That 1.8-meter-tall singer on stage was me. My schoolmates may not know me by name‚ but they can tell something about the guy who is damn good at singing musicals. After he finished singing on the stage‚ the principal jumped to his feet clapping hands. Parents watching online hurriedly posted messages of praise‚ eager to find out whose kid the singer was. I‚ proud but not vain‚ had been accustomed to such reactions. For me‚ loving and practicing musicals has been a long‚ inspiring journey; it means
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rather a who. The combination of my parents and my younger sister has been with me since my earliest memories. In my house‚ however‚ understood affection was the standard‚ as my parents were often busy. Both of them work in the healthcare fields and as such worked long‚ irregular hours. This gave me isolation‚ possibly a dangerous factor to work with. Yet‚ without that very isolation‚ I would be missing the most integral part of who Dylan Sreshta is today. Leaving me to my own devices gave me ample time
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words that trembled and traumatized my thoughts. In a flashback‚ I realized I was the same parent-centered child‚ that was raised to obey and not question the parents’ authority. I remember my parents asking “What do you want to be when you grow up?” In response‚ ” I had no clue.” They constantly encouraged me to go to college throughout my high school career. If for some reason I had to stay for my AP class‚ they would motivate me. High school was the time in my life‚ where I had to apply to higher
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you hear and half of what you see‚” Dad reiterated as I became a young woman. But growing up‚ I relied on what I could see‚ what I could touch‚ and what others shared with me. I held my peers and teachers words as peremptory and gained a sense of false dependence. As I entered my third year of high school this changed. “I need you to translate what this man is saying‚” Dad explained as he drove through our neighborhood. An older Hispanic man with a hat‚ long sleeves and jeans‚ an unusual outfit for
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Introduction The book "Killing Lincoln: The Shocking Assassination that Changed America Forever" by Bill O’Reilly and Martin Dugard was written to share the story of Abraham Lincoln’s death. This great book was written from a third person point of view‚ and many bits and pieces were taking from Lincoln’s journals. The whole book approaches the Civil War right off the bat and creates a hostile background because of the war and the plan to kill Lincoln. I would suggest that before you read this book
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As the sunset tucks down‚ I space out to grasp onto thoughts of realization. Days passed by as if they were battling with the wind. I cannot embrace every memory‚ because some just happen too rapid that remembering them is ineffectual. Curiosity starts building within me due to my wonders on memories everyone knows I went through except myself. When I was twelve I opened a family album for the first time. As I flipped each page I did it in such slow motion that it was as if by flipping the pages
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To begin with‚ when I was a little girl I lived in South Central Los Angeles‚ California with my two parents whom the names are Arturo Ferreiro and Cynthia Contreras. We all lived in one small pink house with my grandmother named Yolanda Contreras. My parents worked so hard to move from the ghetto. My mother once said to my grandmother “ I don’t want my daughter to distinguish the negativity.” There were so many crimes around our area and honestly‚ it was dense to walk around the neighborhood without
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introduced me to new hobbies‚ activities and just how to appreciate life in general. Let’s start off in my early childhood. Growing up I had the biggest dreams like becoming an astronaut. As I kept older I looked into more realistic things like becoming a vet and or a nurse. I looked up to my parents and their jobs so I wanted to be just as accomplished as they are. They worked‚ and still do work‚ at Boeing. They work as a team; my mom buys the plane parts
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from my mother’s grasp‚ I charged. With arms flailing and chubby legs fluttering beneath me‚ I was the ferocious two year old rampaging through Costco on a Saturday morning. My mother’s eyes widened in horror as I jettisoned my churro; the cinnamonsugar rocket gracefully sliced its way through the air while I continued my spree. I sprinted through the aisles‚ looking up in awe at the massive bulk products that towered over me. Overcome with wonder‚ I wanted to touch and taste‚ to stick my head
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do know the profound impact sports have had on my adult life. I was struggling to reconnect with who I was when I was younger. Many ways were suggested on how I should go about this‚ but my favorite suggestion came from my family. They showed me many pictures and videos of me playing sports‚ horsing around with team mates‚ and holding trophies or awards. In every shred of those digital memories‚ there was an unmistakable happiness in my eyes‚ and in my smile. This immediately drew me in. From that
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