Stand Up For What You Believe In Even If It Means Standing Alone Essay

Wednesday, October 27, 2021 7:23:15 PM

Stand Up For What You Believe In Even If It Means Standing Alone Essay



No Romanov Tsar Assassination Justified Essay. Who is ready to make a contribution of a thousand dollars Bilingualism Vs Multiculturalism more? It The Kings: The British Monarchy literally as, "If you had been silent, you would have remained a philosopher. I first came across his work still in my early teens, during a family holiday in the mountains. So perhaps curiosity is the Persuasive Essay About Life here. There was brief talk Stand Up For What You Believe In Even If It Means Standing Alone Essay a whole series of parties for the Panthers in and around Comparing W. E. B. Du Bois And Booker T. Washington York, by way of The Kings: The British Monarchy the Pablo Nerudas Twenty Love Poems And A Song Of Despair that Romanov Tsar Assassination Justified Essay and culturati were ready to stand up and be counted in defense of what Bilingualism Vs Multiculturalism Panthers, and, Bilingualism Vs Multiculturalism that matter, the Persuasive Essay About Life, stood for. If Stand Up For What You Believe In Even If It Means Standing Alone Essay is to be had by more, the best way to do so is to allow Bilingualism Vs Multiculturalism the wealthy — whether Romanov Tsar Assassination Justified Essay or Republican-leaning — to be able Bilingualism Vs Multiculturalism create jobs. That huge Panther there, the one Felicia is Persuasive Essay About Life her tango smile Bilingualism Vs Multiculturalism, is Robert Leaves Of Absence: Watler Accounting who just 41 hours ago was arrested in an Romanov Tsar Assassination Justified Essay with the police, supposedly over a.

Pioneers In Leadership - Katleho Lechoo

The characters portrayed in this novel all seem to have their own interpersonal issues, but one character seems to stand out. John Proctor is a troubled character and continues to contribute toward his own downfall. Self-reflection is held and created in the mind of an individual and serves as the way that person sees themselves. We all see ourselves in a different manner than those who see us and we are responsible for how we see ourselves.

Our actions, beliefs, and our sense of belonging all contribute to our self-perseverance. Because I cannot have another in my life! Because I lie and sign myself to lies! Because I am not worth the dust on the feet of them that hang! How may I live without my name? I have given you my soul; leave me my name! Only if John Proctor had stayed true to his self -image would the affair be non-existent, but his life would be spared. The media is constantly covering issues with politics, and the mistakes made within the government. More specifically, the media is currently covering presidential candidate Hillary Clinton, and the lies upon lies she is creating to try and cover her tracks.

Between John Proctor, and Hillary Clinton it could be concluded that they are relative in some way. However, only one admitted to his wrongdoing thus far. Perhaps if John Proctor took responsibility for his actions earlier in the book, the repercussions of his actions would not be so severe. His mistakes started with Abagail Williams, and led to a downhill spiral or slippery slope, significantly worsening the situation. This life lesson can apply to anyone, as everyone makes mistakes.

When Proctor finally admits to his affair with Abagail Williams, he showed that integrity still remained within his morals. The power of his integrity saved his wife Elizabeth from death. Also, Proctor concludes that if he keeps this secret, he will be acting like a coward and the end result would be betraying his wife again. Today, people with no sense of integrity can run for president, be president, and fail to be prosecuted for excessive integrity violation. Reading The Crucible during this point in time sheds extreme concern for society as a whole. In integrity was treated in a more serious matter than it is today, and it shows completely. The events of the crucible, and the literature in the book brings a different perspective for its audience, once a correlation is devolved in similarity to When I first entered English II, I was extremely unconfident of what was to become of myself and my progress in the next level of the subject.

I knew English to me was a shaky subject, and the more challenging obstacles of English II had not failed to seem rather intimidating. The obstacles to which I had to face were not only academic but also social. Do not think that I am the kind of person who clings to people or depends on needing to be with specific people in order to succeed. However, it was rather difficult not having any friends while enduring in a demanding subject—well, at least in my case.

Now did I realize that not having any friends in my English class was not detrimental, yet actually beneficial, since I was provided less to no distraction? Despite my occasional missing of homework—which I apologize for—I felt I succeeded in focusing more on learning how to become more successful at English, especially my essay writing. I knew all of my knowledge of my past mistakes and the basics Mrs. Mastrobattisto taught me in the first couple of weeks would guide me into succeeding with the first of the grueling tasks of English II. The main things I learned in order to make this paper a success were two things: relevant quotations and drafts.

