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The link between creativity and mental illness essay
Harmful effects of poverty on ones personal life
Harmful effects of poverty on ones personal life
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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
As you’ve probably noticed, I have a very dry sense of humor and yesterday it was extra dry for some mysterious reason ;-)
I heard a blood-curdling scream and I jumped. I felt silent tears running down my heavily scarred face, but they weren’t out of sadness. Mostly. They were a mixture of pain and fear. I ran into the eerie, blood-splattered room and screamed as I felt cold fingers grab my neck. Before that night, I didn’t believe in the paranormal. Now I sure as heck do. I had been chased out of my house after a fight with my step-parents because I wasn’t doing well in school (I had dyslexia), and I had taken shelter in what seemed like a normal house. I realized what I had gotten into after the sun set. The doors locked without a sign of anyone going near them. A cold draft filled the room I was in. The house turned into a horrific scene, and I knew I would never get out alive. It was the Asylum. There’s a rumor in our town, a rumor that started when someone made the observation that everyone fit in. No one was considered strange, homeless, an outsider. That doesn’t seem possible, you think. In my town, there are tons of people with no homes, or people that don’t belong, you think. Well, think again. Those homeless people? Think about how many there are. They fit in with each other. Those people that don’t belong? Once again, they fit in with each other. But then, you
I woke up this morning to raindrops hitting me in the forehead. The wood on the ceiling
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
I would like to start by saying how I see it and define it in my own words. It is the state where an individual doesn’t have a normal house and are not financially stable in life. It is the situation where you have to look after yourself or another person that is also homeless. You won’t be able to find the proper housing like a normal and secured place to live. All day and all night, you will be trying to sustain yourself from everyday challenges, like looking for food to eat, a place to live, and proper clothing.
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.
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.")
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.