Hurtful Praise Winter break of last year, I spent one week in Toronto in a prestigious math training camp. It was my first time participating, and I both worried about and hesitantly looked forward to the experience. When I arrived, I was driven back to campus along with two other students. During the drive they made small talk — about the weather, about school, about math, while I sat in the backseat, silent and feeling quite out of place. Everyone else seemed at ease, yet I was a stranger. By the end of the ride I was eager to get to my assigned room in the tall, dull college dorm building, to hide in the comfort of solitude. I sprinted up to the third floor taking two stairs each step, stopping in front of room 303. I dropped my bags in …show more content…
I must’ve flushed a little, but I nodded and confirmed the statement. She beamed at me widely and launched into a monologue of admiration as if I had flipped on a switch: “I've seen your name so many times on all those different math competitions! You did so well on the Canadian Open, first place! On the Cayley too, and the…” I listened to her with slowly reddening cheeks. Her words of approval stoked a little flame of pride in my heart, usually repressed by my parents’ limited praise. I sneaked a glance at the girl, hoping in some small corner of my heart that she too was admiring what I had worked so hard to achieve, but she was simply putting away her things and not looking in my direction. Nonetheless I basked in the experience even though I mumbled, for politeness, how no, it really isn’t so impressive. The mother listed off my achievements with such familiarity that I felt as if those were her own doings, not mine. She ended her speech with a sigh and a glance at her daughter: “Why won’t Jennifer be like you?” And all of a sudden the magic of her approval was gone and I was cold, …show more content…
For a moment I stayed where I was, facing the closet, my heart filled with dread of facing her and speaking to her. I remembered myself in her place, standing next to someone who snatched the high prize from my hands and took my parents’ attention. I recalled what I felt in those moments — anger and envy and disappointment. All my words to the winners, squeezed out through clenched jaws, were laden with thorns, as if hurting them would somehow make myself better. I expected the same emotions from her as I turned around, my mouth opening and closing yet not quite knowing what to say. In the end, I only managed, in a tone between a statement and a question, “Parents are always like that, huh?” I saw her hesitate and I wanted to take those silly words back, to say something better, more thoughtful, but then she nodded,
I bolted through the clear door of a small, earth-colored high school, practically slamming the door behind me. Catching my breath, I stood in the school, completely drenched and shivering. Rain pounded the clear door behind me. I stood awkwardly on a mat in front of the doorway, trying not to get the floor wet. I gazed around the hall in front of me.
I look at my mom and shrugged my shoulders, “I don’t know, I think she was talking to her friend about a party or something.”
I looked around at everyone in the room and saw the sorrow in their eyes. My eyes first fell on my grandmother, usually the beacon of strength in our family. My grandmother looked as if she had been crying for a very long period of time. Her face looked more wrinkled than before underneath the wild, white hair atop her head. The face of this once youthful person now looked like a grape that had been dried in the sun to become a raisin. Her hair looked like it had not been brushed since the previous day as if created from high wispy clouds on a bright sunny day.
Flattery in Pride and Prejudice Since its composition in 1797, Jane Austin's Pride and Prejudice has enjoyed two centuries of literary esteem not because of its witty dialogue. or its tantalizing plot, but because of its universal themes that allow. modern readers to identify with early Victorian life. Although the novel focuses on the etiquette of courtship, related social rituals are also. prevalent throughout the story.
Previously, the narrator has intimated, “She had all her life long been accustomed to harbor thoughts and emotions which never voiced themselves. They had never taken the form of struggles. They belonged to her and were her own.” Her thoughts and emotions engulf her, but she does not “struggle” with them. They “belonged to her and were her own.” She does not have to share them with anyone; conversely, she must share her life and her money with her husband and children and with the many social organizations and functions her role demands.
Because of her mother’s harsh, strict ways, an emotional barrier and strong resentment begins to develop between her and her daughter. The narrator expresses, “When my mother told me this, I felt as though I had been sent to hell. I whined, and then kicked my foot a little when I couldn’t stand it anymore. ‘Why don’t you like me the way I am?’ I cried” (Tan 20).