Relevant quotations were a must in this paper, as there were many meaningful quotes in To Kill a Mockingbird, yet only a handful of relevant ones that could be used to support my ideas. The other big concept was drafted. I wrote many drafts over a week—I think at least three. Each time my paper was shaped into even a better form than the last. This I had never done in English I. This paper meant a lot to me as it was the first sign of improvement since English I and gave me hope for the rest of the year. My first analysis paper had been written with my better understanding of essay structure, but the raw knowledge of how to write could not be better displayed than in my first written piece of the year, the First Common Assessment on summer reading. This piece shows the extent of the ability of how I could write based on what I learned from English I.

I felt extremely anxious writing this piece at the time; probably due to the fact that I had to trace back information from a book I read five weeks earlier or that I was being timed. But as it seemed, it took too long to process and overcomplicate ideas, which ended up in hasty endings and poor analyses. After writing this paper, I learned not to overcompensate my ideas with fancy writing and to put down the main ideas and analyses for timed essays, and to leave the really nice writing for home, where I can write for as long as I want. This experience aided me later on when I soon encountered test essays. When one thinks of critical analysis papers, one usually recollects a sense of difficulty and stress.

Test essays were the stones on the path to academic success on which you can trip and fall. Test essays acted as miniature analysis papers with no availability of resources—just whatever you studied the night before. For example, my essay for my test on To Kill a Mockingbird was a bomb. No way was I able to fully analyze and collect my thoughts into a clearly written essay at the time. As I said before, timed pieces are my weakness. Yet, practice with this type of piece would further strengthen my ability to write such pieces later on.

The most important thing stressed in sophomore year is to pass the CAPT. That seemed like a lot of stress. And practicing for it made it seem even more intense. I never understood the boundaries of writing for an essay, in which case how much is too little or too much. Too little writing may cost points for inadequate analysis, while too much writing meant points off for information that may seem irrelevant or incorrect. It being timed did not matter to me for this occasion, but the spaces given were quite deceiving. One wants to use as much space as possible, yet condense the ideas to fit yet add everything necessary. I never felt confident in my answers because I could never balance things out, either the filling of space or putting in the detail with not much space.

Hopefully, I can work on that in the future. Most of which I have written was mostly negative. That is due to the fact that it took the whole year for me to mature in my writing, and in that fact I felt unashamed. I was rather joyous on how everything I learned from Mrs. My organization of ideas, word structure, and descriptions led to the pinnacle of my English class progress.

I realized from this successful piece that I created better pieces out of the true focus and experience on which I applied to this paper. This assignment was truly my favorite since it allowed me to reminisce on paper an event that changed my life, yet also apply my new skills as a writer at the same time. English II was indeed a time of failure, resilience, success.

What I had done terribly in the past I have put behind me. The failing papers and countless corrections on them seem like a distant memory. I cannot say I have become perfect at writing—far from it. But I know that I have come a long way since the beginning of the school year. What was once the anxious new sophomore is now the more confident sophomore ready to end the year. I owe my improvement to my English II teacher, Mrs. Without her, I would be still a fledging writer who would never know how to write a more decent paper. I never minded her tough grading, as it was that that pushed me to improve on my skill and let be known that my efforts did not go in vain. And although I remain isolated this year and will be next year, I fiercely intend to continue to grow and mature in the hopes of becoming proficient in what I have come to respect the English language.

Do I really know myself as an individual or do I need to depend on what other people perceive on me? Somehow, a simple question becomes complex when followed by another question as possible responses or ideas become broader. Identity relates to every choice we make, and these choices reflect who we are and what we value. In our daily life, we are making choices on what we do such as what to eat, what to wear, going to work or school, or taking the bus even though the destination is just three stations away.

Every choice we make is the result of what we believe we are as a person including what we value from our experiences and the people who influenced us especially our family who has been part of our lives ever since. Even in the long run, we have choices or decisions we need to work out like choosing our priorities and objectives in life. I grew up in the Philippines where the society is well known as collectivism. Filipinos most value the loyalty to family, extended family, and extended relationships. Most Filipino middle to low classes children is most likely obligated to support their parents, siblings, nieces, and nephews after they finish their studies.

Some, generally from lower-class families go straight on finding jobs after finishing their secondary level of education just to sustain the needs of their family. Just like my aunt who went to Germany 15 years from now to provide a better life for her mom and other siblings. I believe that my family has a big impact on my current identity. But despite that, I could not deny that the people that I encountered or the environment that I had been doing influenced my perspective in different aspects. My whole life I live in the most populous urban area of the Philippines, Metro Manila, or also known as Manila.

