I’ve selected a topic that’s meaningful to me.My five senses are always gathering new memories of my identity. After the bike display hits 30 minutes, we do a five-minute cool down, drink Gatorade, and put our legs up to rest. We’re biking buddies, dieting buddies, and Saturday morning carbo-load buddies. Ava’s next to me and tells me to go up a level. I taste sweat on my upper lip as I fight to continue pedaling on a stationary bike. The crusted casserole dish with stubborn remnants from my dad’s five-layer lasagna requires extra effort, so I fill it with Dawn and scalding water, setting it aside to soak. I wear yellow rubber gloves to protect my hands at Mom’s insistence, but I can still feel the warm water that offers a bit of comfort as I finish the task at hand. I rinse a faded plastic plate decorated by my younger sister at the Waterworks Art Center. Only the family prayer stands between me and the chance to indulge in these delicious morsels, comforting me with their familiar savory scents. My favorite is the Chinese food that she cooks. My grandma presents a good-smelling mixture of international cuisine for our Thanksgiving feast. The sweet scent of vegetables, Chinese noodles, and sushi wafts through the room as we sit around the table. Taking car rides with Mom in the Toyota Sequoia as we compete to hit the high note in “Think of Me” from The Phantom of the Opera. Singing “The Worst Pies in London” at a Korean karaoke club while laughing hysterically with my brother, who can do an eerily spot-on rendition of Sweeney Todd. Listening to “Cell Block Tango” with my grandparents while eating filet mignon at a dine-in show in Ashland. Soaking in overflowing bubble baths with Andrew Lloyd Webber belting from the boombox. How could he say such a mean thing about me? What did I do to him? Joseph’s words would engrave themselves into my memory, making me question my appearance every time I saw my eyes in the mirror. I focus my almond-shaped eyes on the ground, careful not to attract attention to my discomfort, anger, and shame. No matter how many times he repeats it, the other kids keep laughing. ![]() My classmate pulls one eye up and the other down. This collection of memories matters a great deal because I experience life every day through the lens of my identity. Throughout my life, I have kept a record of my life’s journey with my five senses. Weak rough draft: Sharing an identity or background She draws a specific personal insight from each memory and uses the stories to demonstrate her qualities and values. ![]() In the final version, the student uses an extended metaphor of a museum to create a strong connection among her stories, each showcasing a different part of her identity. In the weak rough draft, there is little connection between the individual anecdotes, and they do not robustly demonstrate the student’s qualities. The writer builds her essay around the theme of the five senses, sharing memories she associates with sight, sound, smell, touch, and taste. This essay uses a montage structure to show snapshots of a student’s identity and background.
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