My mentor - Lights on

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A cat is hiding, eating under pottings.
A cat is hiding, eating under pottings.

Louise hugged me when we first met, and I felt the warmth of it. The embrace was special to me, as Asian culture does not encourage physical contact even among family members. My first impression about her is the way she laughs, which is so contagious that I smelled the fragrance of confidence. She influences me with her characters, as I always want to be so free from the bond of conventions, to burst into laughter spontaneously, and more importantly, to grow into a confident individual.

Louise, my host mother, radiates confidence like unceasing waves, from within. By confidence, I mean to be gratified in doing relishing things. One night, we sat by the dining table and I shared my confusion. I was hesitant about what I would do in the future. I told her that I was struggling on my Brown Pre-College application that asks for an essay about the area of study I am interested in.

I recognize that I enjoy writing, but I don’t know whether people are going to like my work. I don’t like having doubts, but I haven’t had the confidence to retaliate it. She looked at me with contempt. She does not favor seeing a lack of confidence in people. She said in a forceful tone, “If you write, you are a writer.” I felt a strong wave of confidence sweeping over me. The silence followed was more expressive than any spoken words. The statement had a dominating sense of persuasion.

Proceeding with my application, I felt exceedingly satisfied, as I was doing something that I was fond of. I wrote­ - I like literature because it sings my soul and speaks out the clues that hide in my head. A great sentence that just hits my heart in the right place could be the highlight of my day, because it perfectly describes a particular situation, connecting me with the true nature of human feelings. During my writing process, I don’t stare at the definition of each word in my mind, but considering the expression of the language, the use of wording, the need to make full use of creativity.

If I didn’t have that night, I would not get myself to write what I truly wanted to convey, to end the oppression of fear, and to extend the territory of my confidence. Admitted by Brown, I don’t feel enough. Accepted by the Panther Newspaper, I don’t want to stop.  As if I am a parent, I want to be just like Louise, to turn on the lights for my child.

THE MAN WHO FEARS LOSING HAS ALREADY LOST.
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