S4 Personal / Reflective Writing. It’s all about ME!. 5 adjectives which describe me best 5 adjectives others would use to describe me 3 of my strengths 3 of my weaknesses 3 major experiences that have shaped me. Which of these experiences reveals something essential about me?
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His drawer was neat, and smelled of the cortisone cream he smoothed into his hands in the autumn when each year a weird rash would flare up. There were several opened tubes of Setlers. There were several menus of dinners he had been to, often with the signatures of those who had attended inside.
Setlers were as much a part of my dad’s DNA as his pipe and his Daily Telegraph. The chalky white tablets went everywhere with him; half and quarter packets were in every jacket pocket, including the one in his suede waistcoat, and in the glove box of the car. Ten times a day he would rub his sternum and tear another strip of wrapper off his indigestion pills.
Long sentences, short sentences, lists etc…
Exciting verbs, adjectives
Use of the 5 senses
The grass is long and makes a pleasant thripping noise as you race along, and in spring the ground is sprinkled with dandelions and daisies which grow so dense that, through half-shut eyes, you might be running though a field of cream. The track, however, remains just a bit too rustic for a good sprint. You have to be careful to hop over the thistles, skip to avoid an ankle-cracker of a stone, and cut close to the broom bush on the third turn while ducking to avoid a poke in the eye. The second turn is between the third and fourth euphorbia bushes and the start and finish is at the tamarisk tree where we hang our sweaters. The going is soft sandy turf.
This particular beetle had lost its jet—black shine under a thick covering of dust. It was steering a ball of dung with its back legs, while it scrabbled for purchase with its horny front legs. Progress was unthinkably difficult as the ground was rough, and of course it was quite unable to see where it was going, head down, facing away from the desired direction of travel. The ball kept going out of control and rolling over the poor creature, yet without so much as a moment to dust itself down, the beetle picked itself up and patiently resumed rolling on its intended course.
Read pages 91 and 92 of the Higher language books.
Read back through the passage noting all the similarities and differences between Granny Trill and Granny Wallon.
Answer questions (a) and (d)
Now take one of these memories and expand it. For example, take your favourite teacher.
You must use a least five of the sections you filled out for homework.
Remember, you do not have to write something which is historically accurate! You can embellish!
Toy – My Sylvanian family bus. It had a little picnic basket and benches you could tuck away on the bus. Used to lay it out with all my other Sylvanian toys to make a massive village.
You must use a least five of the sections you filled out in activity one.
Remember, you do not have to write something which is historically accurate! You can embellish!
Using this as a title, write about a personal experience.
2.. “A gamble that paid off?”
Write about a time you took a chance…..
I wish that….
Because of this I am….
Since this happened….
When I think back on this….
At the time I…but now….
Now that I’ve been through this…
This made me think about….
This experience shaped me by…..
Nowadays I feel/think/believe…
If I could do this again….
I could have…
Our seats were opposite an automatic door and I sat at the window seat. There were frosty leaves on the trees like a light dusting of icing sugar. There were lots of birds dancing about on the leaves shaking some of their icing sugar down to the ground to cover smaller plants.
The train stopped a lot to pick up passengers from places I didn’t know existed. The door opposite me opened each time and I listened to the noises it made every time it opened and closed.
We came to a place that was the middle of nowhere, when a voice from a speaker said that we were to feel free to get up, out of the train and stretch our legs.
I didn’t know if I needed to stretch my legs but my mum wanted to. She got up first and I followed. We didn’t have far to walk because the door opposite us was open again. I felt a breeze. Mum made a joke of jumping off the train onto the grey platform and I was going to follow because it seemed okay but then came sound, of the train starting to move. I was confused. She put her hands on the doors and tried to talk to me.
Then the doors opened and my mum leapt onto the train. She hugged me tighter than I can ever remember and I was happy. The woman who was outside with my mum came onto the train and asked if I was alright now but I just nodded because I was safe now and held mum tight as if I was worried the whole incident might happen again.
When we got back to our seats I became very aware of how many people were watching but I didn’t care. Mum and I talked about what could have happened and joked a little bit about each others reaction but I will never forget the day because, even though the train doors opened, my mind had taken me to a place where my mum was lost, I couldn’t find her and I was able to see what it would be like if the train did move away from the platform to begin my journey alone.
