Advanced Essay Writing, Spring 2013

It was Friday, January 27, 2012, the day before my birthday. I was stuck at school, anxious for the day to be over so I can go and celebrate. But this was not only the day before my birthday. This year marked two years that my father has disappeared from my life. The reason to me was still unknown but at this point I had learned to accept it. Although, I already knew I would not be hearing from my father on my birthday, there still remained some hope and it burned inside of me.

There I was sitting in my lecture, occasionally dozing off. I looked at my phone to check the time and I see that I received a new e-mail. It stuck out in bold letters. The subject of the e-mail read, “My Retirement.” My stomach began turning as I felt the blood draining from my face. But there it was and inside that e-mail is some sort of writing that will bring all the emotions I was able to overcome right back to the table. I was not prepared for this day nor did I ever believe it would come. The day before my birthday? It could only mean that he wants to wish me the best. I hesitate to open this life changing experience. It was like opening back the door I had barricaded shut. His e-mail read:

“Well everything comes to an end, so this is my retirement in your life. I hold no remembrance of your nature. Goodbye and good luck.” His words could not have been more cold or hateful. They were sharp and straight to the point. They gripped my heart and ripped it into a million pieces. But I had to keep it together, especially in a lecture filled with more than 100 students. My next thought was to run out. And that I did. The only person I could think to call was my best friend, my mother. I could not bring the words to come out my mouth. I trembled and as I could finally form some sort of sound, I broke.

On July 27,  The 2012 Summer Olympics in London has begun. The olympics correlates with my story because these athletes train to be strong, to win, and mainly to lose. They accept when they have failed and continue to better themselves. Regardless of their win or their loss they remain a symbol in the eyes of millions that are watching. I could not let this e-mail bring me down, especially the day before my birthday.

High school had ended and I had gotten through in one piece, a bundle of hormones who was just a tad melodramatic. For me, high school wasn’t particularly horrible, I had people to sit with at lunch, hang out with during breaks, and keep me company while I ironed my hair in the hallway during breakfast. However, my group of friends did have  their fair share of gossip and crying to each other over the phone. Suffice it to say we all had some growing up to do.

September of 2008 came, and I embarked on a year long journey abroad to Israel with a volunteer program. According to Israeli law we were eighteen, and therefore adults. And so, our program treated us as adults. Our only rules were to attend our volunteer jobs on time daily, keep our apartment presentable and to be present for one weekly meeting with our fellow roommates. Other than that we were simply advised “don’t do stupid.” So, essentially, we were a group of six hundred eighteen year olds, abroad, far from our parents, with no curfew and license to drink.

Each night we went out was a declaration of our freedom. People drank too much, conducted themselves poorly and were lucky enough to have friends whom were willing to drag them home. As the novelty of going out every night began to wear off we started to limit our nights out to Thursday nights because (at least for the ladies) while the novelty of drinking every night and waking up early to work lost its’ sheen, a strapping Israeli man in his army uniform did not. Thursday night marked the start of the weekend for Israeli soldiers and so did it mark the start of the American girls’ weekend. Clubs and bars were filled with extremely attractive men, only made more attractive by their well-fitted green uniforms.

In January of 2009 after over a week of air strikes, the Israeli army finally crossed the border into Gaza and war was finally being declared against Hamas. While our parents in America were slightly panicked, all I could think was whether one of the soldiers being reported dead today was one of the men who had bought me a drink on Thursday. I was struck by how these soldiers, our same age, were not just guys who came out to have fun with American girls but had serious responsibilities which required them to risk their lives. I quickly realized what I had already known but had yet to process. That while my eighteenth birthday meant that I had license to drink in Israel, to an Israeli it meant being drafted- a license to kill and be killed.

One of the most memorable moments in my life occurred on the day of my high school graduation. I see it as a huge milestone because it signifies all the hard work I’ve done and how much I’ve grown, and not just in terms of age. This day marked the end of an amazing chapter in my life, even though my experience in high school was far from perfect. I ended up meeting some of the most amazing people, and I took great professors who inspired me and pushed me to excel. In fact, it was in high school that I decided I wanted to be a writer. Although my AP English course was the most challenging, it was still the most enjoyable, and to this day I’m still thankful to that English professor for helping me to hone my craft and develop a passion for writing.

