Probably the best essay i have written...anyone wanna read?

<p>PM me, i’ll read</p>

<p>I want to read this godly piece of art</p>

<p>Cool, I’d like to read it!
pm me
:)</p>

<p>PM me and I’ll def look at it!</p>

<p>PM me and I will read it.</p>

<p>Ill read! PM~</p>

<p>I’ll gladly read, PM me.</p>

<p>I’d love to take a look and help!
PM me :)</p>

<p>Hey idiots, he posted it on the third page:</p>

<p>
[QUOTE=WESTHAMUNITED32]
Alright im just gonna post it lol. People please feel free to comment (ok maybe its not the best essay ive written :stuck_out_tongue: )</p>

<p>“Good morning Mr. Taghavi”: The first words that reached my ears every day at school my junior year. They came from the mouth of Mohammed, a sophomore fresh in from Baghdad who, for some reason completely beyond me, had become utterly enamored with me. I had told him countless times that it was neither necessary nor proper to call me Mr. Taghavi, but it was all to no avail. I gave up, “Morning Mohammed,” I smiled. I sat down on the steps of the East Building as he, still standing, went on to explain to me whatever had interested him the day before. I wasn’t listening; I was lost in deeper thought: figuring out the bonus question on yesterday’s Pre-Cal test was. It wasn’t that I didn’t get the answer, I did, it was how I did: guess and check. It was right, but I wanted to know how. “Mr. Taghavi?” Mohammed asked. Back to reality. I was suddenly aware of all the chattering, flirting, and pointless bickering that filled the oh-so-polluted air. “I’m sorry man, what were you saying?” I said shaking my head. Why was he still standing? “What I’m trying to say, Mr. Taghavi, is that the world is a beautiful place,” he said smiling. I chuckled. “Mr. Taghavi, I know you are busy thinking, but may I ask, what are you thinking about?” “Math,” I replied. I knew it was coming. The question everyone asks when I tell them I’m thinking about math. “Why?” It had such a confused tone about it. As if to ask, “Why would anybody ever think about math?”. I didn’t have an answer, so I shrugged “Because I like it,”. Strangely, he seemed to accept that answer, “Is that what you’ll study?” I’d never really made a decision about it. I had of course dabbled with the idea, but it always seemed to me that I should major in something more useful. “I guess so,” the words spilled out of my mouth as a group of girls screamed in terror at a flock of pigeons that had flown dangerously close to them. I started thinking about why I wanted to study math. Obviously I had a passion for it, but I had a passion about music and soccer too; nothing in me yearned to learn more about either of those. After a minute or two of pondering I figured it out: Math had never really challenged me. I’d never had any trouble grasping the concept of what was going on in math class, nor had I ever omitted an answer on a math test. I had gotten some wrong, due to careless mistakes, but none had really challenged me. As nice as that may sound, for me it’s frustratingly unfulfilling. I have a constant itch for mathematical trial, an addiction. I want math to challenge me, I want it to stump me, I want it to punch me in the face and not relent. I went on to try to sum up all these feelings about math into a statement. “I want to be bewildered by math,” I whispered. “What?” I had forgotten Mohammed was there. He was watching me think. “Sorry, it’s nothing,” I managed to mutter after a few seconds. He was still standing. My eyes were on his shins, but my mind was somewhere in between genius and insane. I just kept repeating the phrase in my head: bewildered by math. The shrill of the first bell pierced my fragile ears. “Until tomorrow Mr. Taghavi,” said Mohammed patting my back. “Until tomorrow,” I answered.

[/QUOTE]
</p>

<p>Very nice. I would say that it’s written pretty well.</p>

<p>However, I feel like you just kind of cut away. What about Mohammed? His roll in the story seems almost irrelevant, and at the end I was asking myself what his purpose was. It almost feels like you’re holding back something, even though there may be nothing more to the story.</p>

<p>But overall, I thought that the essay flowed really nicely, and it was easy to read.</p>

<p>Well im still working on it, one thing i hear alot is that mohammed seems to lack substance. Im working on that :slight_smile: Maybe ill post the new draft when ive edited it. But thanks for the positive feedback guys!</p>

<p>Pm pm pm pm pm</p>

<p>Haha its posted right there</p>

<p>i’d like to read it :)</p>

<p>i’ll read if you want!</p>

<p>I’d also like to read it please. PM.</p>

<p>I’d love to have a read and I’ll be sure to PM some feedback.</p>

<p>PM please.</p>

<p>I can read it. PM please</p>

<p>you guys are f***in idiot omg it’s already posted don’t you read the thread??</p>

<p>My “critique”: what was the point of Mohammed? Why was he there? This is a real life situation right? If this was actually the whole story, then I would just cut the whole narrative part of the story out altogether, it was just confusing (also because it was more prone to being choppy and not as well written than the rumination part), and start right with your epiphany about why you like math.</p>

<p>Or have more interaction, a give and take, a rebuttal by Mohammed, idk</p>