The night before, I didn’t practice my English so I knew what to say. By now, I knew most of the words, so I would just let my heart guide me. Besides, my cramped old house, which is actually just a junky garage in an abandoned alley, is too small to let out my feelings. Once I got to school after a cold walk in the snow, I placed myself by her locker and waited. Fourteen minutes had gone by, and still no sign of Lily. I only had a minute to get to class now, so I hurriedly collected myself and ran to my locker. I was disappointed, knowing that without Lily here, it would be the hardest day of school. I opened my locker and to my surprise a note fell to the floor. I quickly picked it up and gazed at the neat handwriting that clearly spelled my name.
Having not expected much to come from my stay there, I was overjoyed when suddenly I knew that just because I didn’t like fast rides, I could still have fun with my friends and it was even better when I found my lost home.
11:14 p.m.-I slowly ascend from my small wooden chair, and throw another blank sheet of paper on the already covered desk as I make my way to the door. Almost instantaneously I feel wiped of all energy and for a brief second that small bed, which I often complain of, looks homey and very welcoming. I shrug off the tiredness and sluggishly drag my feet behind me those few brief steps. Eyes blurry from weariness, I focus on a now bare area of my door which had previously been covered by a picture of something that was once funny or memorable, but now I can't seem to remember what it was. Either way, it's gone now and with pathetic intentions of finishing my homework I go to close the door. I take a peek down the hall just to assure myself one final time that there is nothing I would rather be doing and when there is nothing worth investigating, aside from a few laughs a couple rooms down, I continue to shut the door.
“I am super proud of you guys and I have loved sharing this experience with you guys too! If you didn’t hear the third place team got an eighty-one and when I got the score sheet back from the judges we got an eighty! This probably means that we got in fourth place! I am super proud of you guys and I hope you had as much fun as I did coaching as you did cheering!” my coach explained with a smile on her face.
When my wife began to lose her mind, I discovered our guardian angels had been talking to each other. I found it out when my wife accidentally started a fire in the kitchen. Trying to extinguish the blaze, she threw a paper bag onto the flames. Before she could scream, I felt something insisting I rush into the kitchen. Picking up the frying pan, I set it in the sink
After receiving that response, she started complimenting me for my achievements in the past. I was very flattered hearing this from an old friend. I found the conversation
"Okay, I have something to confess. " All of us became silent at once. "Both of my parents are really controlling." She said taking a deep breath. "They are always telling me to be perfect and to work hard, do ballet, swimming, be better and faster.
Right now, a buzz is going through the hall in which all the seniors are waiting and they look like bees swarming in the hall. It’s becoming hot and we’re all getting impatient. Amber is more composed and enjoying the good times in the present. She is standing there happy but sad to be dispersing from the rest of her classmates. Ann, the smartest one is having a little fun but not really. Her feelings are that of a person who realizes she’s going to miss what she had, but wanting to get the ceremony over with because it’s taking too long. Standing in that room we are together and enjoying one last real time capturing a picture with each other. Amber’s mom is so proud of her daughter that she keeps talking and smiling and trying to part of every MOMent. Amber is thinking to herself that she wishes her mom weren’t there but she’s ‘happy inside because someone is cooing over’ her. As Ann is standing beside Amber she keeps getting these expressions that say, she likes being with her friends but, ‘what is taking so long? Can’t we get out of these dang robes, yet?’
It was a maddening rush, that crisp fall morning, but we were finally ready to go. I was supposed to be at State College at 10:00 for the tour, and it was already eight. My parents hurriedly loaded their luggage into the van as I rushed around the house gathering last minute necessities. I dashed downstairs to my room and gathered my coat and my duffel bag, and glanced at my dresser making sure I was leaving nothing behind and all the rush seemed to disappear. I stood there as if in a trance just remembering all the stories behind the objects and clutter accumulated on it. I began to think back to all the good times I have had with my family and friends each moment represented by a different and somewhat odd object.