Rummaging through the attic with the hope of finding old toys, I came across three large boxes filled with photo albums. I opened the first album to find it to be baby pictures of my older brother. Page after page I flipped through each album, anxious to find pictures of myself. I became increasingly disappointed as I found pictures of me to be rare. I went to my room to retrieve a much smaller album I had just bought at the store and made the goal of simply filling that one, so that amongst these piles of albums, I could call just one of them mine. Optimistic once again, I began on my quest. I turned over each page slowly, being sure not to miss any, as each side displayed six pictures. As I came to the end of the last album, my heart sank. I had not been able to fill even half of my small, one-picture-per-side, album.
Being a second born child in a traditional Chinese family, and a girl for that matter, I was naturally less favored than my older sibling, a boy. I never failed to understand this concept as I was growing up, and I was not surprised to find less pictures of me than of him. My surprise was towards the extremity of the situation: nearly twenty large albums in comparison to not quite half of one small. I realized then the reason for my continuous struggle to win my parents’ attention, their approval. My constant crying, my annoying ranting, all of which were for the sake of shifting their attention towards me. My whining only gained their irritation however, and I became determined to prove my worth otherwise.
The Term Paper on Are Small Business Owners Entrepreneurs
To answer this challenging question, one must compare both entrepreneurs to small business managers or owners and entrepreneurial ventures to small businesses. One must also ascertain the meanings of the terms, entrepreneur and small business owner. The definition of an entrepreneur is a commonly argued point, with several definitions having been given by many different people. The dictionary ...
Though my father often took little notice to me, I would follow him around, watching and observing his every move. I had long since given up on my mother. On the day when I received my first grammar school report card, I proudly presented it to her upon my arrival home. Instead of praising me for my achievements, she frowned and scolded me for attempting to belittle the grades of my brother. My father, though also active in the game of favoritism, seemed to base it more on reason, and I believed that to him, I could prove worthy of acceptance.
I was once told that as a girl, if I were to be considered half as good, I would have to work twice as hard. I felt that I was always in competition with my brother, though he never made any conscious effort in competing with me–his part was effortless. Still, it was a struggle. In school, I consistently brought home above average grades, while he, barely average. My grades became expected of me, to be owed little recognition. However, on the rare occasions when my brother received a higher grade, he would be rewarded with the pride of my parents. I felt this to be unfair, but I continued to persist, determined to gain their pride in whatever way necessary for me. As the years went by, I began to see that my father was beginning to become skeptical of his favoritism. He began to recognize my efforts and made small attempts to acknowledge my achievements. Still, I was just a girl, naïve and still hopeless. Though I could do well in school, I would still not amount to much in the world for I did not possess the thinking capabilities of a man. His low perception of me held him back from teaching me new things and guiding me towards the doors of brighter futures. I felt as though he held me back at one point and did not feel me competent enough to surpass it.
I needed to prove him wrong. In order to achieve that, I needed time. I could not state my case with little support, so I remained his little girl in his presence as I worked on breaking down his stern and reticent character. While others were fearful of his persona, I became progressively more absorbed and interested in it. His rash behavior towards others and me began to make sense to me. His reasoning proved to have wisdom and I valued his morals. Many perceived him to be offensive, while I saw the good nature and selflessness in him that he failed to reveal.
The Essay on Mini was a little girl, who was unusually fond of conversations
Mini was a little girl, who was unusually fond of conversations. She had a makeshift mind that moved between various topics within her scope. Although she was young, she could start a conversation with people double or even triple her age. Eventually she became friends with Rahamat, an Afghani money lender, whom she fondly called Kabuliwala. It was a delight to watch the two banter. Rahamat, was a ...
The day came when he questioned my awareness. He had forbidden me to stay out to watch a movie that would show at eight o’clock at night because I was a girl. Resentful, I returned home and sat silent at the dinner table as tears streamed down my face in frustration. I began to state my case. He attempted to talk over me but I refused to let him. Fourteen years I had given him my undivided attention, I told him, and I promised to let him talk after, but please, I begged, allow me this one chance to speak my mind and prove my thoughts worthy of acceptance. Skeptical as he was, he let me speak expecting me to ramble immaturely about things I only saw the surface of. He attempted again to talk over me, to warn me of dangers I knew not of, but before he had the chance, I proved to him the depth and validity of my thoughts. I showed him my awareness of these dangers and I demonstrated my sense in protecting myself from them.
Analogy after analogy I used to prove my point as I attempted to reveal my vigorous understanding of the lessons he tried to teach me. I countered his arguments in ways not to prove his point wrong, but prove that I had the sense in me to overcome it. “Anything can be a danger to me. Crossing the street can be a danger to me. Does this mean you’ll never let me cross the street again?” I used the wisdom that he had instilled in me over the years from my simple observation of him. I begged of him to trust himself and that he had taught me well, to believe in himself if not in me. He was surprised at the sudden exposure of my thoughts, and amazed at my ability to present them so fully. That night earned me a newfound respect from my father.
My experiences in the attempt to place myself in a more respectable light in my father’s eyes developed my character greatly. His refusal to speak in depth to me as a child caused me to look for answers beyond the obvious, beneath the surface. His view of me being a simple-minded girl with thoughts hardly worth considering gave me the determination to build my thoughts and understanding fully and solidly before presenting it to him. I gained the value of support and reason in my opinions, right or wrong as they may be. I have the willingness to admit when I am wrong but only after I have had the opportunity to present my argument on fair grounds. When placed in unfamiliar surroundings I am accepting of events and situations around me, yet still observant, always having my own opinions. When necessary, I have the courage to speak my mind and defend myself from unjust circumstances. Though I have to work four times as hard to be on level grounds, as twice as hard only gets me half way, I put forth that effort to gain my right at the fair chance to grow.
The Term Paper on The Waste Land Presents Us with a Portrait
The first character we are presented to within the Waste Land is Marie, whose privileged lifestyle and nationality, German, indicated by Eliot’s use of different settings, “Starnbergersee” is used to demonstrate that all of society is negative and his presentation of a society full of despair and isolation is a universal issue. Marie has travelled much of the world and spends her time “in the ...