You should select any experience which lets you go beyond a simple retelling of events and allows you to reflect on what happened, to show "self-awareness".
Imagine that you’re supposed to be enjoying a nice lunch with your mum. You haven’t seen her for a while and she’s chattering away, telling you the latest gossip from home. Meeting up with her is like finally reaching a water-hole in the desert. You drink up the little snippets about the neighbours’ dog Max, who barks all morning and scares the little girl down the road. However, you can’t escape the feeling that there’s something more going on behind her animated tales. Her fingers are locked together tightly, as if she’s holding herself together. She’s been in bits since he left, it really hasn’t been very long and the initial wound is still raw. She looks so small and vulnerable. Imagine that this fragile little woman finally let it all out. Imagine that she told you the truth about what happened.
That’s the situation I found myself in at the end of my first year at university.
The ham sandwiches had just arrived and the waitress was placing them on our table, when my world changed forever. We thanked the girl and watched as she zig-zagged through the bustling café. Mum had been giving me a run down of the latest gossip from back home. I’d been doing my best ‘wow, I’m-so- glad- you- told- me- about- the- old- lady- from- down- the- street- who- used- to- pat- me- on- the- head- when- we- passed look. I’d simply been trying to change to subject when I mentioned that I’d seen dad the day before. I shouldn’t have mentioned his name. I should’ve seen it coming. I heard mum’s quick intake of breath and then was caught by her doleful look.
The punch to my gut seemed to come from nowhere and caught me completely off guard. I stared at my assailant; my mum’s face was frozen. I knew that I should be saying something, thinking something, but I was unable to produce any reaction to the news. A thick blanket seemed to have wrapped itself around me, it’s protective warmth was close against my skin. My fingers clung to the edge of the table, holding on for dear life. I gave up on searching for a suitable, or even honest response to my mother’s previous statement. Instead I observed the strange thrum of blood through my temples and the trembling that had begun in my fingertips.
A lot of people would probably say ‘success’ is measured in pounds. Big houses, shiny cars, jumbo-sized TVs. Open any magazine and you will see it: plastic celebrities showing off their latest bling and living it up. For a while, I thought that achieving something meant having lots to show for it. Then I had an opportunity to do something which made me realise ‘success’ is much harder to measure, but means so much more.
LOOK AT THE BIGGER PICTURE – THEN MAKE IT PERSONAL.
Whenever I get gloomy with the state of the world, I think about the arrivals gate at Heathrow airport. General opinion makes out that we live in a world of hatred and greed I don't see that. It seems to me that love is everywhere. Often it's not particularly dignified or newsworthy but it's always there. Fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, husbands and wives, boyfriends, girlfriends, old friends. When the planes hit the Twin Towers, none of the phone calls from people on board were messages of hate or revenge, they were all messages of love. If you look for it, I've got a sneaky feeling you'll find that love actually is all around.'
An entire dramatic company.’
The roles I play in life.
OPENING: Shakespeare gives a man seven roles to play. But he’s considerate; they come one by one, not all at once. They each have their little space of time allotted to them. Me- my roles contradict, my repertoire is vast. I can play them all at once or one after another; I can give you whole speeches extempore. ‘All the worlds’ a stage’; but the audience will gladly ignore you if you don’t play your part. I won’t play to an empty house, I won’t be on my own. I can play a clown, a hero, a lover, a wise man, a fool. I can sing and jig, I can sermonise and weep, I can tell funny stories and have you laughing at me, with me, for me, against me. I know my part so well that I believe it implicitly – a keen student of the Method, I, I get inside the skin of every role……
ENDING: Am what’s my role just now? A combination of them all? Or is the writer another of them, are these really my thoughts here? I think they are, but I’m an imperfect judge. They may be thoughts of a character I’ve created – the best drama is the one we write for ourselves. My people dance around my brain; when I’m writing They take turns who shall guide the pen, who shall wave their hands in front of my eyes.
There must come a time when I can play myself. It’s not come for years; it may never come. And can I do it anyway? I’ve been acting for ten or eleven years now. It becomes a habit. When I take all my make-up off, drop my accent, stop the character walk, what will be left? I’m frightened. I don’t know what’s there.