My work here at DCCC has value to me. Admittedly, the driving factor behind this is that I need a good job to secure my future, but the field of study I chose was one I already had interest in. Unlike most students, biology was my only favorite subject in school was and was one of my strong suits. This interest expanded when I took anatomy in high school. I realized how much I was interested in medical science and often found myself learning information in my free time that wasn't required for the course. An added plus, my field of interest also incurs big bucks in the future. However as it is with most sciences the road is not easy even with prior interest in the subject. I will have to work hard to achieve my goal and learn what I need to become successful. therefor, a growth mindset would produce positive results. When I hit struggles in my education I cannot just give up because I am not good at it, instead I learn from it, as one should do as it is the whole point of receiving an education. My academic goals are simply to put every amount of effort
and time I have to get the most out of my education to prepare me for the future.
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Jamie Carney
English Composition I Mr. Mangini 9:35 2/6/17 Prior to learning what this meant in english class, I had no idea what a Hiraeth was, nor have I ever heard anyone even coin the term before. What I learned is that a hiraeth is a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return; a home that maybe never was. Meaning this home could have been the way someone made you feel, the memories you had with a person, a place, a particular event, or perhaps even a fond dream that you will with all your heart to be real. Hiraeth is prophylactic in this sense. It is the one place your heart cries out to this place, yet it’s longing that can never be fulfilled because that home is forever gone to you. Personally, I have had a plethora of hiraeth in my lifetime, however there are few I long to have again even just for a few moments. Just to see it again, to relive those memories, see the people I have missed. To feel at home again. One specific home I long for most is Holidays with my Babcia and Pop-pop. Every thanksgiving and christmas was spent with them until I was about eleven. Every Christmas and Thanksgiving we were welcome with loving arms, presents, and enough food to feed a small country in our stomach on both holidays. My favorite place on earth when I was younger was their house. Every room in that house is has significant meaning to me or holds an item that created beautiful memories with family. Their house was very spacious considering It was a twin home. Though I was there every year, I haven't been there for about eight years now so capturing everything in detail will prove difficult. Upon walking in I was greeted by a large foyer. The white walls and the faded orange tile floors fave the room a warm feeling. The ceiling reached cathedral proportions as it surpassed two floors of her three story house. A massive chandelier suited for such a large room hung down from the ceiling, however the roof was so high that you had to look up to see it. A balcony about the height of the chandelier with wooden guard rail overlooked the foyer. For the holidays the guardrail was decorated with lights and reefs. On the right side of the wall was a aztec-looking brown and orange rug fashioned on the wall in a diamond shape. On the left side of the wall opposite from the rug was three of Pop-pop’s beloved cuckoo clocks, which lead me to call him pop-pop cuckoo, the name was a more than perfect name for him. A large cuckoo clock was placed in the center completely with the cuckoo bird, little people who came out when the clock sounded and did a certain action, usually churning butter or cutting a log of wood since they were made to be amish. It was made entirely out of metal, save for the miniature people and the bird. It was accompanied by two smaller matching clocks that only contained the bird. Beneath the clocks were two perfectly symmetrical wooden benches on either side of the room complete with one Ficus tree placed to the right of them. In the middle of the floor was a long vertical green aztec rug; similar to the large one on the wall. Opposite of the entrance was the door which lead down to the basement, which was turned into the playroom.This is the room I spent countless hours in playing legos and watching movies with my brother and three baby cousins.The walls were bright white and the carpet equally so. The only part that deviated from the extreme white in that room besides the furniture and was the square cut out in the rug that revealed stone tile that led to the fireplace which was covered in the same colored stone. There was a rocking chair, religious paintings, a toy box, and a slide in glass door that led to the woods outside. Back up the steps and right to the basement door was the living room. On the right side of the door was a miniature hallway with three steps leading up to the living room. The living room consisted of a large black leather couch, neon lighted palm tree, Pop-pop’s piano, and an enormous rug with a picture of the saint mary crushing the snake on the wall; As you can tell by now my grandparents are very religious people. There was also slide in door that lead to the balcony out side which overlooked the woods. You could see the other side of the balcony which held the dining room. Going up another three steps