Imagine you have written a short story, film, or play about your last four years. Briefly describe the moment or scene that you think your audience will most remember after they have finished this autobiographical piece. What will they learn about you from that moment? (Northwestern)
I'm riding my bicycle. I'm wearing my brother's brown Birkenstock slippers and I'm going round and round on a big, rocky field. There's dry grass everywhere except for the path, which is sandy and uneven.
I've been going round and round for the past thirty minutes, and I'm bored of staying on the field. I keep passing this path that leads away from the field, towards the road. The path is even more uneven and rugged, and there are large rocks all over. My brother's complaining on the side since he's not allowed to ride the bicycle. If I look up, I see my grandmother peering out of the window of her room, and the guard watching over us from the stairs. If I look down, I see the downward path, even more dusty under the sun.
I finally stop next to my brother and tell him to get on. He's actually quite heavy, but I can still carry him on the back. We go round the field about three times until I'm bored again. I stop just above the slope that goes down to the main road. I tell my brother that I'm going to go down, and that it'll be fun. He seems unsure of that, and for the first time, he's the one being cautious.
I tell him not to worry. "I'll press the brakes if I think we're going too fast." He nods. I remove the Birkenstock slippers. They feel too heavy as I pedal, and I don't want the weight hindering me on the way down.
We slowly go down, and I turn the handles of the bicycle so I can avoid all the pits and rocks. We're slowly gaining speed, and I can hear my brother shouting over the wind, telling me to press the brakes. I keep thinking, 'It's not so fast,' and keep steering left and right.
The next thing I know, my hands are shaking, and I'm struggling to control the handles. As my brother holds on tight to my waist, I realize that I'm too scared to press the brakes. I might tumble forward, and I can't risk that. Even worse, I can't let my brother get hurt if I don't want to get into trouble.
Suddenly, we go over a rock, and the handle swerves, making the front wheel of the bicycle go completely sideways. The cycle naturally falls, taking me and my brother along with it.
My arm, foot, and even the side of my stomach starts to sting. I feel something heavy on my back. Luckily, my brother had fallen on top me, so he was unharmed. I see a little monk run towards us. He tries to help me up, even though I'm twice as big as him. It hurts all over, and I limp up the hill, barefoot, as my brother tries to help. He helps by taking the bicycle ahead, and the little monk helps me walk back up. As I slowly reach the level grounds of the field, I see my grandmother watching intently. I see the guard watching too, trying to be as inconspicuous as he can.
I reach the place where I've kept the slippers and carry them in my hands. My brother comes back from putting the bicycle away, and helps me up the stairs.
This scene would probably be most remembered. It would be funny, embarrassing, and most importantly, enlightening upon how my mind works. I've always been given options and choices. I find it extremely hard choosing between things, but I like to choose the more "adventurous" option because I'm scared of missing out on things, and also because I like to seem fun. You might guess from this experience, that I don't always make the best choices. In fact, I seem to be in more trouble due to the choices I usually make, but like this particular moment, even the bad end results aren't so bad. Falling down, hurting myself, and feeling embarrassed in front of a few people is not good, but I learnt from this experience. I learnt to never go down that hill on a cycle. I can even tell people this story, and I have the scars to prove it.
I make a lot of weird and sometimes bad choices, but I like to believe that I've gained something from these experience. It's not all optimism on my part, but just me trying to make myself feel better.
This moment reminds me of Mary Pickford's quotation. She once said," Failure is not falling down, it is not getting up again." Regardless of my really painful fall, I got up in the end, even though it was really embarrassing. I like to believe that my failures are like other people's, and that I've just got to try and recover from them. I got up of the ground with cuts and scrapes all brown from the dust.
Maybe I got up because I didn't want to seem like a failure, or I got up because I couldn't lie down on the path the whole day. It can be interpreted both ways, but I'd like to believe its the former one.
I'm riding my bicycle. I'm wearing my brother's brown Birkenstock slippers and I'm going round and round on a big, rocky field. There's dry grass everywhere except for the path, which is sandy and uneven.
I've been going round and round for the past thirty minutes, and I'm bored of staying on the field. I keep passing this path that leads away from the field, towards the road. The path is even more uneven and rugged, and there are large rocks all over. My brother's complaining on the side since he's not allowed to ride the bicycle. If I look up, I see my grandmother peering out of the window of her room, and the guard watching over us from the stairs. If I look down, I see the downward path, even more dusty under the sun.
I finally stop next to my brother and tell him to get on. He's actually quite heavy, but I can still carry him on the back. We go round the field about three times until I'm bored again. I stop just above the slope that goes down to the main road. I tell my brother that I'm going to go down, and that it'll be fun. He seems unsure of that, and for the first time, he's the one being cautious.
I tell him not to worry. "I'll press the brakes if I think we're going too fast." He nods. I remove the Birkenstock slippers. They feel too heavy as I pedal, and I don't want the weight hindering me on the way down.
We slowly go down, and I turn the handles of the bicycle so I can avoid all the pits and rocks. We're slowly gaining speed, and I can hear my brother shouting over the wind, telling me to press the brakes. I keep thinking, 'It's not so fast,' and keep steering left and right.
The next thing I know, my hands are shaking, and I'm struggling to control the handles. As my brother holds on tight to my waist, I realize that I'm too scared to press the brakes. I might tumble forward, and I can't risk that. Even worse, I can't let my brother get hurt if I don't want to get into trouble.
Suddenly, we go over a rock, and the handle swerves, making the front wheel of the bicycle go completely sideways. The cycle naturally falls, taking me and my brother along with it.
My arm, foot, and even the side of my stomach starts to sting. I feel something heavy on my back. Luckily, my brother had fallen on top me, so he was unharmed. I see a little monk run towards us. He tries to help me up, even though I'm twice as big as him. It hurts all over, and I limp up the hill, barefoot, as my brother tries to help. He helps by taking the bicycle ahead, and the little monk helps me walk back up. As I slowly reach the level grounds of the field, I see my grandmother watching intently. I see the guard watching too, trying to be as inconspicuous as he can.
I reach the place where I've kept the slippers and carry them in my hands. My brother comes back from putting the bicycle away, and helps me up the stairs.
This scene would probably be most remembered. It would be funny, embarrassing, and most importantly, enlightening upon how my mind works. I've always been given options and choices. I find it extremely hard choosing between things, but I like to choose the more "adventurous" option because I'm scared of missing out on things, and also because I like to seem fun. You might guess from this experience, that I don't always make the best choices. In fact, I seem to be in more trouble due to the choices I usually make, but like this particular moment, even the bad end results aren't so bad. Falling down, hurting myself, and feeling embarrassed in front of a few people is not good, but I learnt from this experience. I learnt to never go down that hill on a cycle. I can even tell people this story, and I have the scars to prove it.
I make a lot of weird and sometimes bad choices, but I like to believe that I've gained something from these experience. It's not all optimism on my part, but just me trying to make myself feel better.
This moment reminds me of Mary Pickford's quotation. She once said," Failure is not falling down, it is not getting up again." Regardless of my really painful fall, I got up in the end, even though it was really embarrassing. I like to believe that my failures are like other people's, and that I've just got to try and recover from them. I got up of the ground with cuts and scrapes all brown from the dust.
Maybe I got up because I didn't want to seem like a failure, or I got up because I couldn't lie down on the path the whole day. It can be interpreted both ways, but I'd like to believe its the former one.
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