“Alright people, we are wrapped for the day! Everyone looked fabulous today, great work! A bottle of wine is waiting for me at home so whoever walks out of the door last better lock up,” Mark the photographer says as he storms out the door before anyone else. Our daily bell rings to let us know that the shoot was over and everyone there drops what they were doing to get home. I pass by every other model either scrambling to get their stuff together or flirting their way up the fashion social ladder. I am the second one ready and out the door. Cars and people zoom right in front of me in the busy streets of New York City. I wave my hand in the air to hail the next available taxi. It is always easier to just take a taxi home rather than walking …show more content…
Perfectly behaved, listened to every word I said,” we both take a second and just laugh. “Oh really? A perfectly behaved four year old, totally believable,” I say as I rub my forehead and smile. “How’s the busy life of being a model?” Ezra questions. “Y’know, lots of cameras, lots of outfits, lots of bending my back and placing my arms in weird ways,” I sigh. “You don’t sound too excited about that. Second guessing being a model? You second guessing your dreams?” Ezra asks. “No, no of course I’m not. It’s just some days are harder. I just want to be home just to be with Maisie,” I say. I love modeling. I love the rush it gives me, but sometimes I wish I could just take a break from my career and be with my kid. Constantly being away from her is the toughest part. I knew it would be tough getting into this given the fact they don’t even know she exists. When Maisie was first born I had to make that decision whether to be open with having a daughter or to risk the ridicule and criticism from all my peers at work. My biggest fear is that I will pull my innocent daughter in this world that just expects perfection out of you. The moment Mark finds out that I have an adorable four year old, she is going to be thrown at a child modeling agent without hesitation. I just can’t let that happen; I’m not going to do that to my
Click here to unlock this and over one million essaysShow More
She shrugged her shoulders and twisted her mouth to the side before replying, “There’s always adoption.” Molly’s job is basically making sure that high school kids feel like they matter and that they are cared for by someone. So it comes as no surprise that she would be willing to give the same amount of, if not more, love to a child with no one here on Earth who truly cares about them. As we were wrapping up the interview, Stan pulled in to the driveway a vehicle packed full of energetic teenagers, fresh from soccer practice.
I along with my family moved to Canada in 2004, this was the biggest and happiest day of my life. I had great expectations for my future; since living in Pakistan, I understood that Canada was a land of opportunity. Unfortunately, due to the earthquake in Pakistan on October 8th , 2005, we had to move back to Pakistan since we had lost members of our family as well. The move back to Pakistan at that devastating time was very hard for myself and my family. My father enrolled me to a school in Pakistan since we were going to live there now.
I walked out of my now ex-girlfriend’s house disappointed because I thought that this girl, Felicia, was the one. I walked out towards the road where my old car was sitting waiting for me to make the somewhat miserable drive back home. I stumbled into my car and began the drive down M-35 back to the small town of Norton, North Carolina. I couldn’t help but ponder what had gone wrong with Felicia to make her think that enough was enough. I knew I had to focus on the road, but I couldn’t because there were a million thoughts going through my head and I had tears in my eyes.
I walked into the room with mirrors all around me, the playing of soft music in the background, and the smell of sweat and hard work in the air. I know I'm in the right place. The counting 5,6,7,8 repeatedly followed by the hard thumbs on the shiny waxed brown wooden floor made by the perfectly pointed toes moving rhythmically to the music. The dancers don’t stop as I enter or even acknowledge my presence. Focus has taken over them and the determination to get it right is all that matters at this moment.
In my lifetime, I haven’t had the best of luck when it comes to injuries. For example I’ve been burnt a few times, had many cuts and bruises, even had my head split open but one injury that always sticks in my mind is when I almost broke my jaw. It was about 8/9 years ago and I was at a wedding, everything was going well, the day was lovely the newlyweds and their guest were happy including me until the agonising moment occurred. I was on the dance floor with my sister Kameryn and our friend Chloe, when they decided to take off their shoes and return to the floor and me being the child that I was I copied them, then they both decided to twirl, again I copied but I didn’t work out as well for me as it did for Kameryn and Chloe.
As I approached the doorway to my home I was barely holding on to myself by a thread and time felt as though it had stood stagnant. I was trying to walk through the door without completely losing myself to tears and misery because once I let go I couldn’t see the other side of the road; I couldn’t even drag myself down the road to find a path to some kind of happiness. In this moment so much going was through my mind, a lot of questions with no answers, and I felt worried, confused, scared, stressed, and I hated myself because I thought what happened was all my fault. All I wanted was to run into my boyfriend, Ben’s arms for comfort, and he’d probably say, “It’s okay, everything will be okay,”
Her first and most beautiful 7.5 pound little baby girl. With hair brown like melted chocolate and eyes the color of honey, dressed up in a pink mommy’s little girl onesie. I see her kids every day and I see other people’s kids every day too, but why don’t I have any of my own? I thought about it as I sat there rocking little Evelyn in my arms and it suddenly occurred to me that I, too, would like to be a mother. Not just an educator or an aunt, but a mother with a baby of her own.
The light filtered through the dull grey blinds highlighting the musical instruments strewn over the floor with some propped against the stone grey wall. A streak of light flashed through the middle of the room, revealing a slim silhouette moving actively. The silhouette knelt down and a sliver of light streaked across her face revealing her dazzling brown eyes. She brushed back her bangs and extended her hand to press the play button on the silver CD player. As music started streaming out of the player, she stood up and let her body synchronise with the music.
When I think back to my childhood, I recall a number of ridiculous and embarrassing memories. A reason for this must be because from a young age, I was always very competitive. To this day I love to win and be noticed for my accomplishments. Whenever I find myself in a competition, I push myself to do better than I am actually able todo. In the winter, of grade 1 I experienced a traumatic incident due to this peculiarity.
Around the same time that my sisters AnnaLee and Juliana wee born my mother revealed to my family that she was expecting. Anyone who knows me knows I’ve always wanted a baby sister due to being the baby of the family for so long. Although I already gained two younger sisters from my father‘s side I never sincerely partook in an upstanding relationship with either of them in light of the fact that my stepmother and I have always had a strained
Failure. Though even the mere mention of the word may evoke disconcerting thoughts, at some point, everyone must stare failure in the face. In certain cases, not living up to a particular standard can affect a person’s entire life. For a typical teenager, however, these misfortunes often occur on a much smaller scale, perhaps failing a math test or losing a friend. Personally, I experienced one of my most heartbreaking failures during the swimming season of my junior year of high school.
Jules needs guidance as much as Baby does. One should not take into consideration Baby’s situation with looking at Jules; they are intricately linked to each other (O’Neill, 2006, p.71). One begs the question what can we do as a society to better facilitate the molding of our most vulnerable