I remember when I was on the shaky, wooden train reflecting on how harrowing my day went. “Isaac, you will be going to the Portugal festival,” my dad said in a serious tone. Large crowds of people were things I especially loathed, but the worst part was that we would be driving for two hours. Car rides were grim for me, and two hours were an eternity. And for what? A boring and distasteful event of a culture I never wanted to be associated with? Of course I would detest! Despite how much I argued, I had no options. It was inevitable. Hearing the car roar like a starving lion that was about to eat me, I knew there was no way to revert this even if I believed I could. I slumped with angst into the car, hoping the eastbound car ride would be easeful …show more content…
and quick. It wasn’t. Actually, the car ride was quite opposite of that.
The first hour of the painful two hour car ride was just me making what I thought appeared to be very valid arguments about why he should just turn around and take me back home, but he didn’t. Rather, he just sat there, nodding in a silence that somehow screamed “I don’t care!” Eventually, I succumbed to the silent scream and waited to arrive. After what seemed like a century, we arrived at the dirty farm in the evening. Driving on the dirt driveway, we parked on top of a field of dead grass. Immediately, I noticed a dead animal. Walking into the house, I noticed bugs parading around.. We didn’t go to the festival until tomorrow, and the day was already a disaster. I saw my grandparents and hugged them. We talked for a bit before we ate a mediocre dinner of vegetables and chicken before going to bed. As if today wasn’t horrendous enough, tomorrow was the dreaded festival. Sorrowfully falling asleep, I didn’t want tomorrow to come. But it did, and we left for the festival a few hours after breakfast. At arrival, the first sight was a colossal line. I never could have guessed so many people would want to participate in such a horrible event. We stood in line for seemingly centuries, waiting for our entry ticket. Evidently, when you wait for a
long time, you would think it would be worth it. That wasn’t true. This “ticket” was a ribbon with a needle poorly attached to it, and wouldn’t stop poking me, just like my culture. We walked around the area for seemingly forever because my grandfather would talk to everyone. Thankfully, it was time for food and we made sure to rush, as I was famished. Unfortunately, the anticipation was not worth it. Upon entering the building, I saw flies carelessly buzzing around the vicinity. Speaking of the building, it was not pleasing, as it looked like a prison cafeteria. Somehow, they managed to make everything in there dirty, from the tables to the paper plates. “Isaac, the food is here!” Maybe this would be the redeeming part of this trip? Despite everything else, the food looked fresh and actually appetizing. I have never been so wrong. The only decent part of the entire meal was roast beef with black peppers scattered around it. Not surprisingly, the roast beef was actually only decent, but seemed amazing solely due to the other foods being horrible. Everything else may as well have been taken out of a garbage can. The “best part” according to my Dad was the sopas, which were just soggy bread made soggier by drenching it in a disgusting broth. “It couldn’t become any worse. It can’t become any worse,” I said to myself, attempting to comfort myself from this horrible event. Once again, I was wrong. As if this trip wasn’t torturous enough, we had to have passed the main stage. The terrible Portuguese music gave me a headache, and seeing people willingly dance to it just made it worst. “Alright, kids time!” the girl said. The second I heard that, I knew despair was coming my way. I was forced on the large stage with other kids in the same drowning boat. Being forced to dance, I felt like a slave taking orders. Everyone was laughing and taking pictures. It was ignominious, as if they were playing monkey-in-the-middle with my pride. As soon as she said “Alright, now go back to your parents,” I bolted off stage. Lying to my dad, I claimed that I was too tired to carry on and that we should go. He asserted that we would go on the train, and then return home. I hastily sprinted to the train just so I could get this day over with. On the train, I was in awe of the forsaken experience i just had. “Is this my culture? Disgusting food, uncleanliness, and obnoxious music? Is that what I am?” Pondering all these thoughts on the train, I left with no answer. Reflecting on the experience, I realized that people can’t be disgusting food or obnoxious music, but rather, they could be themselves. Your culture does not define, but rather your character, and my character isn’t distasteful foods or headache-inducing music, but rather a buffet and an elegant symphony.
However, the 4 train resides with me because it gives me the chance to explore the subway thoroughly. It’s always a scary feeling as the 4 train approaches the train station because it sounds like a pack of Rhinos crashing into a halt. I enter the train and quickly gaze of a seat because I know people will be racing to any open seats available. Luckily I found two empty seats and that’s where my luck ended because right next to me sat a drunk who smelled like he had been drinking gallons of liquor. Everyone around him decided to get up and move somewhere else. I decided to move carts because I can’t stand the smell of liquor. That might have been a good thing because I walked right into someone signing “Barcelona by Bill Newman.” After he finished signing I was the only one who clapped and the man turned around and gave me a big smile that I still remember till today. Most people were far too busy listening to their earbuds and didn’t even acknowledge him singing. There were no chatter or laughter, everyone is minding their own business. The mood gradually became positive as more teenagers and kids entered the train. The train ride just became a news source because you can year the gossips or the latest
It isn’t long before another interruption comes cluttering up to country road toward the Allen Ranch. This time it comes in the form of a worn wagon, drawn by two mismatched horses, and a large rugged man sitting behind the reins. Elisa appears to be somewhat static as she introduces herself to the peddler, making it known that he is drawing her away from her duties. But the peddler, who is just trying to find something to fix-up for money, sparks a vigor in Elisa, and she suddenly gains interest in everything he says, as benign as it may be. This peddler, who merely altered Elisa’s routine, has immediately altered her life. The change in routine is the first in many years for her...
