Descriptive Essay: Think before You Act

*Note: This is an essay that I wrote when I was in second year high school. In English class, we were asked to write a descriptive essay in our English journal. I had a hard time thinking of what topic to write about, but in the end I wrote this. This entire essay was largely kept as is because I wanted to share how Ja the high school kid wrote.

The sun had just risen from sleep ending the darkness’ reign over the sky. The alarm clock started screaming the night away forcing me to pull out from the enchanting realm of sleep. I faced the day within the control of lethargy, powerless to shake off the grogginess. I forced myself to get up from my cozy little bed, for I knew that I had so many things to do.

I wanted to finish all my homework, so that I could spend the rest of my school’s poor excuse of a semester break into hours of pure idleness. I looked around my room and saw that everything was in a disarray. My books were embarrassingly cluttered, and my pillows had traveled far from my bed. Lots of Kleenex tissues were scattered just beside the trash can, and such things as these contributed to the chaotic atmosphere of the room.

Despite the mass confusion, I was lucky enough to find my English journal. I suppressed a yawn as I opened the thin green filler and tried to focus on writing an entry. I took off the cap of my highly used, or as my mother sees it, highly abused Faster ballpen. As I did this, I realized that a messy room wasn’t the best place to start writing. I remembered the advice of my very able teacher. She told me that when I write, I should go to a place where I could appreciate nature.

I went out to our garage and sat on a beautifully crafted white chair. This was the perfect place to start writing as I had the liberty of watching the tress sway to the direction of the blowing wind. Yet the curse of apathy was still within me. As I was about to subject my ballpen into yet another grueling writing task, I realized that I had forgotten to bring my faithful companions to writing: my thesaurus and my dictionary.

My walk back into the house was done with much swaying,  and this made me look like a drunkard who was having trouble with the effects of alcohol. I pathetically bumped into things and tripped over my blue CD player. When I reached my study table, I grabbed two thick books and started to go back to the garage. Upon reaching the garage, I breathed in some fresh air and appreciated the delicate white clouds that lived in the baby blue sky.

I sat down determined to fight laziness. I stared at the blank page and imagined the face of my teacher. I imagined her scolding me for not doing my homework, and I immediately had an incentive to write. My pen was about to touch the page, when my eyes fell on one of the thick books that I brought. Stupid, I thought, I should be subjected to a full mental check-up. Better yet, I should be sent to an institution for severely ignorant beings. Why? I had mistakenly taken my Birthday Secrets book instead of my thesaurus.

I went back to the house yearning to correct this act of stupidity. I was obviously in a tetchy mood, so I grabbed my English journal, and I impatiently wrote down the date. Then, another thing hit me. The most important question came to my mind. I felt like one of those cartoons with a lightbulb on her head filled with much enlightenment. Torpor left my being, and everything seemed so clear. This question is the turning point of my experience. This question is the thing that I should have thought about a long time ago. This question is the core of every piece of writing. This question states the basic concept of writing–What will I write about?

*Note: The entire sequence of events described actually happened to me when I was trying to write this essay.

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Note: For some entries in this blog, a few names and details have been deliberately and willingly changed by the author. This is a personal decision made by the author for specific reasons known to her and is not an endorsement for censorship.

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