Describe one important lesson that you learnt through the course of your life. How did you learn this lesson and why did you think they are important.
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Answer:
Although not very old, I am old enough to perceive, think and judge. These have contributed in helping me to learn three very important lessons which will last with me a lifetime: honesty, punctuality and respect. The age old adage says that 'honesty is the best policy' and on numerous occasions it has been proved that it is true. In fact, being honest with oneself is more important than being honest to others because that gives us a clear conscience and enables us to endure fearlessly. The most significant incident that helped me to learn the lesson was when I admitted to have dropped the catch during the final match of an inter school tournament that we ultimately lost. However, because of the frank confession. I won the admiration of one and all.
Vulnerability, according to researcher Brené Brown, is the emotional risk, exposure and uncertainty that fuels our lives. When we enter the arena of vulnerability, she says, we can either run away from it or lean into it, allowing ourselves to be seen, to be honest and to qualify courage. That’s what Brown calls resilience.
Several years ago, my arena of vulnerability was a job in New Orleans that provided services to disabled students. Into that arena stepped Josephine. She prefers Jo, though I find that name too diminutive for such a big woman—not just big as in tall and traditionally built, but big as in energy and laughter; big as in rich, earthy eyes; big as in a smile that embraces you with an even bigger heart. Although Josephine conveys a complex and expansive woman, Jo delivers simple punches.
Her thumps came into play on a daily basis. She was one of a handful of counselors who provided academic support to the most challenged students in arguably the most challenged schools in the entire country. The criteria for our program were specific—low income; first-generation, meaning neither parent had graduated from college; and disabled.
Disability is an interesting term. We considered physical diagnoses like cerebral palsy, blindness and sickle cell anemia. Most of our students, however, fell into the vast category of “learning problems.” Sadly, that term was a catchall for slow learners, behavior problems, and kids being raised by tired grandmas and aunties who counted on Supplemental Security Income to make ends meet. Alas, the greatest disability was often not a condition that hindered learning, but that these children were simply never taught.
These students and the work we did with them defined our daily arena, though it wasn’t all about vulnerability. More often than not, it was about resilience and accountability. We had to quantify and qualify hundreds of activities that were supposed to prepare these learners for post-secondary education, job training, GED or just about anything that would give them an alternative life. Thousands of kids passed through the program. A handful graduated from high school; two made it through college. Those success stories still make me proud.
We designed every kind of assessment and activity you can imagine for kids in rundown schools that had long since abdicated the right to call themselves that in neighborhoods known more for their crime rates than their residents. Lovingly frustrated, we schlepped reams of paper through noisy hallways; sat through interminable conferences with parents, teachers and guidance counselors; and arranged field trips, study-skills workshops and summer camps.In theory, the camp offered academic remediation and cultural enrichment. In reality, it was something to give naive scamps and potential thugs something constructive to do, get them out of their crime-infested neighborhoods and offer relief to their guardians. In many instances, their homes were headed by single grandparents, or even great-grandparents, who lived from entitlement to entitlement
Explanation:
pls mark me as brainliest
Answer:
I was shy and an introverted kid since the very start. I didn't have friends, nor did I have any inclination towards making friends. I loved solitude and lived in my own, small little blob. I used to go to school, sit in the last bench attend classes, took down notes and in between lectures read books or scribbled vague stuffs in my miniscule diary. Many students tried to interact with me but after seeing that all I could talk about was Shakespeare, Murakami, Kafka, Camus, Nabokov, Neruda, Bukowkski and other of my favourite writers, they stopped talking to me after a while. No one likes a boring girl, talking only about poems, proses and novels, isn't it? Even my parents tried hard to improve my social skills, but they soon realized that their daughter is hopless and they stopped putting in all efforts and allowed myself to absorb in books.
I thought to myself that I don't need friends because "All I am and I will ever be is literature." So I didn't have a 'good friend' until my Eleventh standard. I met Fahad in a park. He was sitting on a bench reading 'Lolita' by Nabokov with rapt attention, being oblivious to worldly affairs and I couldn't keep calm. Though I usually can't initiate a conversation, but I didn't have any issues starting one with him.
"So, you like Nabokov?"
"Pretty much, and I am reading Lolita for the second time, and you?"
I was exhilarated. "Oh! I absolutely adore Nabokov."
And that's how our friendship began. That day we talked for nearly three hours, about our favorite writers, our interests and stuffs. We realized that we are eerily similar. He told that even he didn't have many friends. We decided to meet everyday at the park.
We could talk for hours on our favorite writers, poets and artists. Soon I introduced him to my parents and they were happy that I atlast I was able to make a friend.
I could talk with him about anything and everything. Sometimes I used to go bonkers and spam him with my incoherent rambling, but he patiently listened to all my rants and raves and tried to calm me down. And he was a brilliant writer. He used to weave magic through his stories. They had the power and ability to throw people into deep labyrinth of thoughts. You could feel a wave of emotions running down your spine. His choice of words, from his insanely good vocabulary, the impeccable narration, the slow and steady unraveling of the plot, everything was just so brilliantly crafted. And I couldn't stop reading and loving his stories.
I knew he had some issues with his family, which he never clearly stated and I respected his privacy. That day I went to his home and he was in a foul mood. He said, "My parents never understood me. All I want is to pursue literature and they want me to become a doctor."
I sighed and said, "Maybe they are right, you are so good in studies, even if you become a doctor, you can still read books, right?"
"I thought you were the only who understood me, but you don't."
The conversation took a bitter note and soon I left after calling him 'an arrogant brat'.
The following morning, I was feeling very bad for my actions and I thought of apologizing him. Little did I know that an, 'arrogant brat', will be my last words to him.
Not that he had some illness nor did he took his own life, it's just that God didn't want me to have a friend. Each and every day, it haunts me that I couldn't even apologize to him.
I learned the lesson, to sort out things with your friends, especially if he is the only friend you have, before it gets too late. The biggest virtue of a person is being able to apologize, if one lacks it, it might take away a loved one.
By- Rupsa Mondal
Explanation:
Plz mark me as a brainliest.
Thank you .