paliwal traders - MP ST 22 Narsinghpur Road Gotegoan

Bast place. ,.......... I sit here quietly staring out the window. I don’t understand the language my teacher is speaking. The little hands of the other students race down their pieces of paper. I envy those kids for they know how to read and write. My head sinks down and tears from my eyes hit the desk. I am in a first grade classroom but have no clue as to why I am here. The teacher stands at the board rambling on. I look up and terror shrieks inside me. I am lonely and scared. This is a new world to me for I have never stepped into a school. I know nothing and feel as dumb as a donkey. I think to myself if I sit here then nothing will ever change. I pick up my pencil and begin copying what my teacher is writing. With each stroke I feel like am finding the key to myself. My teacher stares at me. I feel very bad because I am not like the other kids. At that moment I believe the other kids are way better than I’ll ever be. My teacher’s smile is as big as a rainbow when she looks at the other students. Her eyes lay upon me like lasers going through a wall. I am just a burden to her. It seems like she despises my presence. I want to go home, hide under my bed, and never come out. That night I lay in my tiny yet cozy bed staring out at the sky. It is a beautiful sight. All the stars look alike. It reminds me of those kids in my class, they all look the same. “I am going to be different than the rest of them,” I whispered to myself. Throughout the rest of my Elementary years, I excelled in every subject but English. Middle School was a piece of cake for me and I walked away as the valedictorian of the 8th grade at my school. My first two years in high school flew by, but along came Junior year, where memories of first grade came crashing down. “Get ready to write your first essay,” my teacher said with joy. Those words hang in the air like time has just frozen in front of me. I walk into the class and a sudden chill comes over me. My skin is pale and I began grasping for air. I close my eyes and visions of my childhood come back. It is as if they are haunting me. I stop and take a deep breath. I had to believe in myself and understand that yes I would make mistakes but so does everybody else. I am not perfect. __________________________________________ ESSAY REVIEW This is a personal story and quite a compelling one, but it's not really an essay in any meaningful sense - at least not the kind of essay that I can meaningfully review. I can tell you whether I like it or not (I like it) but that's about all. I suppose the one useful criticism that I can offer is that the point of the story seems still incomplete. I was surprised when I reached the end of your story that I had reached the end of your story. I was expecting a tale of redemption. Instead you give me a story of you walking into a classroom to encounter, well, who knows what. I think your story stops before you got to finish it, where "to finish" means to write the bit that makes the reader understand why she or he has been reading the story in the first place. Language note: You tell the story using the present tense for the most part. That's fine. Just be consistent. I think you should stick to the past tense throughout. Type