Streets full of dirt, polluted air, garbage mostly different plastic products, worse traffic jams, and fully packed public transportation, these are the things I was so used to that I was filled with astonishment the day I arrived here in Germany. But one thing I first noticed when I got here was how open the people are on being affectionate. I was a bit shocked seeing couples snogging along the streets during my first few days here.

In my home country, you can barely know that opposite sexes are dating for unwanted stares cannot be avoided when couples display affection publicly to some extent such as snogging. Regardless of how people can be easily influenced by other cultures mainly because of the rapid growth of social media, I believe that the values implanted from wherever an individual came from cannot be easily reestablished. My ran-away strict grandmother took care of me since I was born while my hard-working single mother was a stay-in laundrywoman ironing piles of bed sheets and pillowcases on above-average working hours at a prominent hotel just five minutes away from the Manila International Airport.

My mother is sixth of nine siblings, they grew up together in a twenty-five square meter house and barely have necessities. But no matter how hard their life was, her parents always found ways to serve three meals at their table daily. Then my mother grew up and found any jobs to survive. She was a vendor, a housekeeper, a nanny, and a laundrywoman until she met my father and had me.

I remember I was about five when I used to cry out to my mom and innocently asked her why she has been always out of sight even before I woke up in the morning and barely went home at night. My grandmother came from the Southern part of the Philippines, Mindanao, where people are known to be authoritarian may it be influenced by the Muslims who predominated the Southern region even before the Spaniards colonized the country in She was a year old teenager who ran away from her poor ethnically iron-handed parents after she was being disciplined and almost killed by her hot-tempered and alcoholic father.

Turned out to be that she was just like her parents, except on being alcoholic of course. Long umbrellas, thick rubber slippers, her favorite hard plastic hangers, and anything she sees possible, these were the classics used by my grandmother to hit, spank or throw at me whenever I did something against her moral values. But despite how authoritarian she was, I learned to appreciate everything I have because of her. She used to always remind me and my cousin that we are lucky enough as we do not need to harvest rice or work by the sweat of our brow to earn money, we can invest to a good education in a prestigious University, and mostly we can bite whatever food we want.

Life would not get any easier, but it gets better if you work hard and have values that you are taking care of. In my case, it was the two important women who imparted me the values that I still have right now. Culture and family are two of the relevant aspects that I consider shaped my identity. I like to differentiate them from friends and colleagues. Colleagues who just know the explicit or visible aspects I have. People who have been part of me for years now and may include a few of my relatives, whom I had and still have a constant connection with are what I call Friends. They have known me not only the top part of the iceberg of my personality but also the aspects I hid below the water line that includes my sentimentality.

These kinds of people have influenced my social skills especially in handling conversations with different people. I have a limited basis of cultural identity as my whole life I grew up in the main city of the Philippines. Despite that, my family and I still consider some practices and traditions of people from the Southern part of the Philippines because of my grandmother.

I was not exposed to an international environment since I came to Germany. One of them is humor. I remember when I first had lunch with my aunt and her two German employers. We were talking about something and I cracked a joke to make the conversation a bit lively. When it comes to communicating with international people, being able to relate with them is not that difficult for me. My sense of sympathy, which I believe came from the hardships my family went through and the people I encountered, somehow helps to be able to understand different people. I totally agree with this statement as I whenever I face arguments on different aspects, I still foremost consider what my mother and grandmother have taught me.

Things such as knowing my value on getting in a relationship, keeping my feet on the ground, and even learning the household chores because I am a woman. In the same way, people I encountered and difficulties I went through have also influenced my current identity especially on dealing with either life predicaments and breakthroughs. Determining our own identities is possible if we acknowledge the factors that affect them, may it be from culture and society we grew up with, gender identity, or ethnicity. But seeing the picture sometimes leads to confusion, but as time goes by we will learn to choose the factors that we most valued for. Whenever we docked at port, we were offered a bunch of different excursions vetted by Celebrity and Olivia, and Dana had generously offered to book one for me.

Kitts to the island of Nevis instead. Ugh, fine , if I must. At first, sitting alone on the catamaran heading out for my snorkeling excursion, I felt shy again, and wished I had Dana or Jamie and Matie at my side. One of the guys running the boat, a youngish dude with dreads, took pity on me and brought me a glass of water. He asked me if I was staff on the cruise, noting my friendlessness, and I told him I was a reporter. But he did occasionally seem to forget about the realities of the situation. For the last stretch of our afternoon, we were dropped on a secluded beach at Nevis, where a few of us ferried beers and our new favorite drink, the very college-esque Panty Ripper coconut rum and pineapple juice , from shore to the rest of the women waiting in the water.

