Essays
TA-DA! Here's all my essays from this year (or rather the ones I let go on here)
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Mini-MemoirThese events are all real… well as much as they can be. Over the summer I participated in Drum and Bugle Corps this activity when boiled down is marching band, day in and day out every day. A Drum Corps season is a 2-month long training and tour season involving 140 others all working together for 2 months straight with as much as 16 hours of work a day to compete in a competitive bracket presenting musical and visual performance all over the country. During this time the days were long and full of struggle, but everyone always worked hard towards our goal of putting a show onto the field, but the feeling of performing not only was in the show it also crept into everyday life.
Putting on a mask over the soreness, and exhaustion day after day making myself believe that it was a good day. I had told myself I could keep it up for not only myself but to lift others around me. One day the mask cracked I couldn’t hold everyone else up, I felt I wasn’t doing enough for everyone like I wasn’t doing my part. My body could not do as I told it to, I couldn’t keep up the act that I held on to so dearly. That day was something everyone had referred to as a wall, we were told from the beginning that most of us would hit one. At the time I didn’t give it a second glance,” I won’t do that” I had believed that up until that day. The days had seemed to drag on forever the soreness of the days before had just kept stacking. Every day I would say that if it got worse I would sit out and every day it did but I would keep pushing, I didn’t want everyone to think I wasn’t doing enough, but as I look back that wasn’t it. I didn’t want to look back on those days and think that I could’ve kept going, whether the others had blamed me or not I would’ve blamed myself. The day that the mask cracked I just stood there during our exercise, my body felt like it would crumble under its own weight, my mind raced with thoughts of disappointment in myself, which only made it worse. After that day the soreness stopped, I became numb to it. I was able to put the mask back on, help others again, and carry my weight. But there is still a question that arises, “What was it for?” “Who was it for?” |
Letters To Myself (Young)October 7, 2019
Shane Wilson 15529 Park Lake rd. Bath, Michigan 48808 Shane Wilson 29707 Camino Cristal Menifee, CA 92584 Dear Younger Me, If you're reading this then, even I don't know how it got to you. This is a letter to myself, me in the past when I, or rather you are naive and ignorant to what will come in the future or rather the present for me. This whole "time writing" thing is confusing, and I think you can agree with me on that cause well your me. You will create a life where you are, not something amazing or cool but you will be content with where you go and what you do. But you will have to leave for better or for worse even I don't know fully yet. You will be taken from it all, but from what I've seen it's worth it so far. The summer when you move, you will join something that will change you for the better and all you have to do is have fun, enjoy it, and push through, no matter how hard it gets. It will be the hardest thing you do in your life, or as far as I know anyways. Do not walk away from it, I promise you it will pay off. From now on you will be faced with decisions, choices, and hardships, most not even yours, but you have to be there for those people. You will grow long lasting relationships with strangers but you will also lose others you've known your whole life. Throughout your life don't live for yourself live for others and for the betterment of them, do the dishes, take out the trash, do something to help be a servant to others, but please just keep up your grades, I'm trying to keep up a reputation here. Sincerely, Shane Wilson You, but a little bit older |
Letter To Myself (Old)October 7, 2019
Shane Wilson 15529 Park Lake rd. Bath, Michigan 48823 Shane Thomas Wilson 6375 Park Lake rd. Bath, Michigan 48823 Dear Mr. Wilson, If you're reading this wow... 25 years, whatcha been up to? I didn't necessarily put this address to say that I wish you'll be there in the future I just needed an address. Anyway I'm not really sure where I think I might be that far in the future or even just when I'm 20... I need to have something to look forward to and it's not that I don't see myself as successful it's just I don't know which path I want or need to take. I just hope you chose the right one. I just want to know where'd you end up? What do you do now? Do you have a family of your own? I know even if this letter somehow is saved till whatever point in the future that you see this, you'll never be able to get answers back but I just felt like asking. This is a point in my life where there are a lot of crossroads and I don't know which ones I should take or leave to be discovered by someone else. Wherever you ended up I just hope at the very least that you and Corey still do twin stuff every now and then, but if you haven't and you see this... well yeah, do a thing. He has been your best friend from the very beginning and don't forget that. Oh yeah did you make it through all the school years (however many years we actually did) and still meet our goal, if not to 20 push ups right now. Sincerely, Shane Wilson You, but a lot younger |
Restaurant ReviewChick fil A: One of the many fast food chains in the industry yet still upholding the family business atmosphere.
