My History As A Reader and Writer

May 24, 2012
By Kristen Jensen BRONZE, Irmo, South Carolina
Kristen Jensen BRONZE, Irmo, South Carolina
1 article 0 photos 0 comments


Mommy shut the book of fairy tales and smiled at me. She had read Rumpelstiltskin to me every night for the past three months, and I still hadn’t grown tired of it. Every night I begged for her to read it to me. I was addicted to the mellifluous sound of the rhythm of the story. I loved the way each book left me with a pleasant satisfaction that all of my favorite characters ended up happy. I had every word memorized. I memorized the way my mom’s lips moved at each word, and how her eyes lit up or wrinkled at the corners as she read. The smooth sound of her voice never failed to give me the peace to drift off to sleep. I would fall into my sleep, dreaming about fairy tales, princesses, and happily ever after’s.

Beauty and the Beast

Beauty and the Beast changed my perspective on life. Before I read it, I never saw love for what it really was. It was beat into my head that this thing called “love” was just a strong physical attraction between two people. I had seen beautiful girls and boys walking together, holding hands or hugging, but not conversing with one another, and none of them truly looked happy. My conception of love was never very pleasant until I read this story. The beautiful tale opened up a whole world in my mind of what love really is. I realized that love isn’t skin-deep and superficial. I began to understand that real love is blind, deep, and heartfelt. And after reading this story, I knew I would find love one day, and I knew that it would not depend upon the person’s physical appearance, but on the beauty of his heart.

“Blue” (writing)

My teacher told me to write a poem about a color. A color? Seriously? I groaned as I picked up my pencil. I glanced at the shirt of the girl in front of me, and decided I would write about blue. To my surprise, when I started pouring my thoughts onto the paper in the form of a poem, I realized that I had more connection to the color blue than I had thought. I wrote about my favorite kite, about the crystal blue color of the Pacific Ocean beating against the Californian shore last summer, about the same tie that my dad wore every Sunday to church, even though he owned about a million others. The poem prompt brought back a wave of memories that brought a smile to my face. When I was done, I read over the poem and was proud of the way each word blended and flowed with the others. This was the day I decided that I loved writing poetry, and I haven’t stopped since.

Break-up Letter (writing)

I didn’t want to do this. I didn’t want to go through the guilt of breaking up with my first boyfriend. But it had to be done. I wasn’t happy. Sam never talked to me in person. There was no connection there, and I don’t think we had ever even had a real conversation. He would just walk right past me without saying a word. He was just too shy. Since he would ignore me in person, I was forced to write a note. I was anticipating writing a long, heartfelt billet doux, with little pink hearts and “I’m sorry’s,” but I saved myself the struggle and the bombast. Instead, I wrote: “hi I’m breaking up with you ok bye -Kristen” on a post-it note and stuck it to his locker.

Perks of Being a Wallflower

“Mom, hurry up!” I was sick of being here. I hated book stores with a burning passion. I sat there for ten more minutes, and finally gave in to the allure of the thousands of books surrounding me. I decided to buy the green book on the top shelf of the teen section. I hadn’t picked up a book since fifth grade, and I figured I was due for one. Little did I know, Perks of Being a Wallflower was the book that made me regain my passion for reading. I felt a connection with the main character so strong that I cried, imagining I was in his shoes. It was the first time I had shed a tear while reading, and it was like all the strings of stubbornness in my heart broke. I wanted to read – all day, every day. I became addicted to the fantasy world that books took me to.

Honduras journal (writing)

I stared at the first page of my journal, sitting outside on the mission house patio as the other missionaries slept. I was exhausted, but I had to write in my journal to capture the essence of this once-in-a-lifetime experience. How could I even begin to describe the immense excitement and utter amazement that I experienced today, as my first day outside of the United States? How could I express every beautiful detail, so I would never forget my journey? I thought about my journey from the beginning of the day till now. I searched my heart for the right words to write so that I would read it years from now and remember perfectly every detail that happened.

Spanish sermon

I paused after reading each sentence of the Spanish sermon translated to English, to look around at the beautiful faces of the Hondurans, listening attentively to Dr. Aguielera’s words from God. Lives were being changed all around me. I was humbled to see all of these poor, hungry, suffering people smiling and being moved by God’s word. In their lives full of pain and affliction, they were still able to be brought together by the power and love of God. I wanted to stay here forever, in Tegucigalpa, Honduras, at La Iglesia de Christo, in this exact spot, with these amazing people, listening to this heart touching sermon.

The author's comments:
This is a collection of memoirs from different things I have read or written in the past. All of these pieces were very significant in my life, which is why I chose to submit them.

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