This is another essay I was told to write in my English class. The task was to write a description of my first day of school (real or imagined), keeping in mind the feelings and thoughts of a child. This is what I wrote.

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My uniform is itchy. Is that how you say it; yoo-nie-form? I think it is. My skirt’s too tight, and the white shirt feels weird. I asked Mummy if I could wear pyjamas, but she said no. I hate the weird green thingy that’s around my neck, Mummy calls it a tie. Why is it called that? You don’t have to tie it, you just put it over your head. Why did it have to be green, green is a boring color. Why couldn’t it be purple?
There’s a lot of kids outside the school. Some are holding their Mummy’s hand. Why are they all girls? What happened to the boys? Maybe they’re already inside. I’ll ask Mummy.
Mummy said that there aren’t any boys at my school. I asked if they were at home, but she said no. They’re at a school for boys. Why’s there a school for boys, and a school for girls? I can’t play Mummies and Daddies without boys, it would just be Mummies. Maybe they’ll have Barbies there. I want the Elsa Barbie, because Elsa is my favorite.
Mummy says she has to go now, and that she’ll see me when school is finished. Can’t she stay with me? Why does she have to go? Mummy says that I shouldn’t cry, because Mummy will always come back. Mummy will always come back. Always.

Copyright © 2016 guasoni.net

This is another essay that I wrote, a personal favorite of mine, and I wanted to share it with you all.
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I closed my eyes, and the noise around me was muted. I could feel the anaesthetics reaching all the parts of my body, numbing me from the pain that was about to come. There was no sound, apart from the beats of my heart. It was quiet, and that scared me. Being raised in New York by a family of musicians, I was accustomed to hearing noise constantly. Silence was unfamiliar to me, and unfamiliar things are frightening.

“Do not be afraid,” a voice said, “I am with you.”

I looked around, but all I saw was black.

“Where are you?” I asked the voice. “And who are you?”

“I am by your side,” the voice responded. I looked left and right, but nobody was there. The voice chuckled.

“I am by your side,” it repeated. “You may not always see me, but I am always there.”

I was confused, but then it hit me, “God?”

The voice chucked again. “No child, I am not God. Similar, but not God. No Deirdre, I am your Guardian Angel.”

A man appeared by my side, dressed in a white suit, and wearing a grin on his face. I looked behind him.

“Where are your wings?” I asked him. “Aren’t angels supposed to have wings?”

The man sighed. Those Renaissance artists, thinking that we had wings, and spreading the idea to other mortal minds. No, angels do not have wings. Wings are for birds.”

I looked him over, confused to why he was only coming to me now.

“Why are you here?” I asked my Angel. “Why didn’t you come to me when I needed you?”

“I am here all the time. You did not seek for my counselling, therefor I could not do anything for you.” He replied.

“I didn’t know I had a Guardian Angel, how was I supposed to ‘seek for counselling’?”

“Deirdre, everybody has a Guardian Angel, and contrary to what you believe, you need my now than ever before.”

I looked at him, confused to what he meant. He clapped his hands, and said: “Now, let’s focus on the task at hand.”

He made two chairs appear, and we both sat down on them.

“I am not going to ask you why you made the cuts on your arm, because I know why,” he said, gesturing his head to my left arm. “But I will tell you what has happened. After your attempt, you were found by your mother, and then rushed to the hospital. The surgeons outside messed up the surgery, and you were put into an eight-week coma. Whenever a person is put in a coma, they enter their subconscious, and are given two choices: to either wake up, and continue to live, or to fall into a deeper sleep, and never return to the outside world. My job, is to help you make the right decision.” He explained.

I looked at him. “I did what I did because I wanted to die, not to have to make the decision again and listen to you.”

“That’s where you’re wrong Deirdre,” my Angel said. “You did what you did because you were scared.”

I looked at him with fear and confusion, not understanding what he meant, but fearing that he could be right.

“You come from a family full of performers, and you wanted to be like them. You went off, and learnt how to play every instrument that you could get your hands on. Unfortunately, at your audition for Julliard, you had a panic attack, and failed. You were afraid that you weren’t good enough, and that there wouldn’t be any music in your life. Deirdre, you are afraid of silence.”

I was quiet, and let him continue.