on the side of the wall led to the kitchen and the dining room, where the magic happened. Going straight would lead you to the other side of the balcony that looked over the foyer. To the right was the kitchen and the dining room. In the dining room was a long table with ten or more chairs and a white tablecloth. Two greek bust stood proudly on a greek column on either end of the table, not sure who they were though. behind the table was a huge wall mirror was a wall mirror that people too often hit while pushing themselves out of the chair. On the opposite side was a broua that held religious figures and a radio that always played holiday music (on thanksgiving we were forced to sit through Jimmy Buffett). Finally there was the upstairs that was reached by a spiral staircase. Of course it was nothing special however. Just a bunch of rooms we weren't allowed in. Other than the upstairs, every room held memories I long to relive. I had some of the best memories of my life so far there. Ever since my last christmas there, the holidays have never been the same. Christmas was my favorite holiday; whose isn't? Especially as a child. My brother and I were always spoiled as on christmas as we essentially had three christmases. On christmas morning we woke up at our moms and open our presents. After having our fill of the presents from our mother and grandmother we were off to our dads to receive more presents. After having our fill on my father's gifts we were off to Babcia's house to receive even more presents from them. Obviously, one can already see why this is my favorite holiday. Still, I did not have have a million presents. My father and grandparents were sensible enough decided to split our presents between them; One big present from our father (not including candy and stocking stuffers), and two or three small presents from them. I loved sitting under that freaky white tree and opening my gifts. I specifically remember one year where Babcia and Pop-pop gave me what was probably my favorite christmas presents ever. On what I believe was my ninth christmas I found a round gift haphazardly wrapped in red foil under the albino tree with my name on it. At first I thought it was a soccer ball or something of that nature, however upon further inspection I found there was a large round hole at the top. I cannot tell you what the container looked like when I ripped off all the wrapping because of how excited I was by its continents. If memory serves, Inside were one hundred mini medieval soldiers. Fifty of the soldiers wore black and the other fifty wore red. There was a swordsman, a guy on a horse with a spear, archers, a soldier holding a mace catapults two kings and two towers. For the first time since I lost interest in ‘girly’ things, I shrieked. I spent the remainder of that christmas (and that the next month) playing with my army men. There was also a unique thing my grandparents did for christmas that made it my favorite. Other than gingerbread had a birthday cake for dessert. My Bobica and pop pop are very religious people so they made sure they kept Christ in Christmas, so to keep the spirit alive they made him a cake. Since this was my favorite dessert, I obviously enjoyed this most. Alos because it was something only they did; never had I ever heard anyone else do this, oddly, that means something to me. Christmas may have taken the cake (literally) but Thanksgiving was also an important holiday with my Babcia and Pop-pop. Every Thanksgiving we would be greeted by the smell food coming from my grandparents kitchen. Immediately, my father rushed into the kitchen to help cook the turkey and other foods we would later gorge on. While my dad did most of the cooking, My brother and I watched the mummers parade with our grandparents while we waited for our cousins. This was probably my favorite part of the holiday. While I hated the mummers, I loved spending time with them. They made funny jokes and had meaningful conversation, at least what I thought was meaningful really they just ranted about things they thought we should know however they could have said anything and I would have thought it was the most intelligent thing I ever heard. Then our My brother and I just as quickly rushed into the basement to play with our cousins. Jojo, Marley, and Stephen. Though we only saw each other once a year, there was no awkwardness between us and we immediately began playing and talking as if we saw eachother everyday. There wasn't much for us to do so we mostly played with legos, dominos, and played role playing games. Usually we just combined the three. Still we made the best of it. About eight years ago, My grandparents moved to florida. Not dead of course, I call and skype them every now and then. However it is likely I won't see them in person again, and I certainly will never spend another holiday with them again. Nor will I see my cousins again, in fact they don't contact our grandparents anymore. I miss the house I had so many good memories in. This is not an especially tragic hiraeth nor is it full of despair and sadness. It is a longing for the past. To be able to see my Babcia and Pop-pop again in person, to go to their old house. No holiday has ever been the same since. Just to see it again. to relive those memories, see the people I have missed. To feel at home again would be bliss. Before my parents divorced and my mom moved into a house in Springfield I lived in a small cul de sac in the small town of Orland PA. (which to