As we walk up to the restaurant we noticed a line practically out the door but just enough not to be. Though this did seem like an off putter, but the establishment itself had a liveliness to it. After doing some research, I believe one thing that plays into this atmosphere is the restaurants background and how they treat their customers. “We should be about more than just selling chicken. We should be a part of our customers’ lives and the communities in which we serve.” S. TRUETT CATHY 1921—2014 One thing that surprised me throughout my research was that the business doesn’t stay open on Sundays. “Our founder, Truett Cathy, made the decision to close on Sundays in 1946 when he opened his restaurant in Hapeville, Georgia. Having worked seven days a week in restaurants open 24 hours, Truett saw the importance of closing on Sundays so that he and his employees could set aside one day to rest and worship if they choose - a practice we uphold today” (https://www.chick-fil-a.com/About/Who-We-Are). Even though the line was long, surprisingly the line was moving relatively quickly and after seeing behind the registered you could see why. Behind the registers was hustle and bustle like no other, there was a big staff and surprisingly there were smiles all around. The line moved quickly and even though there was a lot of customers and a lot of staff the noise level was almost like a big family dinner, and the atmosphere also reflected this welcome feeling. After ordering which went off without a hitch, we sat in an area next to the registers that was conveniently set up for people who were waiting for “to go” orders for what felt like less than a minute, it was equipped with seating around a large bar like table with charging ports for your phone or computer as you wait. The food seemed to have been made meticulously well. The chicken unlike other fast food establishments almost emanated freshness. The expression “fall off the bone” was the perfect expression to describe it even though there wasn’t any bones. By doing some research you can see why the food tastes so great. “In our kitchens, we focus on fresh and simple ingredients. And we always have. Since the beginning, we've served chicken that is whole breast meat, with no added fillers or hormones, and we bread it by hand in our restaurants. Produce is delivered fresh to our kitchens several times a week. Salads are chopped and prepared fresh throughout the day. Our lemon juice is hand mixed daily with pure cane sugar and water (yep, that’s all) to make Chick-fil-A Lemonade®. It may not be the easy way, but it's the only way we know” (https://www.chick-fil-a.com/About/Great-Food). With a great atmosphere and equally as good food even though it is slightly more expensive than other options. I don’t have anything to complain about this business who’s mascot is an animal that is completely opposite of the food they represent. Chick fil A 2075 W Grand River Ave, Okemos, MI 48864; 1 (866) 232-2040; chick-fil-a.com Atmosphere May vary depending on location: Commonly crowded yet friendly fast food business. Sound Level Moderate to Loud. Prices ~$13 per person Open 24 hour business (Closed Sunday) |
Recurrence (Short Story)
We arrived at the scene to investigate a body that was found earlier that day. It was a luxurious home that you would see in a magazine with granite countertops and glass walls, it overlooked the sea. The only problem was the layer of dust that hung in the air like a fog, and the pungent smell of decay, along with a faint smell of chemicals, the home hadn’t been aired out in weeks. The body, in his 20’s, Caucasian male approximately 5’ 7 sat slumped over on a desk in the home office with a single gunshot wound to the back of the head. There were no signs of a break-in, the cameras didn’t show any evidence of another entering or exiting the home at the time of death, and the man that was found in the home turned out to be unidentifiable. The man who owned the property was on vacation, and camera evidence showed the victim enter the home at his own discretion the night before with some sort of documents in hand. As to which were not found at the scene of the crime, yet there was evidence of the documents being removed from the office after the death occurred which led to further speculation.
It was myself detective Ethan Smith your typical idiot with a big knack for getting into situations I shouldn’t be in, and my partner, Lieutenant John Young, or as I liked to call him, Lieutenant High Strung. We never did find any suspects, the scene was void of any fingerprints or DNA, and there were no weapons or means of suicide. Frankly, we were stumped, the case was dropped after a few weeks and we kept moving along with our days. The case was swept under the rug as just another John Doe case (unidentifiable victim). For some reason, in spite of this, I was drawn to the case, possibly because I felt a connection to the victim in some way, or my upbringing was getting the better of me.
I was 4 when my dad “left for business”, and that question of “when is he coming back?” drove me, and as I grew up, I guess I’ve grown to hate leaving something unsolved. My mother raised me, she did what she could as a single mom but there was always something missing a hole in myself that was filled with questions but whenever I had asked about my father she told me he was on a “business trip”. I became a detective because I thought I might be able to find answers. I used my position to search through available databases, and I found him. He hadn’t left, he had died. My mother had told me he left because she thought that it would be better for me to still think I had a father, even though he wasn’t there for me. After I found out the hole that once had questions and answers was filled with lies and doubt. I began to fill the hole that still lingered with other mysteries, ones that if there were lies I could see through them, but with this mystery, there was nothing to see through, there was basically nothing.
