More handpicked essays just for you.
The link between creativity and mental illness essay
Harmful effects of poverty on ones personal life
Harmful effects of poverty on ones personal life
Don’t take our word for it - see why 10 million students trust us with their essay needs.
Recommended: The link between creativity and mental illness essay
I glance at my paint stained hands as I wait patiently in the stillness of the library. Carefully, I examine the remaining chips of vibrant acrylic that linger on my fingers from my morning art class. My creativity appears on water color paper with the stroke of a soft-bristled brush, with the scenes I etch it my sketch book with crumbling charcoal, and with the press of my finger as I position my camera for the perfect shot. Suddenly, I look up and see a girl, with a sweet but tired face, you wouldn’t realize she is homeless based on her appearance. I earnestly smile and give a gentle wave in her direction. She spots me and walks over. As she sets down her blue backpack, I ask her about her day, and she eagerly tells me about the typical school
Chill dudette dude! I think you're looking for an excuse to feel butt hurt over some perceived social injustice. I still have to disagree with your interpretation of the other comment that offended you. The comment before that hoping Shkreli would be raped daily forever didn't offend you? A man being forcibly sodomized is ok but a gay person being raped is offensive? Whatever. I think the other comment was making fun of the fact that if he was gay getting a daily infusion while in prison would be something Shkreli enjoyed. He was disputing the notion of rape. You can liken it to some 'unfortunate' scenario where I was sexually assaulted by Daniela Lopez Osorio
As I exited my house the bright sun shot rays of sunshine into my eyes making me squint and admire the view. After a hard day of work in the heat I see a old lady sitting in a horse carriage waiting, as I approach my home she says “Hi there, I’ve just had my home built recently and was wondering if you could help me move somethings into my house?”. Sure I replied, the lady showed me where her belongings were stored and one by one I carried in her light furniture and containers.
I woke up this morning to raindrops hitting me in the forehead. The wood on the ceiling
I remember hearing the day before about people protesting. People were talking about these protests being violent and that it had happened before. That night I went to sleep scared knowing that the next day I had school. I was hoping that school would be cancelled the next day and if they hadn't then my mom wouldn't let me go, but knowing the school system there was no way they were going to close schools and my mom would not let me stay home if the school didn't close because if I didn't attend school there was a good chance they would fail me for that year. The next day I woke up still scared, I got ready and waited for my sisters to come out, so we could walk like we usually did every day. Walking to school everything was normal, and everyone was going about their business. It seemed like nothing was going to happen and I was relieved.We walked until we reached our favorite morning food stand and I bought my sisters and I plantain chips and we continued to walk down the dusty street until it was time for me to go a different route. We said our goodbyes. I waited until I couldn't see them anymore and crossed the street into the neighborhood with the weird little white church that constantly had people screaming, I've heard many things about this church.
It is quite easy to believe that being a Christian only involves attending church every Sunday and celebrating the holy holidays such as Christmas and Easter. However, part of being a Christian is to go out into the community and spread the good news. While the goal is not to convert every person we come across, it is important that we spread God’s word and love. I worship at Faith Presbyterian Church and one of the ways that we embody Christ’s love is by helping feed the homeless population in New Orleans. Every Tuesday, a few members of the congregation meet at church to prepare a bag lunch that consists of a sandwich, fruit, and dessert. On Wednesday, the bag lunches are taken to First Presbyterian Church where homeless people line up to
Ow. My head hurts. It has been lying against this wall for at least an hour now. I scratched the back of my head to move around my dark, curly hair. It was beginning to feel plastered against my scalp. It was a bit tangled from not brushing it for a day and my fingers did not run through it with ease; nevertheless, it felt good to keep the blood flowing. I was lying on a thin, light blue mat on the floor. My head was propped up against the cold wall as if it were a concrete pillow. My chin dug into my chest and I could feel the soft, warm material from my sleeveless sweater cushioning my jaw. I looked down. I could see the ends of my hair cascading over my shoulders. The red highlights matched quite nicely with my maroon sweater. My arms were folded over my belly and they appeared more pale than usual. My knees were bent, shooting upward like two cliffs. My baggy blue jeans covered the backs of my fake brown leather shoes. ("Christy, let me borrow your pants, the baggy ones with the big pockets. I can hide more stuff in those.")
