My life has always been a simple one. I was born in a small area just north of Minden, Louisiana. I remember running through tall grass and flowers, which seemed to hover above the lush, green ground whilst my grandmother watched through the window. I was young then, not considerably older than three. I don’t remember much of my childhood there, but from what I do; it was beautiful. Moss clinged onto low hanging trees, guiding you to contempt bayous just out of your view. It wasn’t until my first day of school that I discovered literature. I was only used to the naturalistic approach my family applied to our day to day life, producing the majority of our own food and not often going to the supermarket. Suddenly, I was exposed to all kinds of books. I read about children living in the city, post-apocalyptic wastelands, and spaceships in the sky. Prior to books I had only witnessed things of this nature at our local cinema forty-five minutes away. I was nearly unable to grasp the concept of either, but despite my confusion, I loved these fictions enough to start reading every day. I often stopped engaging in outdoor activities, instead opting to lay in bed and read something.

   It didn’t take long for me to spend most of my time studying the entirety of the English language. I would finish my work as quickly as I could, then spend the rest of my class in the library. It wasn’t irregular for me to be reading a new book every two to three days. Even at a young age I valued the importance of language. It wasn’t long after my epiphany that my grandmother fell ill, she would sit with me the same way she always would. Except, it was no longer her decision; with her only choice being a sedentary lifestyle, living the resolution of her life on the same land she had begun her exposition. After her death and lots of grief, we moved to a city in northern Louisiana called Shreveport. This city more than anything felt desolate. Although full of people, individuality was stripped away. You weren’t acknowledged by anyone, as if nobody was there. I remember grasping onto my sister's hand tightly as we walked through crowded aisles of a mall. Voices hummed all around me, a deep intrusion of my ears, deafeningly loud. I wasn’t used to all of the clutter in a city, despite the depictions of them in my books.

   Being a quiet child in this new world, speaking only when spoken to, I rarely would voice any uncomfortability or opposition I had with any topic, from fear of judgement. As I re-enrolled in school I learned that would no longer be applicable. I was forcibly introduced to engaging discussions, lectures, and assignments. Refusing to raise my hand was no longer an option as I would be called upon anyways. Confrontation with my silence was the only option. Soon enough I found myself raising my hand whenever I didn’t understand something, was lost, or needed help. My newfound participation eventually evolved into raising my hand to answer a question, which progressively improved my timidity. Over time I saw not only my adversity with public speaking had improved, but also my grades. I saw my A’s and B’s jump to A plusses. My teachers looked at me with fulfillment instead of the disregard I had become used to.

   The English language is solely responsible for the improvement of my grades, life, hobbies, family, and world around me. I believe in the English language and all that comes with it. With correct application, it can and will bring you fortune beyond conception.