Guan-Bok Kwok
English 101H MW 9:30-10:55 am
Professor McKeever
19 September 2013
Word Count: 747
A Very Long Week
When I was seven years old, my mother, brother, and I moved to New York City for the second time in my life. We stayed at my grandparents’ cozy five bedroom apartment in the middle of Manhattan. During our stay, we frequently visited our cousins who lived in Long Island; in the summer, my brother and I would explore our neighborhood with either our mother or grandparents. However, after school started, going to the park, movies, or beach was replaced by doing
homework, studying, and writing papers.
While living with my grandparents, I had to do laundry, wash dishes, and clean the apartment; whereas before I moved to NYC, my grandmother and my mother
would always take care of all the household chores. The first six months I lived in NYC, I was very rebellious when it came to chores. Despite all my tantrums and complaints, I learned how to be responsible. Before the end of my first year living in Manhattan, after doing chores every day, I would find myself volunteering to do laundry, wash dishes, even vacuuming and mopping the entire apartment.
Every year, I anxiously waited for the arrival of summer break. I remember waking up before eight in the morning almost every day, excited for a new day full of playing and exploring. We would walk to Central Park nearly every week and play in the kids’ area. There were water jets that shot out of the ground, sand boxes, and jungle gyms, which I loved to play on with my brother. We would also join the bird feeders or, sometimes we would just run through flocks of birds, for fun. I would even join the mobs of people and cheer the break dancers on, listen to the musicians, or wait patiently to see if a human statue would accidentally move. Most of all, I cherished every opportunity I had to visit my cousins in Long Island. During the day with them, we would play soccer, jump on their trampoline, or spend the day at the beach. If we ended up spending the night at their house, we would build tunnels and rooms out of various objects we could find around the house. I loved the summers, but every year when vacation ended, I was excited to go back to school.
The time I spent in school during my stay in NYC was filled with boisterous hallways and entertaining classmates. After the first year of my mother walking my brother and me to school, we started walking by ourselves; before long, a few of our classmates joined us in walking to and from school. In the beginning, our walk back from school consisted of buying chips, sodas, and playing cards at various street vendors or corner stores. Eventually, we went to different shopping centers, parks, and restaurants without our parents. We became more and more independent as the days went by. By the end of third grade, I would frequently go to unfamiliar places just to find my own way. I progressively developed a good sense of direction during my stay in NYC.
Before we moved to NYC for a second time, we frequently traveled there to visit my grandparents for a week or two. Even this time, it was close to the end of summer break in Ohio, when my mother decided to go spend one week at my grandparents’ in NYC. Two days before our trip was supposed to end, we went to visit one of her old high school friends, and her friend convinced her to leave my father and live in NYC. After she was convinced, she said “we are not going back home.” I was speechless with sadness after I heard her decision. The short seven day vacation gradually became a three and a half year experience.
Our father was only able to visit us two or three times a year. Every time he visited I would beg my father to bring us back with him. He would always bring us the newest videogames when he visited, and during his stays, we would spend every moment we could together. When he was home, I stayed up almost every night waiting for him to get off work, just so I could talk to him about my day or ask about his. Because of this I developed a terrible temper and learned how to create walls. It took me years to learn the meaning of forgiveness and to let go of my resentment towards my mother.
English 101H MW 9:30-10:55 am
Professor McKeever
19 September 2013
Word Count: 747
A Very Long Week
When I was seven years old, my mother, brother, and I moved to New York City for the second time in my life. We stayed at my grandparents’ cozy five bedroom apartment in the middle of Manhattan. During our stay, we frequently visited our cousins who lived in Long Island; in the summer, my brother and I would explore our neighborhood with either our mother or grandparents. However, after school started, going to the park, movies, or beach was replaced by doing
homework, studying, and writing papers.
While living with my grandparents, I had to do laundry, wash dishes, and clean the apartment; whereas before I moved to NYC, my grandmother and my mother
would always take care of all the household chores. The first six months I lived in NYC, I was very rebellious when it came to chores. Despite all my tantrums and complaints, I learned how to be responsible. Before the end of my first year living in Manhattan, after doing chores every day, I would find myself volunteering to do laundry, wash dishes, even vacuuming and mopping the entire apartment.
Every year, I anxiously waited for the arrival of summer break. I remember waking up before eight in the morning almost every day, excited for a new day full of playing and exploring. We would walk to Central Park nearly every week and play in the kids’ area. There were water jets that shot out of the ground, sand boxes, and jungle gyms, which I loved to play on with my brother. We would also join the bird feeders or, sometimes we would just run through flocks of birds, for fun. I would even join the mobs of people and cheer the break dancers on, listen to the musicians, or wait patiently to see if a human statue would accidentally move. Most of all, I cherished every opportunity I had to visit my cousins in Long Island. During the day with them, we would play soccer, jump on their trampoline, or spend the day at the beach. If we ended up spending the night at their house, we would build tunnels and rooms out of various objects we could find around the house. I loved the summers, but every year when vacation ended, I was excited to go back to school.
The time I spent in school during my stay in NYC was filled with boisterous hallways and entertaining classmates. After the first year of my mother walking my brother and me to school, we started walking by ourselves; before long, a few of our classmates joined us in walking to and from school. In the beginning, our walk back from school consisted of buying chips, sodas, and playing cards at various street vendors or corner stores. Eventually, we went to different shopping centers, parks, and restaurants without our parents. We became more and more independent as the days went by. By the end of third grade, I would frequently go to unfamiliar places just to find my own way. I progressively developed a good sense of direction during my stay in NYC.
Before we moved to NYC for a second time, we frequently traveled there to visit my grandparents for a week or two. Even this time, it was close to the end of summer break in Ohio, when my mother decided to go spend one week at my grandparents’ in NYC. Two days before our trip was supposed to end, we went to visit one of her old high school friends, and her friend convinced her to leave my father and live in NYC. After she was convinced, she said “we are not going back home.” I was speechless with sadness after I heard her decision. The short seven day vacation gradually became a three and a half year experience.
Our father was only able to visit us two or three times a year. Every time he visited I would beg my father to bring us back with him. He would always bring us the newest videogames when he visited, and during his stays, we would spend every moment we could together. When he was home, I stayed up almost every night waiting for him to get off work, just so I could talk to him about my day or ask about his. Because of this I developed a terrible temper and learned how to create walls. It took me years to learn the meaning of forgiveness and to let go of my resentment towards my mother.