Orkwis 1

Amidst my exposition, it would come as no surprise to find distaste for my braggadocios

reflection. No one likes the student that boasts about receiving tremendous grades despite not

studying (as if it mattered anyways). But I find such a perspective to be misguided. I am not,

truly, insisting that my writing is so wonderful that even my worst pieces are deserving of an

A. On the contrary, I think that each of those essays was, objectively, well-written and

deserving of their marks. The emphasis of my disdain, instead, is focused upon the notion that I

am no longer satisfied with the words I convey. For years, I had wandered down this dimly lit

path hoping to find an opportunity to write, but when that chance finally came, I had found

nothing but resentment for my words. To be clear, this was not the result of a sudden shift in

interest. I had not reached an impasse in which writing was no longer a desire that I had wished

to pursue. Rather, the disdain I now regard my essays with is reflective of my evolution as a

writer. I had quickly learned to hate my bad writing more than I enjoyed the good. And when I

edited my papers, the only words relevant to me were those that seemed misplaced. I had

neglected to acknowledge the accomplishments I had made in life. I had forgotten, along the

way, that at one point I had failed my seventh-grade English class and had to beg to be allowed

into the honors section of my high school courses. The strides I had made mattered not, as I was

only focused on fixing the things I had not yet perfected. Ive since decided that the greatest

measure of intelligence is the lucidity with which one regards the shortcomings of their most

impressive accomplishments. And that is what made my essays work. And that is why they will

continue to work, until I someday decide that my exigency for writing is satisfied. With any

hope, that day will never come.