In the morning, I didn’t feel well and decided to phone my manager to take a day off. Mike finished his breakfast, kissed me goodbye on my forehead and closed the door behind. It was time to prepare breakfast for Luke. I heard very often from other mums, that they need to kick their teenage kids out of their bed every morning. But with our son Luke, it was different. With a great excitement in eyes and a big smile, he was ready to start another day. I was making pancakes with a strawberry jam. His favorite.
Growing up in a country full of poverty and lack of proper medication was a tough environment to be born into. I still remember my mom crying about how she lost my bigger brother due to money struggle and lack of medication. She explained that before my sister and I were born, we had a bigger brother; however upon his birth he was infected and died within seventh day. Lack of medication in a country full of poverty was just what my parent and my bother didn’t need yet couldn’t escape.
On a constant basis in my case, my passion has been the pursuit of social justice I was able to demonstrate my leadership skills to prove that to be a leader one needs to believe in oneself and one’s passion. My work with various diverse communities and vulnerable populations in New York City has shaped my values and how I aspire for a just world for others and how the government’s action can have an impact on people. My traditional ethnic background combined with my current American life experience from a working class perspective always has permitted me to understand on a daily basis the impact policy creation can have on people from all spectrums including race, gender, and ethnic background. All these constant life lessons have taught me
Being raised in a low-income family, I faced the challenges many immigrant families face: living in a multi-family household on a single income. Together, we shared one bedroom with three siblings and four cousins. At that age it was difficult for me to continuously feel helpless by not having the ability to provide for my family. There were periods of uncertainty that can make you feel overwhelmed and powerless. I remember vividly walking past my parents’ room countless nights only to see them on their knees praying. I could not fathom the sacrifices they have made to give our family a bright future. However, with hard work and support, my family overcame the hardships and turmoil. I continue to remain mindful of the past and reflect on my present blessings. My parents’ ability to keep fighting paved my path for persistence.
Yesterday I read about a chinese boy who was hit by a car. The driver paused, assessed the situation, and moved on. for 60 minutes the boy stayed in the concrete floor, without anyone caring about the situation. First I fell petrified by the video I saw, but then a fusion between anger and disappointment was brought to me: Is not the life of this boy important at all ? what kind of thing passed in the mind of the people who saw the boy and disregarded as another pile of trash in the street? while I cannot provide and answer, and I must noticed that sometimes I have tend to use this same behavior. I have learnt to become aware of any problem, form the simplest to the the most important.
The community that I had been living here for the past couple of years is Woodside. Woodside is my home where there are a lot of varieties of things to do with people’s lives. In fact, it accommodate how people in this community interact with others such as going to varieties of stores, enjoying themselves at the park and etc. The best view point of my community that I like to talk about is the park and the good foundation of stores that are provided in this community.
Can you think about the last time you had a meal? Was it half an hour ago? Maybe an hour? Two? Eating your three meals a day doesn’t seem like such a big deal, but that’s because you grew up without worrying about whether or not you’ll live to see the next day, much less when’s your next meal. These people live with struggles you couldn't even imagine because they are the basics of human life. To think that some people live without a shelter to protect them or food to energize them is appalling. As human beings, we should take care of our own. We shouldn't allow for our brothers and sisters to die of starvation while we turn a blind eye and continue living without a care. That's why I would start a nonprofit foundation to help the homeless, had I been in charge. I would help give them food and clothes, as well as other basic necessities for life.
Shelters take in more bunnies than any other wildlife animal. If I had been able to save a bunny that was struggling to survive I would have been able to add to that statistic. I tried my best to keep the bunny with its family and safe, but I couldn't. Instead of letting it die and leaving it there, this day I tried my hardest to save an innocent animal, this was the day I was at my best.
My eyes were deteriorating fast since I started using Tumblr. Driving to school past the park I came to terms it was autumn my favourite season: Trees almost naked with every branch bare, hearing the sound of rustling when people stomping through a crowd of crunchy leaves, though when the wind breathes it accelerates a leafy tornado swirling in a circular motion, smelling a fresh batch of rain from minutes ago and seeing the glistening as the biggest star made I admired. I use to walk to school every morning before my mum left us. Dropping Kaylee off at school I took a right turn where Jessica insisted to meet by the cascade fountain. I parked and by squinting my eyes I could already see she was dressed impressively kooky today. A jacket duplicating the print of a burgundy floral couch, vintage purple satin blouse with J’s scattered all over in different colours, an eagle bolo tie, the stripy snazzy saffron skirt, suede slip on shoes and to compliment her rouge knitting glasses someone had gifted. She ran to me.