I had originally tried to keep living my life but the case hung in the back of my head like a shadow that kept tapping me on the shoulder, just to make sure I knew it was there. I took some leave to set my mind straight, even though “Mr. Uptight” took some convincing. I took up a book I had found on my desk in the office among the crumpled papers and discarded wrappers. It was oddly similar to our case, but to pass the time and get my mind off of it, I read. As I continued, my mind kept wandering to the original scene. I’ve started this journal to get my head on straight and record what I know of the case as to possibly think up something we didn’t look over. Maybe we missed something, maybe we didn’t cross every T and dot all our I’s.
The scene of the crime hadn’t been disturbed since the crime, even though it had been nearly a month. The owner hadn’t returned, the house was merely a summer home. So I returned there, I had a key from the investigation and I didn’t believe there to be any problem since the case had been closed for a while. To my surprise the home office seemed completely clean, the cleanup crew made it seem like there was never a body, to begin with. Then again they have all sorts of equipment and chemicals that practically do their job for them. I’ve set myself in the chair we found the victim, I came here to immerse myself at the original site, where it all started. The chair that we found the body is oddly comfortable it helps me concentrate on the case, as I forage through the evidence, I try to fit the pieces of the puzzle together, whenever I can’t find a piece of the puzzle I go back to the book I’ve been reading.
The book was about a very similar case, almost impeccably similar. I find myself writing the same thing written in the book. I had found the book on my desk as I was leaving the office I thought it might have been the Lieutenants doing, but he was never into reading, he was raised to “live it, not read about it.” is what he said whenever I brought books up. Either way, the book seems odd it’s like reading about what has happened through my eyes but I haven’t written any...
I'LL LET U READ THIS MUCH
CASE CLOSED 8-28-97
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CASE OPENED 9-17-97
This work journal belongs to Ethan Smith
It was myself detective Ethan Smith your typical idiot with a big knack for getting into situations I shouldn’t be in, and my partner, Lieutenant John Young, or as I liked to call him, Lieutenant High Strung. We never did find any suspects, the scene was void of any fingerprints or DNA, and there were no weapons or means of suicide. Frankly, we were stumped, the case was dropped after a few weeks and we kept moving along with our days. The case was swept under the rug as just another John Doe case (unidentifiable victim). For some reason, in spite of this, I was drawn to the case, possibly because I felt a connection to the victim in some way, or my upbringing was getting the better of me.
I was 4 when my dad “left for business”, and that question of “when is he coming back?” drove me, and as I grew up, I guess I’ve grown to hate leaving something unsolved. My mother raised me, she did what she could as a single mom but there was always something missing a hole in myself that was filled with questions but whenever I had asked about my father she told me he was on a “business trip”. I became a detective because I thought I might be able to find answers. I used my position to search through available databases, and I found him. He hadn’t left, he had died. My mother had told me he left because she thought that it would be better for me to still think I had a father, even though he wasn’t there for me. After I found out the hole that once had questions and answers was filled with lies and doubt. I began to fill the hole that still lingered with other mysteries, ones that if there were lies I could see through them, but with this mystery, there was nothing to see through, there was basically nothing.
I had originally tried to keep living my life but the case hung in the back of my head like a shadow that kept tapping me on the shoulder, just to make sure I knew it was there. I took some leave to set my mind straight, even though “Mr. Uptight” took some convincing. I took up a book I had found on my desk in the office among the crumpled papers and discarded wrappers. It was oddly similar to our case, but to pass the time and get my mind off of it, I read. As I continued, my mind kept wandering to the original scene. I’ve started this journal to get my head on straight and record what I know of the case as to possibly think up something we didn’t look over. Maybe we missed something, maybe we didn’t cross every T and dot all our I’s.
The scene of the crime hadn’t been disturbed since the crime, even though it had been nearly a month. The owner hadn’t returned, the house was merely a summer home. So I returned there, I had a key from the investigation and I didn’t believe there to be any problem since the case had been closed for a while. To my surprise the home office seemed completely clean, the cleanup crew made it seem like there was never a body, to begin with. Then again they have all sorts of equipment and chemicals that practically do their job for them. I’ve set myself in the chair we found the victim, I came here to immerse myself at the original site, where it all started. The chair that we found the body is oddly comfortable it helps me concentrate on the case, as I forage through the evidence, I try to fit the pieces of the puzzle together, whenever I can’t find a piece of the puzzle I go back to the book I’ve been reading.
The book was about a very similar case, almost impeccably similar. I find myself writing the same thing written in the book. I had found the book on my desk as I was leaving the office I thought it might have been the Lieutenants doing, but he was never into reading, he was raised to “live it, not read about it.” is what he said whenever I brought books up. Either way, the book seems odd it’s like reading about what has happened through my eyes but I haven’t written any...
I'LL LET U READ THIS MUCH
CASE CLOSED 8-28-97
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CASE OPENED 9-17-97
This work journal belongs to Ethan Smith