I've been four wheeling since I was about three. Id say its pretty fun when you're not busy crashing. My favorite thing about four wheeling is having the wind blow in my face, it makes me feel free in a way. When i'm with my family four wheeling nothing can stop us so you better watch out. My best experience while riding a four wheeler was when I was about nine my grandpa and my four year old sister were together on one four wheeler and I was on my own we were riding down the road when my grandpa said “ Aryona do you want to go down there?” i was a little scared at first, but he told me it would be okay, so i said “yes.” Once we got down there I was happy I decided to go because It was awesome! One of my favorite things about
The arrival of winter was well on its way. Colorful leaves had turned to brown and fallen from the branches of the trees. The sky opened to a new brightness with the disappearance of the leaves. As John drove down the country road he was much more aware of all his surroundings. He grew up in this small town and knew he would live there forever. He knew every landmark in this area. This place is where he grew up and experienced many adventures. The new journey of his life was exciting, but then he also had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach of something not right.
Little did I know at the time, but this was going to be the longest bus ride of my life. A bus ride that was going to take me halfway across the state of California, it was going to feel like I was traveling through the last four years of my troubled teen life.
The car ride was awkward as all hell. Cheyenne blabbered and yelled in the back, demanding that this was kidnapping and that she was going to call 911.
The first thing that needs to be known about this car is that it is not my car it is my dad's car that he lets me use. If I ever refer to it as my car he looks at me and asks whose car is it. Since I can not call this car my car I figured I would give it a name. My dad's name is Christopher, he goes by Chris. Since he always reminds me that it is his car not mine my sisters and I named the car Topher, the last part of my dads name.
The fall rain pounded against the almost opaque window of the car or the miserable excuse of one they were driving. The fall leaves scattered across the highway made a satisfying crunch as the car scuttled away to its next destination. Inside John was getting vexed by the crappiness of the ride, driving the car with one hand and trying to massage his aching back with the other. The already uncomfortable seat paired with the seemingly endless amount of potholes made the idea of a proper ride seem almost as plausible as a cure. Thinking back to the time when he rode his Harley—its smooth leather seat, the roar of the engine, and the wind in his face— he, as he often times would, began to linger in memories of the past. Meanwhile, in the backseat,
When he passed, the guy hung out the window and taunted me. “Hey, come here!” he joked as he hit the horn. He had a grin of pure evil on his face. The flow of the traffic saved me, because it restricted him from stopping. Tears came to my eyes, because I knew was alone. Independence, it’s what I prided myself on, and now it was my weakness.
As I walked out of Cazares Driving school, I looked at my mom in disappointment and embarrassment. I never wanted to return to that awful place. All I wanted to do was curl up in a little ball and I didn't want anyone else to know what I had done. I didn't even want to hear what my mom had to say. As I entered the car I could feel my face burning like hell surely enough it was red like an apple. I was trying to hide my face in the palms of my hands as I imagined all the remarks my mom and brothers had to make. "Darling how could we have miscalculated six months?"
The ruckus from the bottom of the truck is unbearable, because of the noise and excessive shaking. As we slowly climbed the mountain road to reach our lovely cabin, it seemed almost impossible to reach the top, but every time we reached it safely. The rocks and deep potholes shook the truck and the people in it, like a paint mixer. Every window in the truck was rolled down so we could have some leverage to hold on and not loose our grip we needed so greatly. The fresh clean mountain air entered the truck; it smelt as if we were lost: nowhere close to home. It was a feeling of relief to get away from all the problems at home. The road was deeply covered with huge pines and baby aspen trees. Closely examining the surrounding, it looks as if it did the last time we were up here.
The car was hot and stuffy when I slipped back into the driver's seat. I found the most depressing music I owned and drove out of Glenwood as the sun started to set. Two more hours until I was home, two more hours of thinking what a terrible day I had gone through, and two more hours of cussing myself for being so naïve. The drive was a long one.
Starting at my early childhood I was forced to walk, crawl or ride a bike to get to where I needed to go, the next step was driving. I wasn 't sure if I was ready to drive, but I knew it was the next step towards adulthood. Driving is an essential tool that many adults in the real world cannot live without. Learning from my mistakes when I first started to drive helped shape me as a woman, but it was not easy at first trying to adjust. Driving meant that I was becoming an adult and that I had to take responsibility for all my actions. Thinking about that really gave me a hard time, because I was no longer my mommy and daddy’s little girl anymore. It was a bumpy experience but I was ready for the ride.
She slammed the door behind her. Her face was hot as she grabbed her new perfume and flung it forcefully against the wall. That was the perfume that he had bought for her. She didn't want it anymore. His voice coaxed from the other side of the door. She shouted at him to get away. Throwing herself on the bed and covering her face with one of his shirts, she cried. His voice coaxed constantly, saying Carol, let me in. Let me explain.' She shouted out no!' Then cried some more. Time passed with each sob she made. When she caught herself, there was no sound on the other side of the door. A long silence stood between her and the door. Maybe she had been too hard on him, she thought. Maybe he really had a good explanation. She hesitated before she walked toward the door and twisted the handle. Her heart was crying out to her at this moment. He wasn't there. She called out his name. "Thomas!" Her cries were interrupted by the revving of an engine in the garage. She made it to the window in time to see his Volvo back out the yard. "Thomas! Thomas....wait!" Her cries vanished into thin air as the Volvo disappeared around the bend. Carol grew really angry all of a sudden. How could he leave? He'll sleep on the couch when he gets back. Those were her thoughts.
I lived with my father for my entire life, but due to his work I did not spend much time with him. My father worked at a different city; and thus he comes home only a few times a month. My father is a mechanic. He works at a company that is distant from our home. This was due to the company being the only one and the first where cars were being assembled in Ethiopia. Sometimes on the weekends I used to go to his work place. He would give me a trip of the place; the station was filled with vehicles, trucks, and motorcycles. It was separated by sections. In each section there were only one type of vehicle and the assembly process was shown step by step. From a fuse to large engine of the car, components were getting attached.