Short Essay Idea

When I think of a scene that I could condense into a short essay, one thought comes to mind. Exactly a year ago today, Hurricane Sandy took place, taking a major toll on individuals lives and their families; including my own. Although I was fortunate enough to still have my primary home in mint condition, something was taken away from me that I will never get back. I have previously written about my Great Grandmother, and how special she truly was to me. My entire life my family has been devoted members to Ortley Beach, a small town down at the Jersey Shore. The house may have been a total of four rooms, with one bathroom and an outdoor shower, but those rooms meant everything to my family and myself. My Great Grandmother owned the house, so when she passed away the house was passed down to her three daughters. Since my mother's mother passed away when she was only eighteen, my mother became an owner of our shore house. My mom's side is Italian and large, fitting over thirteen people in that house every weekend in the summer was standard. This house brought us together as a family; one would never know that my third cousin wasn't actually my sister, and my Aunt was actually my second cousin. This was what made us a family.

The day after Sandy hit, my mother informed my sister and I that our innocent little beach house had four feet of water in it, left with nothing but an empty house being held up by pillars. I was not sure what she meant. Was the house going to be fixed? How are three owners going to agree? What was going to happen to my family? I realized at that moment the reason behind Gram telling us to sell the shore house as soon as she passed away.  She knew that once she died, things would never be the same. Hurricane Sandy may not have stripped my family of our living conditions, but she sure took away something that we will never have again. Ever since last year, a piece is missing to my families puzzle; that piece being my shore house.

Always Read Your Letter before Your Mail It.

I sit at the top of the head of the table; me, recruitment chair, next to the President, Vice- President, Treasurer, Secretary, and New Member Educator. Fifty three girls down the rows, wrapped around the room, all valuable members.  There are some blondes, brunettes, black, whites, Spanish, Asian; just a pool of diversity. A sorority, filled with different voices, opinions, and ideas; all formed together as one, trying to make a difference be the best we possibly can be. How could anyone stereo type a sorority? There are so many positive characteristics involved in it. I began to doze off during my meeting.

I brought myself back to me, at age fourteen, trying to figure out what the large hot pink letters imprinted on the girls shirts in my favorite movie, House Bunny really meant. “Those are Greek letters stupid.” I remember my cousin Gia saying to me as I pictured myself in the same exact shirt. I asked her what Greek letters meant, why Greek? Why not Spanish letters or Italian? “Greek letters represent the sorority girls are in, you don’t want to be in one of those, there a bunch of dumb sluts who pay for their friends.” I ignored her. How would she know anyway? I mean, she was only fifteen at the time, exactly one year and twenty eight days older than me. She was only a sophomore in high school, how would she know what college sorority life was like?

As each member in my sorority went through her agenda, I noticed and felt the rash on my finger begin to act up again. The doctor said this should only happen when I start to feel a wave of stress. I am always stressed, so what does that matter. “October 19^th is Homecoming, so be there at 7:30 A.M to help set up our table and practice our song; judges will be at our table by 11: 00 A.M.” Lauren, the head of our homecoming events, said sternly, making it clear that it was crucial we were there on time. “October 20^th we need to be at the Autism Walk at 11:00 A.M for registration, and October 26^th is the Lymphoma Walk in Morristown at 5:00 P.M and October 27^th is the Breast Cancer walk at 10:00 A.M in Edison,” our philanthropy chair reiterated. Philanthropy is a specific charity one chooses to donate to, in our case, we enjoy group walks. As I wrote all of my upcoming events down in my agenda I noticed the tip of my fingers losing their firm grip. We have not even gone through half of everyone’s positions, am I going to have time to breathe this week?

“I got accepted for a Bid into Θ ΦA!” Brianna, my best friend said to me while I was away at Bloomsburg University in Pennsylvania, a lonely, eighteen year old, freshman, wishing I was at home with my best friend. But, what were those letters and symbols in that text message. I thought about House Bunny, and the hot pink letters on the girls’ shirts, but those weren’t it; maybe these were letters from another specific background, like secret code Asian letters or something. “Theta Phi Alpha is a sorority on campus, it is the best one and I am going to be a part of it!” Brianna explained further what she was joining, and I was wrong, it wasn’t secret code for Asian letters, it was a sorority, Greek letters, the letters I had always wanted. I wanted to have fun and wear those letters. I didn’t know whether I was extremely happy for my best friend, or just jealous that I could not wear those shirts.

One by one, each sister shoots out more dates for us to write in our agendas. Not even noticing that half of the girls are wearing the same letters; matching, representing what family line she falls under in our sorority. Meanwhile, I forgot to wear letters today, hopefully no one would notice. I mean, I am a senior, trying to graduate in May. My mind runs nonstop throughout the day, how could everyone expect me to attend all of these events, fundraise, receive dean’s list, and work thirty hours a week?

“Kris, if you are that unhappy at school, transfer home to Kean, and join my sorority, everyone will love you and you will never be happier.” Brianna said to me as I continuously cried to her about how homesick I was away at Bloomsburg. I thought about it that night and woke up feeling like I was on cloud nine. That is it. I am transferring home and joining that sorority, Theta Alpha something, whatever I didn’t care. I was going to wear those shirts, just like the girls in House Bunny. Yes, that was going to be me, living in a house and partying on frat row, just what I had always hoped for. Me and all of the letters I could possibly imagine.

