate to help her if she ever asked for anything. Most think I am out of my mind for saying so but it’s just how I am. 

Revised

Revisions Done: Expanded on length while also picking apart how I feel about this personality trait of mine.

     Caring is second nature to me. Besides my own well-being, the most important thing I care about is other people. This is not only a valuable characteristic but also disadvantageous for myself. From a young age I would treat everything and everyone with kindness and I was always willing to help. My innate thoughtful personality was brought up and fostered by my grandmother. Growing up, my young mother had to work countless hours in order to make ends meet. Since she was working countless hours, most of my childhood was spent with my grandmother. It did not take long for me to take on various personality traits from my leading caretaker which is why I continue to perform similar selfless actions. My grandmother would buy or make surprise presents, bake goods, and help others without ever expecting anything in return. She would do whatever possible if it meant that she was able to care for someone. In her eyes, she thought it was only proper to cater to others first before taking care of herself. In the same, when asked for help, I as well will go through great lengths to make sure I can take care of someone. Even with acquaintances, I will still assist them in some ways. However, I prefer to showcase my care by surprising others with “just because” presents. For example, when I know a friend is upset, sick, or going through something difficult, I bring them their favorite candy. Also, I adore catching up with family friends and personal friends who I have not heard from or seen in some time to see how they are doing. While their genuine joyfulness brings me happiness, I still feel as if it is nothing to be praised for. Like my grandmother, it seems only essential to care for others in any way.

     Unfortunately, it is looked down on to be too considerate. Though I have been told countless times that I’m going to be taken advantage of, I still always offer to help. Recently, a 6 year friendship of mine came to an abrupt, harsh end. Although everything ended with humiliation and silence that hurt me more than anything, there would be no hesitation if she ever asked me for anything. Furthermore, I would not expect her to do something for me to make it “equal”. Most think I am out of my mind for saying so but it’s just how I am. Not expecting anything in return has made me almost clueless to when I am being used by someone. As I have grown, I have personally realized how awful it is to be unaware when someone is clearly taking advantage of my caring nature. The mistreatment is apparent when someone only talks to me when in need or if they go into hiding when I ask for assistance. Additionally, it has come to my attention that I tend to forget about my well-being when helping others. There have been instances where, regrettably, I have put my safety at risk just to do a favor for someone. I have forgotten that putting yourself first is not egotistic but rather essential to avoid getting hurt. Currently, I am in limbo between discovering what situations and what people I should be selfless with. While I never want to lose my helpful personality, I have come to the understanding that I need to be selective with my aid in order to protect myself and to be considerate of my own good.

Summary

Here are three writing pieces I have done so far in my first college English course. They are each introduced with a short write-up about my thoughts on the piece itself. It is oddly enjoyable picking apart my own writing for once and pin pointing any problem areas. Below is a list of the writing pieces and their intros:

1. Picking Apart My Breakdown
2. Post-War Zone of Homework
3. Thoughts On The Radar Beauty
4. Radar Beauty
5. My Two Major Habits
6. Silver Lining of Disinterest 

Picking Apart My Breakdown

The topic of this writing piece was to capture a vivid memory from over a year ago where were not going through the best of times. The version posted is a very slightly altered version of what I wrote in class. I chose to go with the night I had a pile of homework up to my ears due at the end of the week. I had to complete all of the work while also having to be a manager at my job. I found this writing piece quite difficult because I’m not one to be open about any personal incidents. Even with feeling free to write what I wish, I was still vague with my feelings from that night. I have no issue explaining the scene or how others felt around me but talking about myself is something I’m not used too. To some this may not be seen as an issue but I feel that you should be connected with your writing. While I do strive to be interested in my writings, I rarely become emotionally attached. In my opinion, when a connection is made, the piece becomes more genuine and honest for the readers. This problem of mine is similar to how vague my writing can be which is explained in more depth with my final writing piece. Also, I have the tendency to be choppy with my writing. In the piece I jump from one situation from the other. For example, I go from briefly explaining my general problem to quickly jumping to everyone’s thoughts about me. It is difficult for me to blend ideas together to provide an easy transition. Although I wish I could open up more about exactly what I felt that night, I do not mind how my overall description of the night came out. 

Post-War Zone of Homework

                Notebooks opened to lengthy notes. Packets of paper scattered with random highlighted lines. Empty bottles of water here are there. A large plate with half eaten snacks laid on top of the piles of paper. My hair was in a knotty, unmanageable top bun. I was still in my froyo stained and bleach smelling work clothes. I had completely made my dining room a post-war zone of homework. Tonight I had to manage the store and lock up causing me to not get home till close to 12 on a school night. The pressure of being in high school and being a manager had finally hit. Everyone was impressed by how I was able to cope with having a part time job and still keep up my grades in school. All of the praise had gave me a false sense of having to continue the good work and not take a break for myself. The stress hit me like a ton of bricks which led to me having a small breakdown. I have always been a strong person with the ability to keep myself together so it hurt my family when they saw me crying and freaking out. My mother couldn’t handle seeing me in that state which caused her to also become upset. She told me that I needed a break but I knew I had to get my work done. That night I stayed up till the early hours of the morning and still went to school the next day with dark circles and bags under my eyes. Even with this incident, I’m still a workaholic.