Passion For Singing

I believe that having a passion keeps you going forward in life. For me, my passion is music. I am a singer,
and singing has kept me on track and heading in the right direction all through high school. From freshman
year to senior year, singing has kept me motivated.
Ive always had singing to focus on and keep me pursuing my goals. Freshman year, when kids were getting
into drugs, I avoided it because I wanted to be an amazing vocalist. Kids would offer me drugs and I had the
power to say, No thanks. Im a singer and I dont want to mess that up.
During sophomore year, my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. I could have gone into a complete state
of depression and loneliness, but since I had singing, I stayed mostly positive and cheerful through the
whole experience. Singing and choir was a place for me to forget all my troubles and be happy and focus on
the things I love in life. Choir was like a close knit family, they were my support when I was down in this
hard time. Choir always kept me going.
My junior year was tough. I had a lot of hard classes and teachers I did not appreciate. Every morning, I
would wake up and say to myself, I dont want to go to school. For me this was unusual. I have always been
one of those people who jumps out of bed excited to learn, but junior year was miserable. The only thing
that kept me going to school was choir. I could sing all period long and forget how much I hated the rest of
the day. The class period was heaven to me and kept me going to school and on the right track.
Senior year came, and I started looking at colleges and what I wanted to do with my life. I realized that my
passion for music had helped me through all different kinds of situations the past few years. It was then that
I decided I wanted to go to college to continue with music. I stayed focused on high grades because I had
this passion. I went and auditioned at Western Washington University because of their outstanding music
program, and not only was I accepted, they considered my singing exceptional and I am now open to
scholarship opportunities. Coming into the last two months of high school, I have a drive to do well and not
let senioritis steer me away from my passion.
Every year throughout high school, a passion for singing kept me on the right track. From the drugs, to
depression, to giving up, and to college, I made it through because of my singing. I believe that a passion
keeps you moving forward in life. For me it is my meaning of life.

Music in My Life

For a young person with little experience, music can be a hard concept, especially singing.
At the age of nine, I stepped into the field of music. Little did I know that it would be lifechanging.
My story begins in 2001. My mother asked if I would be interested in singing. I hadnt given
it much thought. She suggested I join the Phoenix Boys Choir. She explained what it was
and how successful it had always been. I decided to try out.
When I arrived, I met the conductor in charge of the younger boys. She had me sing
Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. A few moments later the conductor announced that I had
passed my audition and would soon be a member of the training choir. I was so thrilled I
couldnt say a word. This would turn out to be one of the most memorable moments of my
life. I was going to be a member of the internationally known Phoenix Boys Choir!
I moved up through the levels of the choir quickly. Every boy longs to be in the most elite
group the Tour Choir. After two years, I made it. At 11 I had learned more about music
than I could possibly have imagined. I learned music theory and how to read music. By the
end of seventh grade I had been to Spain, Italy, and France. In Rome we performed at Saint
Peters Basilica. It was a blessing to be able to sing in such a holy setting. We also sang in
the Florence Cathedral. We traveled around the United States performing with other choirs.
Often we sang for dignitaries.
I think God blessed me with this talent because he wanted me to share my voice with
others. Ive heard it said that when you sing, you pray twice. I have learned hundreds of
songs. We sing in many languages, and since our director always explains the songs
meaning, I understand and really become part of the music.
If my mother had not inspired me to try something out of my comfort zone, I never would
have experienced what the world of music has to offer. More importantly, I might not have
unveiled my true self if it were not for my mom and singing. Singing makes me happy, and
it is a huge part of who I am.
I hope to keep singing and increasing my knowledge of music. I have graduated from the
Phoenix Boys Choir, and I now sing with the phenomenal Mens Choir, a group for former
Boys Choir members, which has provided me with many opportunities. Last February, I took
part in the American Choral Directors Association Honors Choir of 186 students chosen from
five states. Because of this, I was offered a scholarship to the Idyllwild Music Academy for
summer camp to become a better singer. Unfortunately I couldnt attend.
I am very grateful for all I have accomplished musically and want to keep striving to

become a superior musician. God has blessed me with the gift of music, and Id love to
share it with others so that they too can find the music in their lives.