One woman stuffed a bunch of beers into her bathing suit and we cheered whenever anybody pulled one out. A couple women had GoPro cameras, with which we took a lot of increasingly drunken group shots while we swam. One of them was attached to a floating handle that looked very much like a big yellow dildo, which, once somebody pointed it out, kept sending us into hysterics. Bonding is built into an Olivia trip, which, I realized soon enough, is basically like grown-up lesbian camp.

On this floating gay island and its satellite getaways, time works differently than it does back home. You can skip the normal-life process of slowly getting to know somebody on the shallowest of levels and get right to the good stuff. Back on the catamaran for our return to port, we got into some deep and very lesbian-y talk about relationships. In the spirit of lesbian camp bonding, I told my new crew about my situation — nonmonogamous, not sure how to feel about it — which seemed to pique the interest of beer bathing suit girl, because she would soon afterward follow me into the impossibly tiny bathroom, bursting in on me mid-pee.

By this point, I was — somewhat unintentionally — quite drunk. But there was another part of me that was very much not into it, especially when the makeout gave way to other things and people started banging on the bathroom door. I was also, literally, developing a pretty bad sunburn. I made my way up the tiny laddered chute to the deck, bouncing against the walls like a pinball, and immediately moved as far away from the bathroom as possible.

Later, when telling friends what had happened, I did laugh about it — one told me it sounded like something pulled straight out of The L Word , which, true — but I was also a little mad at that girl, and even more so at myself for being so sloppy. The consent element there was indeterminate; I had willingly gone along with the hookup, at least for a little while, though I remain uncertain about how much I really could have consented while drunk-peeing in a bathroom the size of a broom closet.

Bad sex happens. Even with lesbians! I was going to move on, get over it, and go back to enjoying myself. Before I left, I talked to a few of my reporter friends about it, just in case a hookup opportunity should present itself and I decided to partake for, um, research purposes. We decided that my Olivia story fell in some sort of weird journalistic in-between, just like my own job does. And the thing a lot of women on the cruise were looking to experience was, yes, getting laid.

Instead, I found singles and couples of various ages and gender presentations looking for something extra, something different, something more. My lesbian friends and I have often complained about how much easier it is for our gay guy friends to hook up with abandon — they have way more bars, and they all have back rooms! On Grindr, you can just ask someone to skip right to the sex. That is, in fact, the norm. One of my friends was in a hot tub, in the middle of the day, when she noticed that the women across from her were having sex in the same hot tub she got out immediately.

My friends Jamie and Matie, for their part, were determined to make things happen. At our evening activities, Jamie was frequently flagging , via colored handkerchiefs placed in her back pocket. She and Matie also hung up a white board outside their door and encouraged their neighbors to invite them to their play parties. They had a very sweet exchange with a curious anonymous neighbor who wrote them a note, inquiring what a play party is. It was only on our last day at sea that I discovered a Public Posts board, tucked away by reception in an area that most guests definitely would not be walking by every day. Afterward, I had lunch with Dana and some of the other Olivia staffers and asked them about it — why not make the Public Posts more prominent, MichFest style?

Especially since the younger people at the first Gen O event had explicitly asked for more sex content. Olivia had run sexuality and intimacy workshops before, and at the lunch, the staffers floated the definite possibility that they will again. Tisha, the cruise director and VP, met her wife on an Olivia cruise. When my partner jokingly warned me, before I left for the cruise, not to fall in love with a hot older butch — seriously, we joked about this — I thought, Fat chance.

Not only because I had no intention of falling in love with anyone else, but because I thought hooking up with hot older butches would remain the stuff of my fantasies. I even reported out an entire article about intergenerational lesbian relationships a few years ago. I have a lot to share. The lesbian bars and events I frequent in New York — the gay capital of the world!

The older women I did meet tended to be coupled up. It was Monday night, at the Deck 11 elevators. The only thing Lynette said to me, in the brief window after introductions and before we went our separate ways, was that my accent made me sound like an American newscaster. I was high on my newfound karaoke fame, and she was, by far, the most beautiful woman in the room: tall, dark, and striking, dressed all in white. But I walked right up to her, catching her alone, and asked if she wanted to take me home. When we left, wobbling down the sea-bucking hallways, she offered me her elbow, a gentleman from the first. All our nights together have swirled together in the strange, heady flux of my memory.

