Defining Moments

Human beings are typically unaware of defining moments in their lives until they think back on these events. With a bit of extra knowledge at hand, more accurate assumptions can be made about the importance of such experiences. Recently in class we were asked to bring in an item of great importance or meaning to us. The majority of the class brought in items that either reflected people that were important to them or helped them remember a better time in their lives. My item was different but just as important to me, symbolizing a change in perspective that I have recently acquired. The item I brought in was an essay I wrote my senior year of high school, on the topic of the Holocaust. When I first wrote the essay it had no symbolic meaning to be, but it would later define me.

The year was early 2007, and we high school students were all very enthusiastic about returning from winter break. I was in the process of re-adjusting myself to high school life. The waking up unnecessarily early every morning, the boring calculus lectures, and the off white brick shaped halls that smelt of freshly used cleaning products and decade-long old air freshener was the typical essence of high school life. The only part of this tedious schedule that was of any interest to me was my English 12 class. I was always ignorant about my affinity to literature, reading, and writing until my teacher Mr. Jones opened my eyes to what I was ignoring. Mr. Jones was probably the best teacher I will ever know, no offense to you Mrs. Lewis. He had a way of making learning fun and interesting to select people, and I was one of them. It’s difficult to explain just how he was able to obtain such a feat, but I guess that’s a testament to his skills. Unfortunately, not everyone in my class had such a positive opinion of him. You see, Mr. Jones’s class had a reputation, among the student populous, of being the most difficult to pass. I’ll admit I was a bit reluctant to take his class, but that changed once I became more comfortable in his class. Although my fellow pupils thought of him as a mean and arrogant man, he always seemed very reasonable to me. He was always more than ready to help us with anything that we needed, and that made the time in his class so much easier. It was because of his help that I was able to properly prepare myself for the final essay assignment. A giant of an essay worth half of the year’s grade, it could make or break your entire final grade and determine whether or not you graduate that year. We were given ample time to complete the essay, but it was disorienting to think that this could keep me from graduating high school. I knew what I had to do, and that very afternoon I began to write what would later become one of the most important pieces of literature of my life.

I was assigned to write a portfolio of essays that convey different perspectives of the Nazi Concentration Camps: Dachau and Auschwitz. The completed portfolio included: A research paper on the holocaust, an essay in response to a film about the American troops who discovered the death camps called Nightmare’s End: Return to the Camps, an essay in response to a book about a man who survived Auschwitz called Night, and an essay in response to the film Schindler’s List. I was also assigned to display photos and charts about the Holocaust and to write a fictional journal of a holocaust survivor. The research paper was very basic and easy to write considering there was a lot of information on the particular subject. I did enjoy writing responses to the movie Schindler’s List and the book Night as well, but the journal was definitely my favorite part to write. It allowed me to experience, first hand, the destruction of innocence and to see through the eyes of one of these poor people. The child in the story went from a care free individual to a depraved and depressed adult. I wanted the reader to see subtle changes in the child’s words and actions to add to the experience of reading it. The child would begin young, playful, and blissfully ignorant. He would gradually begin to mature until he was practically an adult by the age of sixteen.

To my relief, I did pretty well on the assignment. I put a lot of effort into the essay and my teacher thought similarly. I eventually graduated high school, and it was subsequently shelved. The only inclination I had about completing it was simply to pass the class, so it meant very little to me at the time. The essay would remain in a box for weeks, then months, and then years until I was cleaning my room last Christmas and rediscovered it. I then sat down and read through the entire essay with a completely different perspective. Because most of it was written out of pure emotion, due the subject matter, I cannot remember why I wrote what I did or what was going through my mind at the time. Perhaps that is the essence of literature, to express oneself in the purest form on to paper. In retrospect, I realize what the essay did for me. It unveiled my interest in literature and history that I never realized I had. Now whenever I write for school or in my spare time I am better at organize my thoughts, work effectively, and procrastinate less. In the process of researching, reading, and writing I went on a personal journey of understanding about the world and myself.

At first, I was completely unaware of the significance of the essay. With the addition of time and, more importantly, perspective, I was able to better understand what drives me. I never would have imagined that the essay would have such a binding and lasting influence on me. My experience with writing the essay was important to me, and I believe it helped to define who I am today. I am glad that I brought it in and at least attempted to discuss its symbolic meaning to the class. I am also glad it was assigned to me, and I am proud of myself for completing it.