Nicole Stoklosa

10/30/2017

P-1

​Life On A Paper

​It was June 16, 2020, that day that my life changed into something I never imagined before.

It was the year that I graduated High School, and decided to follow the passion of studying

nursing. Since going to medical school, I left something behind that valued me the most: art.

Many of my friends and family wanted me to go to a fine art school first and not leave any talent

behind. If it wasn’t Manolete, I wouldn’t have practiced more of my talent than ever before. He

helped and admonished me, to see the real me and work with art that helps me realize that I can't

lose the talent I have. But I still wish that Manolete would still be in position and distinguish the

potential that grew in me.

It was Monday morning when class was about to start. There were many new peers and new

professors. We started class with the introduction what we are going to learn throughout the first

semester of our studies on the body system. As Professor Jensen explained the objectives, I

started to Doodle blossoms of flowers.

As I was Sketching, professor Jensen declared, “Mrs.Stoklosa are you doodling in my

class.”

I answered, “Maybe.”

He gave a frowned face, and went back to discussing the lesson, I stopped doodling.

After class, Professor Jensen told me to talk to him about my doodling problem.

“Mrs. Stoklosa, this is not a art class in any way. If you want to draw and doodle go for art class
but, especially not in my class during the discussion of our lesson, are we clear?” he said firmly.

“Yes, we are clear” I said. Then I left out the door, thinking about the choice that I decided about

studying this career I always wanted to do, leaving apart the talent.

After class, Professor Jensen told me to talk to him about my doodling problem.

“Mrs. Stoklosa, this is not a art class in any way, if you want to draw and doodle

go for art class but, especially not in my class during the discussion of our lesson, are we

clear.” he declared.

“Yes, we are clear.” I explained.

As I marched out the doors, I went outside sitting on fresh cut green grass, I took out a

piece of paper and started to draw admirations around me, as I looked around I saw a dark

mysterious hidden figure, lingering behind the sharp and fresh wood of the tree, staring at me

and the moving hand on the paper. I made contact at the hidden figure that it disappeared in a

instant.

My friends came over that night. As they came in the door they carried a squared box

wrapped with silver polka dots, and on top a white bow. I knew it wasn’t my birthday or any

other occasion, so I wondered what would be inside the box?

“Nicole we got you a gift that you would admire!” Then I thought, “Let me guess. You

guys got something that allies with composition, sketch pencils.”

“Well, you guessed that correctly with a very bad mood,” Karolina explained.

“I told you I am not going back to sketching, drawing, painting, nothing related with art,

and you know why I’m not coming back to it.”

Sylvia came up to me by the window, “We know why you stopped.”

 “Since the accident of your father, you don’t have your self-identity, that talent what you

have is something that you should value the most. Don’t put it away because of that accident.

Even your mom is worried you will lose that talent that expresses you will be to waste.”

Karolina answered, “I heard that you my friend started to doodle flowers during a session

in class”, she looked at me straight at my eyes, “We still know that you want to go back to this

passion, but you are not showing that real heart to it like you use to have, like painting the big

pictures and imagination that you showed.”

Sylwia answered, “Doodling is not something that you should.”

Karolina’s and Sylvia’s stares and glares made me realize something that, because of the

death of my father it’s making me weak and suffer. As the door opened, Karolina and Sylvia left,

leaving the pencils on the table given the distinction of another suffering in my life.

The next day, I walked to school on a spring weather with the smell of fresh cut green grass

through the melody of the birds making my day, making my way to the art studio that the school

had by the library. As I went inside I saw so many art work and flashbacks to my experience

before my father's death. Walking, not even looking where I’m going to bump into, I bumped

into the hidden figure from Monday. His name was Manolete.

Monolete announced, “I saw depression in you and the emptiness inside you.” I

wondered, why would a stranger be interested in me and my life? I turned back and left not even

saying a word to him, but he followed me. He took my hand and we went to the art studio, he

told me to take the paintbrush. I refused, in someway Manolete had a distinction in his eyes that

made me take the paintbrush and paint on the canvas that was white as a feather.
 As I started to paint, Monolete said to my ear, “Life is like a great big Canvas, throw all

the paint through lifes events.” I looked back and he was gone.

Again, during the day I saw Monolete outside, with paper and pencils as he was drawing

figures far of the distance from the campus. I had asked him why he was doing this for me. He

answered that, he hates people wasting their talent for something that is suffering within them

and they should draw their feelings on the paper, shows the real image of the feeling within

someone. He teached me the techniques that I never knew about. We were good friends since as

he helped shape my life back with something that I admired of. But, until a tragedy came by.

It was fall break, news came by to me that Manolete was in a accident later and died from

many injuries. It was said, that while Monolete was riding his bike, a car had been speeding

crashing into Monolete. I was disheartened by the news, tears falling on the fresh ink on paper,

as it swirled it reflected sorrowful feelings through the dark spreaded ink by water. The accident

was the same day that my father died from a heart attack one year ago.

Throughout the whole day, I didn’t go out of my dorm, even if Sylvia or Karolina tried to

get me out of this. That day, there was a knock on my door. Sylvia went to open the door. Sylvia

opened the door the police came asking for my presents. I came out of the room and they offered

me a drawing of me. They had told me that this drawing was in Manolete's bag with his other

sketches that he made. Then I realized that Manolete was right that through your imagination and

feelings you can create your heart to someone and show others how you feel.

I had learned a lot through my experience through Manolete. Manolete helped me think

outside the box and show the rest of my talent that I have. He made me define art as the act of

expressing feelings, thoughts, and observations. Without doing these forms of communication, I
wouldn’t really express myself through ideas and feelings. I myself, finished the study of art and

still study nursing, but doodling I know that it's not something real, but better to bring out the big

thing of real art.