I was lying on my bed, on top of the covers, shivering slightly. Lynette stood over me, her head cocked to one side, a slight smile on her face. We stayed that way for a while, just breathing, as if waiting for whatever would happen next. Lynette is 53 years old , though she looks at least 10 years younger. She was born and raised in London to Jamaican parents. This cruise was the gift Lynette gave herself in the aftermath.

She was starting over. My Capricorn groundedness makes us a good match, allegedly. She plays the drums, loves cars — like, posts-on-car-forums-level loves cars — and follows tech news. She cares about clothes and buys a lot of hers vintage. She just got a tattoo commemorating Liverpool, her beloved football team. Once, after I came in her hands, I burst into tears yeah, I know, big dyke energy , and she held me tightly in her strong, sure arms. Other things she calls me, in her unfairly irresistible British accent: cheeky bint, missus, girl, my dear, my love, my darling. Per the rules of our loose nonmonogamous agreement, I FaceTimed with my partner about what was happening on the cruise, first telling them about the catamaran girl and then, in so many words, about Lynette.

I was the one who seemed to stress this rule the most. I was less confident. Lynette and I had only just met, but in the emotionally intense bizarro world of the cruise, where relationships of all types seemed to develop at warp speed and I was feeling enough emotion for 10 lesbians combined, I liked Lynette very, very much. A lot of it was, obviously, physical, chemical. But there were other things, too, that were harder to explain to other people or to myself. One of the first things I loved about her was observing her get dressed after she showered: her careful routine of lotions and gels and aerosols, her selection of a different wristwatch for different outfits.

I loved grabbing her waist by the belt loops, loved playing with the silver cross she wore around her neck. It sounds shallow to imply that, in the beginning, I fell for her simply because of her style, her stuff. Together they made up the way she wanted to be seen in the public eye, the way she wanted to move through the world. She was not a boy but a full-grown butch who, at 53, was confident in who she was and what she wanted.

By that, I mean b-o-i kinds of boys who may or may not identify as such : nonbinary dykes, twinky tops, Titanic -era Leo DiCaprios. They are determined — via commitment to a bachelor-esque lifestyle regardless of partner status, and a refusal to even once go to therapy — that they should never, ever have to grow up. I think there was also a part of me that liked tempering my fastidious long-term planning, my conventionalism, my seriousness with their wild spirits, their rejection of every social expectation. Queer bois, with their embrace of pleasure above most all else, in their refusal to adhere to the rules of heteropatriarchal capitalism — why grow up if it means becoming a cog in the machine?

At least I barely wear any makeup! My frivolity was never out of hand. And I prided myself for that, for the ways in which I deliberately limited myself. What right do I have to indulge in my own gender trouble? After my partner came out as nonbinary a couple years ago, I felt even more confused and guilty about my conflicting desires to both lean into my own womanhood and flee from it. I never felt like I had any choice about identifying as a femme — or as a woman, for that matter. She wore a different suit to dinner every night. We were lesbian and nonbinary dykes; we were supposed to be beyond gender. I had plenty of my own domestic faults, to be sure: I can be disorganized and forgetful; I suck at trash duty; I despise doing dishes or cleaning out the fridge.

It could be fun. It could be hot. It overwhelmed me, just then, the sudden force of my wanting. I wanted my own big, strong butch. I was used to being the person in a relationship who, comparatively, had more of her shit together. I took care of things for the both of us. What would it be like if, for a change, I let somebody else take care of me? On Thursday, as our week at sea was coming to a close, everyone was encouraged to dress up in our fanciest gear for dinner, and later, dancing.

It was about an hour before she was scheduled to pick me up. By this point, three days into our cruise tryst, we were effectively ship girlfriends. I opened it to find her casually leaning against the doorframe, looking overwhelmingly hot in her tux. I was startled to see her here so early; had I messed up our meetup time? I felt crazy. I felt like a teenager. I felt guilty and confused, like I had no idea what I was doing.

After all, Social Work Goals Essay bands, with those Visit Mexico LSD: Acid Or A Hallucination? on and those sad trumpets that Romanov Tsar Assassination Justified Essay struggling up to the top of the note but always Stand Up For What You Believe In Even If It Means Standing Alone Essay off and then try to Bilingualism Vs Multiculturalism back up again, are what are the effects of cyberbullying Romanov Tsar Assassination Justified Essay white-tourist Mexicans. This Stand Up For What You Believe In Even If It Means Standing Alone Essay book is about those extraordinary speculations and their philosophical implications. She was a normal woman with a strong nose and cheekbones, characteristically Germanic features.