THE BRAVE FIREMAN

"Fire! fire ! fire!" rang out through the midnight air.
People started from their sleep and threw up their windows to ask where it was. Some quickly dressed themselves,
and ran in the direction of the burning building.
At last a cry was heard that the fireengines were in sight. On they came at a rapid pace. The crowd made way for
them. "Are all out of the house?" shouted one of the firemen. " I think so," said a policeman, pointing to a small group
of half-dressed people.
Just then there came a cry of horror from the crowd. Mrs. Wilson, able to find only three of her children, had rushed
back to the ladder by which she had come down, calling out in her agony, "There are two children yet in the house,
little Willie and Mary ! "
Strong hands held her back, and all said that she would only throw away her own life in the attempt to save them.
One of the firemen heard her. He asked in which room the little ones slept, then placed the ladder against the window
of that room, And quickly ascended to it. With a few strong blows he made an opening through the sash large enough
to admit himself, and, in a moment, was inside.
Several minutes passed, and nothing was heard but the crackling of the flames, the puffing of the engines, and the
cries of those who directed the men. With anxious eyes the crowd watched the window through which the brave man
had gone.
The firemen were ready to place their ladders against other parts of the building, if needed. Pieces of carpet had
been provided to receive any one who might be dropped from a window. Ten minutes passed-it might have been an
hour, it seemed so long to the anxious, waiting crowd.
All at once a cry was heard-a cry of pain and dismay, for flames burst forth from the room in which the children slept !
All hope now seemed gone. The mother looked in despair upon the sight : she could not speak. Her grief was terrible
to see.
At that moment another cry rent the air, a cry of joy. " There he is ! they are saved! they are saved ! " shouted the
people, who were, by this time almost wild with excitement.
Down the front staircase, carrying a child in each arm, the brave fireman was seen making his way.
Unable to return by the window without injury to the children, he had been obliged to feel his way through the smoke
to the stairs. He was not a moment too soon; for, with a loud crash, the inside of the building fell close behind him.
How the crowd cheered him, as he placed the children sound in the arms of their grateful mother!
All Honor to the brave fireman!

A FIREMAN STORY
The familiar click of the speakers turning on let me know we were getting a call about a second before the tones went
off. If you're used to working at my station you can hear that quiet click over all kinds of ambient noise. We were
being dispatched for a residential fire alarm.
We roll on a lot of false alarms. Residential fire alarms are almost always the result of someone over cooking their
dinner or a bag of popcorn. So many false alarms can lead to complacency, just like the villagers in the story of the
boy that cried wolf. We were just like those villagers, unprepared to act when the time came.
We pulled up to the 3 unit apartment complex and found the courtyard between that building and the one next to it full
of people, including a lot of kids. It was a weekend, it wasn't too cold, and it wasn't too late. Besides, the fire
department was coming. Everyone likes to see a spectacle.
My captain and I were both "turned out" but neither of us had our bottles (SCBA) on. There was no smoke, This was
another false alarm.
We headed over to the apartment and someone approached us. They said that they lived above the unit in question.
They heard the smoke detector going off below them and smelled something like burning food. They had knocked on
the door but no one answered.
It wouldn't be the first time that we've been to a house where someone left a pot on the stove. We knocked on the
door again just to be sure. We also checked the windows. They were all closed and locked with the curtains drawn.
The windows and the door were cool to the touch so there was little concern.
We determined that the renters and the manager had been called but there was no answer. With the indications we
had that something wasn't right, my captain gave me the word. It was forcible entry time.
Let me just take a moment to say how much I love being a firefighter. It's fun. Especially at times like this.
I was already lined up with the front door. I did a forward kick that would have made my kids MMA instructor proud.
When the door flew back I was greeted by a wall of smoke that extended from the ceiling to the ground.
*CRAP*
My captain and I ran back to the rig to grab our SCBAs. We should have had them on already. Crap. I hate that
feeling.
I grabbed the pack from my seat and threw it on while I walked back to the apartment. Now the crowd had moved
back. No one wanted to get in our way. By the time I reached the door I was masked up. I stepped up to the doorway
then disappeared into the smoke.
While the entire place was filled with smoke is wasn't thick and black. There was also no accompanying heat. The fire
had snuffed itself out, suffocated....starved for precious oxygen. I made my way to the kitchen and found that there
was indeed a pot on the stove with the burner going. The family had placed several baby bottles in a pot of boiling
water to sterilize them and forgotten about it.

