BRIANCA LE Creative writing: Belonging A swirl of heat engulfed the outline of my body‚ its elongated fingers clawed at the edges of my jaw line. Their torturing grips strangled me through the airport security doors. The smell of oil and putrid stench of armpit wafted around my nostrils. Its odour gradually deprived me of rationality and soon dizziness overcame me. Before I knew it‚ I stood in front of a taxi‚ outside the airport and already heading towards a thin Vietnamese driver. His bony elbow
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Prescott stood in the middle of the road staring into the picturesque landscape of the sun setting over the coast. The sun shone through the clouds and onto the newly built homes. The sound of the joyous young school children down the road forced him to look their way. The road was surrounded with project homes that looked over the coast. The neighbours were chatting compassionately over there fences‚ dogs were running in between houses and younger children joyfully playing with one another set the
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Our sense of identity can never be constant Identity and belonging are inter-related; they go like peas in a pod. The groups we choose to belong to and the ways we connect with others help to form our own identity. Together‚ these issues go to the heart of who we are and how we present ourselves to the world. One human quality that we all share‚ despite our individual identities‚ is the need to belong. It is a paradox that we long to be free‚ to be who we truly are and yet we yearn to belong to
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Theme = Belonging and Alienation *** = Time shift Jim left the as it bellowed dust when it left taxi the gazed on the side of the dirt road and saw the farm where he grew up‚ it was old and bare‚ like an African village‚ the animals were thin from the drought. As Jim walked down to the gate‚ his childhood memories came flooding back and he hung his head in disbelief at the state of the farm. “Hey son! Come in.” Jim continued to the brick farmhouse‚ greeted by his father‚ 6ft with a beard of
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Creative writing As I wind down my window piercing sounds of cicada instantaneously bash my ear drums with their high pitched drill echoing into the bush. Hot air swells into the open window‚ and is being pushed back out by the ice cold air conditioning which effortlessly hums out of the vents. The strong sweet smell of summer fills my nostrils with every breath I take. It was just like I had left it so many years ago. The rigid road leaves a enormous dust cloud behind me. It feels like I am a
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Being true to your own identity enables a sense of belonging It is only when we understand our own identity that we can have a sense of belonging. A sense of belonging emerges from the connections made with people‚ places and the larger world. It is these connections that influence where we search for meaning in our lives and ultimately‚ where we belong. The texts immigrant chronicle by Peter Skrzynecki and interpreter of maladies a collection of immigrant stories by Jhumpa Lahiri a winner of the
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Dissimilarities most of the times influences and make us rethink our sense of belonging and identity. Differences in terms of religion‚ value‚ opinion‚ appearance‚ race‚ gender –to name a few is what makes us unique individuals and assist’s us in determining who we really want to be and where we really want to belong. Differences allows us to determine ourselves‚ every group has their own set of values and limits - to belong we must not only share those values but also accept and obey those unique
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FAMILY EXPECTATIONS OF YOUNG ASIAN-AUSTRALIANS IDEAS EXPLORATION STORY QUOTES/EXPLANATION OUTSIDE EXAMPLES SUCCESS THROUGH WORK AND FAMILY CULTURE - Family teach us values‚ attitudes and beliefs - Family expectations can cause children to feel pressured to perform to high standards‚ bringing honour to the family Perfect Chinese Children – Vanessa Woods ‘What happened to the four percent?’ ‘[Australian children] don’t work as hard‚ are loud and uncouth and‚ worst of all‚ talk back to their parents’
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‘Please take a seat‚ I will be back in a second’ Said Mr. Alford‚ as he pointed his hand towards the lounge. I nodded gently as I walked pass my parent’s old bedroom. As I looked around‚ the bedroom itself hadn’t changed much since I was a little kid; I haven’t seen it in a while thought. I remember how I came in here a lot in the middle of a thunderstorm at night to wake my mother up‚ as I was too scared to sleep by myself. My father hated that! However‚ my mother always laughed her head off as
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I was disappearing again. I could feel it. I could feel the sterile white walls slowly sucking all the colour out of my skin. I could tell that the iron bars covering my window were slathering at the curve of my body. They were tired of always having to stand up straight; they too were slowly taking a part of me. They were taking my outline. The fluorescent light was burning the colour from my hair and the whispers were carrying it away strand by strand. I screamed and screamed for them to stop
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