Personal Essay-- The Re-Write

I went back to work on the edits for my personal essay. Editing your own work is the hardest thing! But, of course... I procrastinate until 5am.

When I went back to look at the piece, it evoked a little emotion from me. My teacher asked for more background... and unlocking the memories I chose to put away was a little painful. I acknowledged some of things in my past that is key to analyzing who I am today.

Can you hear my voice now?

I have never been alone. This is my immediate thought as my black Toyota-- filled with snacks, a loaded iPod, and 3 suitcases of clothing—enters onto I-94. It’s pouring. Many romantic novels use water to symbolize a baptism. I watched the raindrops fall unto my car at such a thick and rapid pace. At one point, I seemed to be submerged underwater, struggling with the idea of being in solitude. This simple Labor Day weekend trip to Nashville turned into something more. It became my voyage to self-discovery.

It rains throughout the majority of Indiana. How could I be on the road with two people and still feel alone? I try to think of what that word even means. My ships (the endearing term for line sisters) and I interject brief, non-linear sentences about being single. After the first exposure to true love, “it’s hard for me to believe that I will ever find someone else,” my ship summarizes perfectly. I convinced myself that I beat those odds. Everyone says that women find their husbands in college. I had an advantage. My high school sweetheart filled my world with everything I needed, serving as my best friend and companion. I didn’t need to find “the husband” in college. Though, I spoke too soon. Those attributes which kept me in love with him, left me vulnerable. I transitioned from the familiar and friendly faces of my predominantly black high school into the diverse new world of college. Afraid, I relied on his comfort. But, he was not there. 

On the tail-end of I-65, the clouds disappeared to unveil the morning sun. My urban up-bringing sheltered me from the beauty of the rural south. “Welcome to Kentucky.” The fields of green grass sprout with hints of autumn. This warmth sends me into the past. I remember my childhood. I sat near the phone on summer days, anxious for my mother to say I can come back now because she’s home from work. Disappointment.  She spent her free-time with her boyfriend’s family. I lied in my granny’s bed those nights. Nightmares occurred at an early age, but I awakened to my granny’s smile and invitation to watch Arsenio Hall or Oprah. I played with the neighborhood kids under the loving eye of my grandmother. Her motto: if I can’t see you, you’ve gone too far. December 5^th will mark the fourth year of my search for her. Afraid of change, I relied on her words for support in my transition into adulthood. But, I can no longer see her… she is not here.    

Nashville served its purpose, unexpectedly. The most life-changing moment happened at Carnton Plantation. My first visit to a slave plantation brought me back to reality. The richness of battered hands and broken families lay fresh in the door handles of the slave cabins as we reflected upon our history. Somehow, despite the unfathomable conditions of losing loved ones to grave bearings (human auctions or death), slaves maintained an individual strength resulting in both self-reliance and an ability to adapt to change for their survival.

Back on the road and again confronted with my thoughts. I’ve moved in a circular pattern through the last four years. Emotionally exposed, I refused to deal with the changes in my life and found comfort in the first warm smile on campus. The instability of that friendship placed me where I am now. I am single and my grandmother is gone. My mother lives in Florida with my sister’s family, leaving me in Evanston. For the first time in 21 years, I’m bombarded with no sense of home, no sense of where I belong. I am alone internally; lacking self-reliance because I looked to others to fill that void in the past. I walked out of my car with the desire to be alone. I need a strong loving and reliable relationship with myself to not feel disappointment when loved ones cannot be there for me. This trip began with heavy rain, yet resulted in a new attitude. The quest for self-reliance begins this fall.  

Personal Essay-- First Draft

September 28th

My Magazine Writing teacher introduced us to the work of Peggy Orenstein. She writes in the personal essay format, while connecting her piece to larger issues. We were able to speak with her in class, and she said the following about essay writing:

"Prioritize what part of your experience can capture a big experience. Capture the moment!"

Orenstein also mentioned the importance of developing voice. "Be the same person. Overtrying, it just happens. You think about what something needs to sound like. You do have to consciously think of your talent, but I sound like the way I talk."