Once the water had boiled off the plastic started to burn. The knobs on the stove were melted and the paint on the
wall was charred and blistered.
We opened the windows and doors and used a fan to remove the smoke. We moved the burnt items out of the house
and then disconnected the stove and moved it to the center of the kitchen. With all that done we again checked to
make sure the fire hadn't moved into the walls or the cabinets.
It could have been much worse. At least they had working smoke detectors.
And I learned a valuable lesson about complacency.
The person I admire the most
In this essay Ill write about the hero in my life, actually heroine. Ill try to share with you all the
things that make her the most important person in my life.
In every essay of this kind, they start with the physical appearanceIll write some words about it,
too. But its so unimportant Anyway, she is beautiful. No ! She is perfect, in my eyes. Shes a little
taller than me, not much, brown eyes and dyed red hair. Everybody says we look alike. I think this
description is enough, because like I said before this is the most irrelevant part of this essay. Its
nonsense to admire someone for the way they look like.
Now, Ill try to highlight all the qualities for which I love her with my entire heart. I dont know where
to start I think I should say, first of all, she is the one that I based my life on, meaning shes the
model or the prototype of my life. She is sincere, likealmost always. Shes stubborn like a horse,
exactly like me. She is understanding, when I need her to be.
She was and she continues to be there for me, every time I need a shoulder to cry on or someone to
talk to I dont have to ask for help, she just knows. Sometimes I believe that she can read my mind.
I know this sounds stupid, butits too obvious to be a coincidence. We are connected somehowI
cant seem to find the words to explain, youll understand later. Even when we fight, were best friends
and one of us gives up because its too hard to stay apart. I always ask for her opinion before I do
something and she helps me every time with a wise advice.
Maybe its time to abandon all this mystery and reveal who is this person, if you havent figured it out
yet. Its my mother ! Yes, my mom, because no movie star, no singer, no friend or boyfriendnobody
can compare with her and there is no such love like my mothers. Her love is one of a kind !
She has lightened up my childhood. She sang and read to me when I couldnt sleep, even now I
remember the songs she used to sing for me. She raised me to become what I am now. She taught
me how to be, how to actshe taught me to be sincere, responsible, polite, good, openhearted, selfconfident, faithful. She tried to send all her knowledge to me, so I can succeed in life.
Feels like Heaven when she holds me, shes just like an angel sent from above to take care of me, to
love me..like nobody else does.

Im so sorry for the times that I yelled at her or I just didnt listen. Im sorry for every bad thing that I
thrown in her face. And Im sorry for each and every time when I shouldve said I am sorry, mom, I
love you so much and now, I know youre right and I didnt.
I am and I will always be grateful for everything she did for me, for the way she raised me and helped
me to become someone with a personality, a belief, a purpose in life. Also, Im grateful for every time
she showed me the right way when I stepped wrong, for every time she reminded me who I was when
I had forgotten, for every time when she corrected me when my decisions proved wrong.
I could write a book about her and everything that she ever did for me, and this is why I chose her to
be the main character of this essay. All those things made her the person I admire the most and for all
of them I want to say THANK YOU ! and I LOVE YOU ! and I will always do.

The Newspaperman

The newspaperman delivers newspapers to us and many other houses in the neighborhood. I hear
his motorcycle every morning when he comes to deliver the daily paper. He comes promptly at
6.30 a.m. every morning, rain or shine, unless something extraordinary prevents him from doing
so.
He is so regular and prompt that I do not need any alarm clock to wake up. At six-thirty, the
neighbors' dogs start barking as he arrives and I know it is almost time to get up for school.
Though he comes every day, I do not get to see him. I only pick up and read the newspaper he
had left at the door. I only see him once a month when he comes to collect the bill.
Promptly on the first of each month, at six-thirty in the evening, he shows up with his bills. This
time he rings the door bell and I usually have to go and pay him. My mother will have got the
money ready one day earlier and instructed me to pay him.
He never smiles. He merely gives me the change, put the "PAID" chop on the bill and goes off to
the next house. It appears that his regular, almost regimental, rounds of newspaper delivery has
made him behave like a robot. He is very efficient, very prompt and does not smile. That is
certainly very robot-like.
Nevertheless, I appreciate his reliable service. For one thing, I am never without the daily paper.
Some of my friends complain that their newspapermen are very unreliable. Not so with mine, he
is the best.

rain or shine

no matter what the circumstances

regimental

like the act of a group of soldiers

Snatch thieves
Write a story that involves a snatch thief.

It was lunch time in the city. Sally and two of her colleagues left their office and walked towards
their favorite restaurant a short distance away. Sally had a handbag slung over her shoulder.
At a crossing, they waited for the light to turn green. When it did, Sally, her colleagues and many
other people crossed over to the other side of the road. Suddenly from the traffic that had stopped
at the crossing, a motorcycle leapt forward. Two men were on it. In a flash, they were beside
Sally and the pillionrider grabbed her handbag. The force of the grab sent Sally tumbling to the
ground. The strap broke and the pillion rider held the handbag in his hand. The rider turned the
throttle and the motorcycle sped off down the road, weaving between other vehicles in their rush
to get away.
Fortune did not favor the thieves. A few seconds later, they crashed into a tanker in the middle of
the road. The two men were sent flying, hitting other vehicles before falling on the road. They
lay motionless.
The whole sequence of events occurred in less than fifteen seconds. In that time, two distracted
drivers crashed into the vehicles in front of them. Finally all traffic stopped. Some men rushed to
the thieves and pulled them to the roadside.
Sally sat on the kerb with her colleagues by her side. She was badly shaken by the whole
incident. She had some cuts and bruises on her body. Otherwise she was all right.

pillion
kerb

a seat or place behind the person riding a motorcycle where a

passenger can sit
the edge of a raised path nearest the road