Annika Agarwal

September 21, 2015

Written Expressions

Period 3
The Title

Earning a title, not to mention, a national title, was never something I thought I could
achieve. Nevertheless, I had done it. I was nine years oldquite young, I supposeand I can
accurately recall reading the slip of paper that would change me forever.
It was the last month of school in the fourth grade. The cafeteria walls were caving in on
me. I was in a room with twelve othersan erudite minority. I knew that the words were on the
test; however, they were bursting out of the page and exploding in my face. There were beads of
sweat taking form along my hairline; my hands were wet and shaking tremendously. As the
others worked diligently, all I heard was the scratching of the pencils. I, on the contrary, was in
another dimension. What if I didnt pass? What would my parents think of me? What would my
teachers think of me? Suddenly, I heard a voice.
Five more minutes. The counselors words initiated the gears in my head. As if it had a
mind of its own, my hand spontaneously started filling in each empty bubble. I was determined
to win what I had been practicing for years. As the clock kept ticking, second by second, my
heart raced faster; with every pump there was a new rush of adrenaline. And that was it;
ultimately, it was either success or failure.

Months had passed; it was the end of August. My father, a tall man with jet black hair and
glasses that seemed to be the most essential part of his countenance, and, my mother, one who
was pleasantly plump, were leisurely sitting on the patio, watching my siblings and me ride our
bikes. As I rode down the hill from the other street, the exhilarating breeze pushed the skin of my
face against my bones, and I felt an electrifying chill send ripples throughout my body. It was a

perfect summer day. The moment only lasted for a few seconds; before I could even recall what
had just happened, I pulled into the driveway.
As if deliberately, the delivery man arrived the moment I came to a halt. With a stoic
face, he placed the parcel into the mailbox and drove away, causing the dusty smoke to congest
my senses. After a minute or two of recuperating myself, I took the parcel out of the mailbox. As
I ran to my parents, I read the front of the package. In small, cursive writing, the message read,
To the Parents and Guardians of Annika Agarwal. Uh oh. No way! This could not be what I
think it is. But before I had time to rid myself of the letter, I was already standing in front of my
parents, their shadows towering over me.
Can I see? my mother questioned curiously, as she snatched the paper from my hand; it
was more of an order than a question. Suddenly, a swarm of dreaded thoughts started engulfing
my mind. I didnt want to disappoint my parents; I had no intention to. I didnt want to see my
fathers head lower with compunction. I didnt want to be proven unworthy. There was a fog of
fear clogging my lungsone that I could not push away. My pulse was rapidly increasing and I
was beginning to see black, fuzzy dots that were, in essence, just my imagination. Stop, I told
myself. Its all in your head. Who knows? You may even win.
My father teared the package open, announcing, Youre gonna make me proud, right? I
smiled, but my clandestine feelings werent sure they knew the answer to that question. I could
not help but think, what would happen if I failed? Would my parents ever forgive me? Slowly, but
steadily, the paper slid out of the parcel. With each second my parents laid their eyes on it, the
more my desire to shoot myself increased. There was an unpalatable dryness in my mouth, and
no matter how much I swallowed my own saliva it would not ebb; nor, would the butterflies in
my stomach.

As my father gradually read to the bottom of the page, his eyes widened. This will be my
end. My mother took the paper from him and gasped. I didnt know what to expect. Should I be
happy? Should I be mourning? I guess I felt some type of fear with a slightest hope of triumph.
In every second that was passing, I had lived a thousand years.
You won! she screamed so that the whole world could hear. Wait, what? I grabbed the
paper and could not believe my eyes. I had won fourth place, in the entire nation, on an Aloha
mathematics test. In a pool of approximately four hundred students, my name had been placed in
the top five. There were tears streaming down my face. I had accomplished my childhood dream.
I embraced my mother so tightly that if I had not let go, she would have choked.
It is only today, years later, that I am able to look back at this experience and realize that
earning a title was not only my proudest moment; but, it was also a shameful one. It was not only
a hopeful moment; but, it was also a desperate one. It was not only a relieving moment; but, it
was also a hindering one. From the minute I won, I knew I would not become a timid, helpless
nine-year-old who was frightened by the idea of success. I would not become the antagonist in
my own path to success. But I wouldin any situationembrace the crescent of hope existent
among the circle of negativity. I earned a title in the fourth grade; I cannot imagine what the
future holds in store for me.