my surprise no one knows about in springfield as it is only thirty minute drive away if not less). My family lived in an apartment, was very small, as all the houses were. When you walked in you would be greeted by a medium sized living room to your left and the dining room to your right. Taking a few steps further would lead you to see a very small hallway consisting of two bedrooms (one of which my brother and I shared), a bathroom, and a closet. You could also could just barely see the entryway to the kitchen. This is where I created my first happy memories. I lived there for a little under six years but since we moved when I was seven (I lived in a different town for a the first year of my life) I only can recall about four, give or take. Since I was a small child recalling it is difficult because memories are choppy and disorganized. However I have a handful of vivid memories. A great deal of events happened there that shaped who I am today and a first for many things. It is where I learned to ride a bike, made my first friends, figured out I was allergic to peanut butter by turning into a blowfish, seeing my little brother for the first time when he came home from the hospital and many more. This house also marked the end of just as many things, however all were not so good. Things went downhill when we moved to springfield, my parents began fighting more and more and my mom's side of the family became involved, which only made everything much worse (especially when they are a bunch of triggered Italians... watch the family moments in any Godfather movie and you’ll know what I mean). To keep it short and sweet and leave out certain personal events their divorce began a chain of many other unfortunate events that would last for years. The apartment in Orleand was the last place where my parents, my brother, and I were really all together and the last time I had any good memories of them as a couple.
This topic strikes a feeling of melancholy in me because when I think about a hiraeth all that comes to mind is loss. Weather your ‘home’ is a literal or figurative one, it is gone forever. Never again can you enjoy all that you once had and you can never recreate it. I feel that it is almost impossible not to tell a sob story for this assignment as everything about it is grim. No matter what you lost, weather it be something as tragic a the death loved one or something as meager as breaking up with your first boyfriend, that loss impacted you in a way you will never forget because things such as those cannot be returned. They created the memories you will never lose and the feelings that only they were able make you feel. Nothing else in this world can do what they did for you nor affect how you felt about them, weather those feelings were negative or positive.
Personally found it difficult to find to choose a topic as I have moved on multiple occasions near the town I went to school in and feel there are homes I cannot return to that technically never really physically existed. So my hiraeth is going to be about a real home I lost including the memoirs and people I will never see again due to the loss of that old house. I can never see agian due to the loss of that home.To be honest I am going to try my best to keep my hiraeth as light hearted and joyful as possible especially if I am to present it to the class; No need to embarrass myself by making a scene in front of my peers. I also detest getting too personal in writing I am to share with others, even if they are sharing their own personal hardships. Once upon a time I loved creating stories as much as I love reading them. I can honestly say I enjoyed writing since I was a child and my fascination for it only grew as I got older. As a tween I kept a large binder full of fantasy stories and poems I created as well as quotes from my favorite books and TV shows… needless to say I was a huge nerd. However that was then, now the only writing I do that consist anything above five sentences are assignments given to me by my professors. I cannot recall when I stopped writing for myself or what caused it to become a chore. Perhaps it was in highschool when the majority of writing I did were essays and writing assignments I loathed. Now as much as I try to force myself to enjoy writing again I cannot. Even the thought of starting up my computer and opening a blank document on Google Docs makes me sick. Despite this, there still is one form of writing that I still do during my down time that has become immensely popular, especially among my generation. I spend a little over two hours on my phone texting other people. Of course it is nowhere near formal or creative material. In fact many of my messages to other people don't even contain real words. Including using a plethora of emojis in my text, I send abbreviations if sentences, if I should even call them that, such as K, ppl, lmao, lol, idk, wtf and many more of that nature. Not even simple words escape being chopped down into three letters or less; nevermind becomes ‘nvm’ okay turns into ‘k’, and even know loses its ‘w’ at times. The end result is almost always an illiterate jumble of letters with few actual words if any at all. Though illiterate as texting is, it is still a form of writing; you are gathering your thoughts and putting them in writing. So I may not be the inspired “writer” I once was however writing is still an vital part of my life academically and personally.
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