Okay before i begin i know the paragrahs aren't clear. My microsoft word is working so i had to type it all out on my e-mail and send it to my self in order to print it out at school. So you'll find a lot of grammatical errors and spelling.
But please read it and let me know if it is a good idea??unique??will i get into college?? haha
I would love ADVICE..I'm gonna sit with my teacher but i want to hear from you guys!!
oh
Thank you






Entry # 2014


Dear Diary,

Finally seventeen years old today. You're probably wondering why i've been dedicating the expected half hour to diligently document my day's events, feelings, and impressions every night for the past six years. See, everyone has a certain prized possesion like a fragrance infused with memories or a picture reminiscent of a special moment in time. these lifeless "things" become articrafts of the self and gain intense personal meanings. My prized possession is you. A little black leather-bounded volume that narrates my life. My mother began writing when she was eleven and stopped when she was seventeen. She took this "6 year" writing process and turned it into a tradition. On our eleventh birthday she would wrap a little black diary and place it on our beds. She would later ask of us to write and make us swear never to share anything with each other until the night of our seventeenth birthday. Our journals were in french, Arabic, and English. I'm lucky to say that im the first of four girl so tonight my mother got to exchange her diary with her now seventeen year old daughter.
When I was ten years old, i went jogging with my father. It was a few days after we had moved to Dubai. As soon as we reached our destination I stopped then got up to compose myslef. I remember seeing an autumn like tree mark its presence. Its leaves ablaze with with shades of red, gold, yellow, orange, green, and lime green. It was the epitome of my life. vibrant and full of memories. Each leaf symbolized a moment in my life and as it descended it left behind a trail of a certain memory. the red and orange leaf symbolizes tonight. My mother is red. Red because her love for setting goals and achieving them never ceased even though she encountered rough imperfections throughout her life. I learned that she moved around a lot. She lived in Palestine, Lebanon, Kuwait, Jordan, Saudia Arabia, Greece, Dubai and the United States. She lived most of her life in lebanon through hostile war conditions. I also discovered thath her uncle was Naji El-Ali the most famous cartoonist in the middle-east that was later on assassinated in England. She also gave her last two year of college to her sister becasue her family couldn't afford four years for each.
As for me. I'm orange.Almost red.But orange. After perusing her entries i noticed that the only thing keeping me that one shade away from hers was my curiosity. and imperfections.Thomas Wolfe once that "going home is like stepping into a river. You cannot step into the same river twice ; you cannot go home again." After a very long time away, I couldn't find the same home I left behind. It was different and I began to notice that i was too. That is why i write to you. to gain a certain satisfaction form seeing personal experience forever engraved on paper. Maybe that's why i've had my heart set on child psychology since freshman year. To go to my country palestine one day and help the children. then I'll take it from there and go to plenty of other countries and have children open up to me and discuss how they adapt in school and at home in terms of their culture and tradition.
The fine lines permanently carved in our leaf represent our imperfections. They're always there. I still use my fingers to add and subtract; I use silly hand gestures so i won't confuse my b's and d's,I think my feet are big;I would chose carl Orff's carmina Burana and Beethoven's 7'th symphony in c minor over Lady gaga's Bad Romance anytime of day; and I would prefer broadway musicals and plays over an action movie in a theater. Although they aren't as challenging as my mother's imperfections. They're mine. At the end of the day the things that are most imperfect about us end up being our most attractive qualities. My life without these imperfections means i haven't lived at all. believe it or not tonight was extrordinary, but just between you and me I still feel like I don't know "me" at all. I feel like I have so much more to look forward to. I just need a little more time. that's why i decided to keep writing. At best it will point the long way back to where I started; its values lying in how it shaped me and in part of home it has carried away. After all, sculpting memories is a way of immorta