Querencia Final Draft

    I took a big sigh as I take off my shoes and step into the house. I shiver as I take a first step onto the ice cold tile. The tremendous weight of textbooks and binders cause me to slouch as I take heavy steps onto the carpet-lined stairs. With each step I take I couldn't help but think of the projects, essays, and worksheets waiting for me to complete.  As I reach the top of the stairs, I stop to take a deep breath.          
     As I enter my room I throw my bag on the bed and begin taking out my books. All of a sudden I remember that it's a Wednesday and that I have dance classes on Wednesdays. A sense of relief runs through my body as the worry of  finishing homework immediately vanishes. I rush to get my dance clothes on, grab my bag, and run to the car. The first thing I see is my mom waiting in the car with a smile on her face. It feels as if it took no more than 10 minutes to go from my house to the dance studio. I jump out of the car and wave goodbye.

     I couldn't wait much longer. I open the door while I hear classical music and see my dance teacher and friends greet me. They all think I'm a relaxed and stress- free person, but they don't know what really goes on in my head. I carry-on and put on my rock- hard pointe shoes. While I wrap each ribbon around my ankle, I couldn't help but laugh as I hear my teacher talk about her exciting day. I finish by wrapping a flowy pink skirt around my waist and walk to my spot on the barre. We begin to stretch as a class. The idea of bringing my leg over my head doesn't seem so painful, instead, I find it to be rather relaxing. At this point due dates no longer overwhelm me. Before we know it, she gives a hand gesture telling us to come to center floor. We begin a petite allegro. She explains all the moves in French while we translate it in our head. The fast pace music begins as everyone spreads out to make sure there is enough space to jump and turn. Loud shouts of corrections emerge from the teacher, but it doesn't seem to bother me as I zone out into my own little world. I feel I can express myself with every move I take. Giggles can be heard from across the room as little mistakes are made. I couldn't help but laugh as well. This is what I look forward to everyday I'm here.
      This studio brings back a lot of memories from my childhood. I remember always crying when I got yelled at for not understanding a certain move or not doing it properly. Now that I think back about it, I'm glad I got yelled at. It has made me a better dancer in the long run.All the hard work has paid off as I finally got my first pair of pointe shoes. Joy ran through my 10-year old body. It's every young ballerina's dream come true. I will always remember that day. Sewing the ribbons and elastic took a laborious 2 hours, but it was all worth it. The excitement quickly vanished as I got bunions, blisters, and bruises on my poor little toes. I eventually got used to the pain as I have conquered over six pairs of silky, pink pointe shoes. 

      Whether it's ballet, tap, acro,contemporary or jazz, I feel like I can be my self while I'm dancing. No one is there to tease me or tell me I look silly. Instead, I have life-long friends there to encourage me and tell me to try my hardest. I know that when I leave this place I can go home with a good attitude unlike how I was earlier. Homework can be finished in a more stress-free, positive manner. This dance studio has been there for me from when I started at 6-years old, to my teenage self. After 8 years of dancing, I've reached level 6, the highest level in the entire studio. That's all thanks to my friends for their encouragement and my teachers' for their constructive criticism. I wouldn't be where I am without their support. There is no other place for me to express myself and be with the people I love other than the Rosalie Woodson Dance Academy. 

Graphic Card

Querencia Rough Draft

I took a big sigh as I take off my shoes and step into the house. I shiver as I take a first step onto the ice cold tile. The tremendous weight of textbooks and binders cause me to slouch as I take heavy steps onto the carpet-lined stairs. With each step I take I couldn't help but think of the projects, essays, and worksheets waiting for me to complete. As I reach the top of the stairs, I stop to take a deep breath.

As I enter my room I throw my bag on the bed and begin taking out my books. All of a sudden I remember that it's a Wednesday and that I have dance classes on Wednesdays. A sense of relief runs through my body as the worry of  finishing homework immediately vanishes. I rush to get my dance clothes on, grab my bag, and run to the car. The first thing I see is my mom waiting in the car with a smile on her face. It feels as if it took no more than 10 minutes to go from my house to the dance studio. I jump out of the car and wave goodbye.

I couldn't wait much longer. I open the door while I see my dance teacher and friends greet me. They all think I'm a relaxed and stress- free person, but they don't know what really goes on in my head. I carry-on and put on my rock- hard pointe shoes. While I wrap each ribbon around my ankle, I couldn't help but laugh as I hear my teacher talk about her exciting day. I finish by wrapping a flowy pink skirt around my waist and walk to my spot on the barre. After everyone is done warming up, we begin a combination. She demonstrates as the class repeats. Loud shouts of corrections don't seem to bother me as I zone out into my own little world. I feel I can express myself with every move I take. This is what I look forward to everyday I'm here.

Whether it's ballet, tap, contemporary or jazz, I feel like I can be my self while I'm dancing. No one is there to tease me or tell me I look silly. I know that when I leave this place I can go home with a positive attitude. Homework can be finished in a more stress-free manner. This dance studio has been there for me from when I started as a toddler, to my teenage self. There is no other place for me to express myself other than my dance studio.