“But what you don’t understand is that there is a beauty is quiet places,” he said. “Take now for example: you were numbed into silence, and now you’re talking to me, your Guardian Angel. This isn’t something everyone can do Deirdre, but because of silence, you can.”

I nodded, understanding what he was saying.

“Now, I want you to close your eyes, and then make your decision.”

I closed my eyes, and listened. I asked God what I should do, and got no answer. When I was about to give up hope, I felt someone take me in their arms. It comforted me, and even though I didn’t know who was embracing me, I was happy.

I opened my eyes, and my Angle was gone, and there was only left where he was sitting.

‘If you ever need me again, remember to just surround yourself with silence, and think of the happiness you can feel without noise.’ it read.

I looked up, and made my decision:

“I choose life,”

 

Copyright © 2016 guasoni.net

This is an essay that I wrote about a month ago, and I decided to share it with you. I hope you like it.
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When I was five, my mother started to take me out at night, to look at the stars. Her reason for doing so was to cure my fear of the dark, which caused me to run to her room crying.

“You’ve got to get over your fear,” said my father. “Otherwise you’ll never survive in this world.”

Mother disagreed with him, saying that if you weren’t scared of anything you weren’t human – but she brought me out nonetheless.

“Open your eyes,” she said the first night. “Covering your eyes won’t do you any good.”

Hesitantly, I opened my eyes, and looked up. Above me were thousands of white flecks in the sky, illuminating what would’ve been completely black.

“See the stars darling?” my mother asked. “You wouldn’t be able to see those during the day.”

I asked her why not, and she said that stars couldn’t shine without darkness.

We spent the rest of the night searching for shooting stars, and mother pointed out all the visible constellations. Soon, I was no longer afraid of the dark.

 

Years passed, and the weekly stargazing nights continued with mother. Those weekly trips were what kept me grounded for the next eleven years; through school, puberty, and boyfriends. Stargazing with mother was one of the only constants in my life.

Then she got sick.

Mother was diagnosed with a rare case of Alzheimer’s Disease, one that took place earlier in life than expected, around the patient’s fifties.

Soon, she began to forget things. First, it was small things, such as dinner parties and asking questions. Then, it started to get worse. She began forgetting memories, relatives, and friends. We all tried to help her remember, but she couldn’t.

I was twenty was mother couldn’t recognise me anymore. It’s easy to say that I was heartbroken, but no, it was so much worse. I was furious when mother forgot about me, because that meant that she forgot everything…including the stargazing trips. I still tried to help her remember, and visited her every two days. But no, she wouldn’t remember.

 

I was twenty-five when I got the call at two in the morning, telling me that my mother was dead. They said that it was due to pneumonia, as it had developed along with the Alzheimer’s.

People expected me to cry at her funeral, but I couldn’t. I was overwhelmed with the grief of having lost my mother, but then relieved that I wouldn’t have to set myself up for disappointment three to four times a week. But I was still mad that she had died not remembering who I was, her own daughter.

 

Three days after the funeral, I drove out to the beach, where mother and I used to watch the stars. I laid a blanket down, to protect my clothes from the soft sand. I looked up. The stars were no longer as visible as they were two decades prior, due to the urbanization of what used to be a small town. There were a few stars scattered here and there, but it would be difficult to spot all the constellations that were once visible.

I tried to think of a time when I came here, feeling a similar grief. My mind went to the day my grandfather died, and mother brought my seven-year-old self here to calm me down.

“Why did Grandpa have to die Momma?” I asked her through my tears. “Why did he? I prayed every night, just like you told me to.”

            “Darling, Grandpa was sick. He was going to die one of these days. He was unhappy here though. Aren’t you happy that he’s not suffering anymore?”

            I nodded my head in agreement, and then looked back up at the stars. “Why do they shine so bright Momma? It’s too sad tonight to shine that bright.”

            Mother turned her head to look up at the stars, a pensive look on her face.

            “Maybe they’re not stars,” she said. “But rather the souls of our lost ones, shining their love down on us from windows in heaven, to let us know that they’re happy.”

            My mind snapped back to reality, and I was again looking at the night sky. There, high above me, was a new star, shining brighter than all the others.

“Hi mom,”