We were assigned to capture a moment from our summer vacation. Yes, this could easily turn into the elementary school How I Spent My Summer Vacation story... but we had to dig deeper. Below is my moment, and my teacher's edits. Can you hear my voice?

I have never been alone. This is my My immediate thought as my black Toyota-- filled with snacks, a loaded iPod, and 3 suitcases of clothing—enter onto I-94. Grey skies accompanied by heavy downpour are every novelist’s dream description of protagonist-ic reflection. (Just say it’s pouring) My voyage to self-discovery, via a fun-filled Labor Day weekend road trip to Nashville with two of my line sisters, begins as such. (Simplify this sentence)

It rains throughout the majority of Indiana. How could I be on the road with two people and still have that pessimistic feeling of loneliness?(I’m not grasping “I’ve never been alone” with why loneliness at this point) I think to myself that maybe I should consider what my definition of loneliness is. My ships (the endearing term for line sisters) and I interject brief, non-linear sentences about being single. The first guy to take a girl’s heart tends to be the one who we imagine being with forever. Upon losing that first love, “it’s hard for me to believe that I will ever find someone else,” my ship summarizes perfectly. (Finding love is another topic…)

I fell in love at an early age. Winter 2004, a sandy-brown haired, beautiful hazel brown-eyed boy held the key to my heart… as mushy as that sounds. Our relationship was founded on friendship; Lewis became the best friend who I could be myself with, tell anything to. A young girl who never had the stability of a father-figure in her life, Lewis bandaged that never-ending wound. However, all young and bright-eyed relationships experience turbulence, and in the times when I needed him, he was not there. (This modifies Lewis, not you)

On the tail-end of I-65, the clouds disappear to unveil the morning sun. Being an urbanite, born and raised in Chicago, I had yet to experience the beauty of the world around me. (Had you been out of Chicago? Say this more plainly) “Welcome to Kentucky.” Fields of green grass with hints of autumn on its tips. Flocks of birds dancing in amongst the low, warm blue skies. This warmth sends me into the past. Memories of my childhood frequent, Reminding me of the days playing with my neighborhood friends outside while my Granny watered the grass from her porch. The cool breeze awakened from a nightmare and look over to see my Granny, watching the late-night news or talk shows. (Phrase this differently) She was my constant when my Mother worked. And again, at a period when I need her most, she is not here.

Nashville served its purpose. The country music capital of the world showed us how to really party. Our days consisted of an overwhelming amount of eating, and our nights ended with drunken debauchery—it’s also known to be a great trip when you’ve fallen off a mechanical bull from the imbalanced stupor that alcohol creates. (You could cut this out—could transition to the plantation) Unexpectedly, the most life-changing moment of the trip happened at Carnton Plantation. My first visit to a slave plantation brought me back to reality. The richness of battered hands and broken families lay fresh in the door handles of the slave cabins as we reflected upon our history. Somehow, despite the unfathomable conditions of losing loved ones to auctions or death, slaves maintained an individual strength resulting in both self-reliance and an ability to adapt to change; Their motivation: survival.

I have never been alone. (This repetition isn’t clear to me) Back on the road for return and again confronted with my thoughts. The instance that my grandmother passed away, my first love shortly followed. The moment I went to college—an entirely new world—my best friends went away to school. As My mother grew lonely in Chicago, and eventually she moved to Orlando to be near family while I study away at school. For the first time in 21 years, I’m bombarded with no sense of home, no sense of where I belong. I am alone internally; lacking the abilities of self-reliance and adaptation to life’s changes. Witnessing the grace embedded in the mountains of Tennessee, warmth sewn in the fields of Kentucky’s grass, and the simplicity of Indiana’s flatland, I realize the need to be alone. (A little cliché, make it more. Why the need to be alone?) Society views solitude as a form of depression, but it is the opportunity to build a relationship with yourself to become independent. The journey begins this fall. (Nice ending!)  

Tiffany—There is a lot of lovely writing here and is a lovely “moment”—let’s simplify—don’t over explain. I’d leave out the boyfriend example—he doesn’t add to it. Add more background info about you.