Vocabulary Word Text

Roots and Recipes Final Draft

After the last prayer has been made to our ancestors, I rapidly run to the kitchen as my favorite part of Chinese New Year is about to begin. I've been waiting anxiously for almost an entire year for this moment. It was time to make my mom’s scrumptious Jin Dui.
         Every time I hear the words Jin Dui I think of how my mom makes it taste and look better than any other eatery. The crispy, golden brown coating and the soft and sweet inside is just the most incredible combination ever made. Every bite reminds me of each Chinese New Year our family has spent together. In my head I see everyone greet each other by saying, "Gung He Fat Choy!" and my mom placing all of my favorite traditional dishes on the dining table. Aunts, Uncles, Grandmas, and Grandpas would walk around distributing Lei See -which is a red envelope full of money- to all the kids and wish each other a great Chinese New Year. I’d rush to take each one I receive to my room along with the others.  By the end of the night, we've all received hundreds and hundreds of dollars to start our New Year that symbolize good luck. After we've had our dinner we are all so full we can't take another bite, but we somehow find a way to save a little room for dessert.
         As a child I never hesitated with helping my mom make this dessert. Even to this day I wouldn't mind. The more I help, the closer I’ll be to devouring it. She begins by gently pouring in all the ingredients needed to make the dough. With a container of water in one hand, she gradually pours it while mixing with the other. I’d watch as her agile hands incorporate every ingredient while carefully kneading the dough to perfection. The way she does it with confidence shows how long she's been doing it and how much she loves doing it. She gently pinches the dough to make sure it’s the right consistency for the next step. I hear my name from across the kitchen. Immediately I know exactly what to do. I grab a chunk of dough and flatten it with my fingertips. I see a bowl right next to me with the next ingredient. I grab a piece of black bean paste and insert it in the center of the dough while forming the entire thing into a ball. I top it all off with sprinkles of sesame seeds that stick nicely to the dough. I do the same thing around 20 times to complete one large batch. After all that, I’d go over to the sink to wash the sticky dough off my hands. By the time I get back I see my mom individually putting each ball into the wok, not being afraid of any oil that splatters on her. When the time is right she gently presses them with a spider strainer to make it inflate. By the time it's done, it's gone from the size of a baseball, to the size of a soft ball. It is transferred to a plate lined with paper towels to absorb the dripping oil. I bring it to the dinner table as everyone rushes toward it, only leaving a few left.
         After the long and laborious process, it’s time to eat. I grab a piece and place it on my plate. I take a moment to admire the beautiful sight. Perfectly round, golden and coated with crunchy sesame seeds. After that, I've grown too impatient to spare another second to let it cool down. Instead, I allow it to burn my mouth. As I take a bite I hear a subtle crunch as puffs of steam rush toward my face, revealing the inside while deflating. Every bite takes me back to all my favorite rituals of Chinese New Year. Every year I am reminded that the more you eat Jin Dui the better your fortune will be and wealthier you'll be. I am determined to one day make this dish from start to finish on my own and carry out the tradition through my future family. 

Roots and Recipes Rough Draft

After the last prayer has been made to our ancestors, I rapidly run to the kitchen as my favorite part of Chinese New Year is about to begin. I've been waiting anxiously for almost an entire year for this moment. It was time to make my mom’s scrumptious Jin Dui.

Every time I hear the words Jin Dui I think of how my mom makes it taste and look better than any other eatery. The crispy, golden brown coating and the soft and sweet inside is just the most incredible combination ever made. Every bite reminds me of each Chinese New Year our family has spent together. In my head I see everyone greet each other by saying, "Gung He Fat Choy!" and my mom placing all of my favorite traditional dishes on the dining table. Aunts,Uncles, Grandmas, and Grandpas would walk around distributing Lei See -which is a red envelope full of money- to all the kids and wish each other a great Chinese New Year. I’d rush to take each one I receive to my room along with the others.  By the end of the night, we've all received hundreds and hundreds of dollars to start our New Year that symbolize good luck. After we've had our dinner we are all so full we can't take another bite, but we somehow find a way to save a little room for dessert. 

As a child I never hesitated with helping my mom make this dessert. Even to this day I wouldn't mind. The more I help, the closer I’ll be to devouring it. I’d watch as her agile hands incorporate every ingredient while carefully kneading the dough to perfection. The way she does it with confidence shows how long she's been doing it and how much she loves doing it. Then it’ll be my turn to help roll it into balls while inserting a piece of black bean paste as the filling. I’d go over to the sink to wash the sticky dough off my hands. By the time I get back I see my mom individually putting each ball into the wok, not being afraid of any oil that splatters on her. By the time it's done, it's gone from the size of a golf ball, to a soft ball. I bring it to the dinner table as everyone rushes toward it, only leaving a few left. 

After the long and laborious process, it’s time to eat. I grab a piece and place it on my plate. I take a moment to admire the beautiful sight. Perfectly round and coated with crunchy sesame seeds. After that, I've grown too impatient to spare another second to let it cool down. Instead, I allow it to burn my mouth. As I take a bite I hear a subtle crunch as puffs of steam rush toward my face, revealing the inside while deflating. Every year I am reminded that the more you eat Jin Dui the better your fortune will be and wealthier you'll be. One day I'll learn how to make this delicious dessert from my mom to share with my future family and friends. 

Brainstorm

The food I chose is called Jin Dui- a fried ball with a crunchy outside and soft inside with filling that could be either sweet or savory. This is something meant for Chinese New Year and we don't usually have it any other time. So, we like to consider it a special treat and savor the moment. I remember every Chinese New Year I would help my mom make large batches to give to friends and family. I loved seeing the smile on their faces everytime we deliver it to their doorstep. Some sensory details I would use to describe it is the sound of crunchiness you hear when you take a bite. Puffs of steam rush toward your face as it reveals the inside along with a sweet or savory filling. I will be interviewing my mom about the Jin Dui because no one else in my family can make it as good as she does.