Her English teacher takes twenty minutes taking attendance because she does not look up at them. Her teacher does not talk directly to them meaning she does not face them when she teaches. She calls her “Hairwomen” cause that is all she sees is her hair. Her teacher makes them write in their journals and she promises not to read them. Because of that she writes about how weird she is.
My freshman class full of 15-year old 's were forced to read and write essays about the constitution and politics we knew and understood nothing about: It was the most tedious and doltish idea in the world. [JK3] We had no interaction in the classroom, everything we did seemed black and white with a side of boring and strict. [JK4] The class was constant reminders of the almighty state exam and how we needed so bad to pass it. After so long I lost all interest that I attempted to have and just waited in the prison, English class, until my sentence was up. When the state exam finally came it was nothing relevant to all that we had studied the entire year.
I laid on the couch and wouldn’t talk, so my mom made me a hot pocket to make me feel better. I wasn’t hungry. That was the day I started experiencing depression. After two days I started back eating like normal and moving some, but life had gotten frustrating because I was not able to
When I was little I never like school I didn’t like to read or anything that did with school. When I started school I was 9 years old in second grade when I first started to read. I took one year of Spanish because I didn’t know how to read in Spanish. My teacher that thought me to read was a good teacher because I learned to read less than a year he was really hard on me but I grateful that learned. I thought the worst about reading but after all it was something important because this is something that I am going to use in life.
Once I heard their knocks on the door, I would immediately put up my books and go put on my shoes to go play. My mom would make me return to my desk and finish my required reading before I could even think about going out with them. She would either send the girls home telling them that I would meet them at their house later or let them come in and wait. At the time, I did not like this rule at all. Before, I thought she was insane for taking away even more of my playtime, however, now that I am older, I am so thankful for all her “insane” rules, because it has shaped me into who I am today by helping me keep my priorities
So much to tell you So much to tell you by John Marsden is a not very long book. The book consists of 150 pages, and is about a 14 year old girl named Mariana, who can’t speak after her father threw acid in her face. Her father didn't mean to hit her but her mother, but missed. This caused Mariana trauma and her living on a mental hospital for a while but then moved to a boarding school. This book isn’t written in a verbal way where Mariana talks to the people in the dorm, but in a way were she writes in a journal, which isn’t supposed to be read by anyone or presented.
So the next day, I was leaving with my Grandma’s daughter and her little kids. The little kids were always wanting my attention and I just ignored them. So about halfway through they just started crying, once i got home, my brother was there playing computer and I just laid on my bed and did nothing till I got bored. After that my Grandma got home and we all had to pack up the camper. After camping we did nothing the rest of the
I will now explain in further depth. Firstly, It all started on my first year of middle school. At the time, I knew nothing of other elementary schools let alone the students in them so being hit with the diversity of complete strangers made me very anxious throughout the school year. I only had one very close friend at the time so I would usually cling onto her during lunch or our break time. Near the middle of second quarter, she started to hate me and I lost my only friend in the whole school.
There was a cabinet where all her book laid in a row, fat, thin, big and small all kinds of books. There was a small book shop at my home in our living room. I and my elder sister never have the guts to touch them. It was a good collection of such books going extreme to get always the new one. She would rather share the story with us because she loved to discuss the story.
Man, this is my first day of being in the Middle School; first day of sixth grade, I thought to myself. Twenty minutes passed and I was off the bus heading to my locker when a old friend of mine approached me. She told me that my best friend (may I add my only friend) had called me a brat and said she didn’t want to be friends with me anymore because “(my) religion.” That was the first day I discovered how unfair the world is. I sat at a table--which was made for eight people--by myself for almost a month. Occasionally, three popular girls would sit at the other side of the circular table, away from me, but that was only because there was no other lunch table available for a group of three.