As our meeting approaches the end, I look over at my little, Samm. “Littles,” in sorority terms is similar to a little sister through actual blood. But “Littles” in sorority terms are treated like our children. It’s complicated. Samm is a sophomore, without a position, living life to the fullest. She is having the best time of her life and has minimal distractions. She wears her letters proud and as often as possible.

As soon as I finally was accepted into my sorority the only thing I was concerned about were those letters on those shirts I saw in House Bunny. I wanted my OWN letters, and that was final. After spending hundreds and probably thousands of dollars on a new wardrobe, I officially had the most letters out of my entire sorority. I managed to top the record by the middle of my junior year. That was me, “Krissy-Girl,” the one with the most letters, and usually the silliest in the bunch. What else mattered?

I’m a senior now, one of the top six leaders in my sorority, worrying about the respect, financial stability and overall happiness of my sisters. I don’t even remember the last time I made letters. I do not have time for that, I am too busy with everything else on my plate.

“You don’t know shit girl, you’re just a dumbass sorority chic who has no priorities in life but partying and drinking.” This comment stuck with me like hot glue. It was a few days after Hurricane Sandy had hit, one of the only places around school with power was the local football house. Me, judging the large, obnoxious football player in front of me, started discussing overall grade point averages. For what reason, I could not tell you. I shot a comment at him about being a stupid jock, not thinking twice about it. I made my way towards the exit as soon as I was referred to as a “dumbass sorority chic,” quite frankly; I was a hell of a lot more than that.

I stare at Samm and see myself. I see myself two years ago, an innocent blonde sophomore. Not realizing the importance and differences around me. She is new to the sorority, but definitely knows more then I knew, or cared about at her age. I catch myself dozing off before the meeting is even over. All of this reminiscing on what I thought this was all about definitely took a toll on me.

I knew when I woke up the next morning, still angered from that stupid jock; that my perspective towards my sorority had changed. A dumbass sorority chick that has no priorities in life. Damn. Is that what people see? Don’t they know what we do throughout the week? Months? Years? I paused as reality hit me like an eighteen wheeler. Letters. That’s all I cared about, that is all I saw. How could I be mad at him for what he said? In reality, he saw more than I did. Although what he said was not true. How would he know the truth of something he was not a part of?

The meeting was finally brought to an end, and I was snapping out of my day dreams. I think to myself and try to summarize everything that just went on during that meeting: philanthropies’, fundraisers, sisterhood events, so many things to do, but valuable and productive enough to dedicate my time to.  Collecting my thoughts, I bring myself back to that night of hurricane Sandy. How dare he say that about me, about my sorority, about my sisters? He doesn’t know what being part of a sorority means at all. After all, he’s just a stupid jock who only cares about himself and his own ego, right?

Feelings/thoughts for second draft

1. You don’t know anything from the outside unless you are in

2. Sometimes the stereo types are true

3. It’s not all fun and games

4. Passion

5. Stress

6. Family

7. Symbolism

8. Responsibility

Scene- I sat uncomfortably at the football house I was dragged to one night during hurricane sandy. I mean, I didn’t have any power and the bar closed early, so my friends found us an alternative place to go, why not? Never getting along well with football players, I sat quietly on the couch. Quietly and calmly, that was until the big meat head stomped down the stairs. Trying to hold a knowledgeable question with him was painful, he didn’t have much to say. Well besides, “What’s with your attitude you blonde bitch, you think you’re so smart, you’re in a sorority, sorority girls are dumbasses.”  

After brainstorming in class, I realized a lot of my thoughts going through my head about my sorority. Wednesday night I always have my mandatory sorority meetings at 8 P.M so if my brain is asked to write down what it is truly thinking, everything will focus on my sorority. Since my first draft of our first assignment was rather depressing yet memorable, I decided I am going to lean towards the lighter, more humorous side, and focus on the life of a “sorority girl.” I mean, we are all the same aren’t we? That’s actually not true. The stereotypical sorority girl is rich, pays for her friends, snobby, and only cares about partying. I feel that in this draft I can really put my true feelings and emotions behind those stereo types. By doing that, I can also incorporate all sorts of stereo types; coming from a girl who is often stereotyped for my sorority and blonde hair, I know how it feels. Its an awful feeling to be looked down on, especially on something you work so hard and long for. There is a lot to know about the life of a sorority girl, and I feel that this draft is my chance to let everyone know.

Plans for Revising Draft One

 

After class last Wednesday, I was pretty confused as to why Dr. Chandler said we were all telling stories, not creative nonfiction stories. “What are you really saying?” Was the question I kept hearing; I didn’t know the answer. I thought my essay was written well and I was not sure how to change it. After meeting with Dr. Chandler, everything fell into place. I realized my essay about my Grandmother was definitely effective, but there was a message I needed to focus on and try to incorporate more of.  I realized that my main topic I was addressing in my draft was memory loss. What is memory loss? How could memory loss affect someone? After continuously asking myself about the loss of memory and trying to bring me back to my experiences with Gram, I realized something major. I was experiencing memory loss! I realized I could bring in more ideas of memory loss in life so that my readers could find a way to relate. For example, my memory about my grandma using Chex Mix in her chicken dinner, I tried to remember what happened after that. Did my mom say anything? Did we eat the dinner? I could not remember. At this point I realized that memory loss is not just a characteristic of Alzheimer’s, memory loss is a life experience that reoccurs over time. I realized that I had to bring real life into each section of my paper.  I am going to take out certain parts of my draft that make it more of a narrative, and add relatable situations that will allow it to fall under Creative Non-Fiction.