On the day of my graduation, I got emotional. I was part of the graduating class of 2009, and the ceremony took place right on my high school’s campus. The weather was beautiful that day. Very sunny, but not too hot or too cold. The ceremony itself was mediocre—it had its great parts and its boring parts. But after the ceremony, when I got the chance to find all of my friends and professors in the crowd, or to see the look on my parents’ faces when I found them, I was truly happy in a way that words couldn’t describe. My eyes began to water several times that day, but at the same time, I was just overwhelmed. I knew all along that I would be parting ways with a lot of people, but it seemed like the truth suddenly began to sink in on that day. But at the same time, I was happy and impatient to move on to the college life. It was a bittersweet feeling.

One historical event that I think may relate to this is the appointment of Carol Ann Duffy as poet laureate of the United Kingdom on May 1, 2009. She was the first female in 341 years to be appointed as poet laureate, which I think is a phenomenal achievement. It’s very inspiring, and I imagine that many people acknowledged this achievement and felt really proud, because this woman was making history. I’m associating this historical moment with feelings of pride and joy, which is exactly what I felt during my graduation day. Not only was an amazing experience, but it also signified the beginning of a new and exciting future.

If there is any one moment in life that I could point to, any point in time when I could say “that was a turning point for me”, it would have to be the fight in in 9th grade. I was waiting for my bus ride home after an afternoon of tutoring children at my old middle school. There were a few kids hanging around in front of the school, playing, roughhousing and the likes. I was watching the bag of a friend of mine, who was playing with them, when I saw my bus approaching. When I called out to him to gather his stuff so I could leave, another kid mimicked me. Being the silly and easily aggravated fool I was back then, I told him off for it.

That’s when he called over several friends over and started beating on me.

The police was called eventually, but they were too late to be of any real help. The next day, word of the fight had already reached most of the students in my high school. I was already in a few key individuals’ bad graces, so the rumors that were circulated were not particularly positive. In the midst of all this, I lost all the friends that I had from the very same middle school – we entered high school together.

This was probably the lowest point in my life, even with all the mess that has happened before.

Earlier in this same year, 2009, President Obama announced a plan to withdraw a majority of troops from Iraq by the end of August. Just as a conflict wrecked the country of Iraq, with an outside force only leaving a mess behind afterwards, my life was turned upside down with a single struggle.

That evening I felt pain in my chest and a shortness of breath. I decided to sit down and relax, but it did not get any better, so was taken to a hospital. I was diagnosed with a spontaneous pneumothorax and went through two lung surgeries. The doctor said later if I waited for twenty more minutes before going to the ER, I could have died. Being here by myself (having no family whatsoever), I had a hard time to go through, and I want to share my experience.

That happened on February, 2011, when the protests in Egypt got more intense and led to Parliamentary re-elections. In 2011 it is claimed that Osama Bin Laden was killed. Radko Mladic, the former Bosnian Serb general responsible for killing 8000 Muslims is found and arrested (though he hardly walks- thats how old he is). Same year: terrorist attack in Norway, 68 people killed by a gunman. Russia: the parliamentary elections are found to be fraudulent; hundreds and hundreds of people protest near Kremlin. New York: same sex marriage act is signed, Occupy Wall Street protests start.

I cant really correlate any events that happened in the States or in the world with what happened to me that year. It is hard, because all these events are different and they have nothing to do with my surgery. Maybe I can draw parallels with only one, Bin Ladens death. He had been searched for such a long time, but eventually was found and shot (though he tried to hide so hard). The same with me: sooner or later the collapse should have happened, simply because my lungs are my Achilles heel. It is good that the surgery happened now and not later, because it could have caused more complications; same with Bin Laden: he could have killed more people, but he was caught before he caused any more harm (in the reality I dont believe this person existed and was responsible for 9/11).

In my essay I want to share my personal experience of a non-American going through a major surgery in the US, will tell about a language barrier (I am sure even native English speaker has to Google some of the medical terms), will try to tell a story from my prism of view, at the same time showing those who live in the States all the pluses and minuses of the American healthcare or of just being an American; finally, I will touch upon reevaluation of life after such a major disaster in someones micro life. I am sure it will be very interesting.