COMPENDIUM: Composition 1
Preface
The consensus of the writing that follows, that has been since revised, is focused on the way I get my points across. The reader lost the focus of the point in certain areas of the paper due to the overly descriptive, or otherwise useless added details to my sentences. I’ve revised the original paper so it isn’t as focused on the context of the letter discussed in the text, and more focused on the rhetorical elements of the letter. Those who have reviewed different drafts of the text seemed to think that it accomplished my goal, and enjoyed my example of writing in a yearbook, as it worked to my advantage. Others have said the structure is clear and my thoughts don’t ramble and that furthermore, I must remember to make sure I transition well.
Sergio Rodriguez
Steven Kleinman
October 17th, 2014
Word Count: 931
My Voice, On and Off the Page
Once, I tried to capture a relationship on a single page, in black sharpie, inscribing my letter on top of a cliché image of high-school students in mid-air. What I wrote was witty, it was concise, and it was borderline illegible. I wrote what I felt, and I wrote what I considered to be the essence of my relationship with her; as my friend, as my companion. I wrote what I hoped she would remember us by. It remains to be seen whether or not the true purpose of my letter will see its fruition. However, for the moment, she cried, she laughed, and she thanked me for my words.
While writing in her yearbook I was aware that the world was not coming to end. As melodramatic as I make it out to be, it wasn’t so difficult. In the end, I was just focusing on the significance of the message. Relationships do decay; such is the reality of time plus distance.
The way I convey my ideas and emotions has always been a centerpiece for the estimation that I have of myself. I strive toward an ideal of myself that has the ability to efficiently describe my perspective on matters. That way, the opinions generated of in result genuine. I pride myself on the way I express myself to others, so it’s clear why I was so consumed by an effort to express what someone else meant to me.
My voice as a writer is the voice I revolve my identity around. As my writing experience grows, I become more and more reliant on how I share my thoughts as a writer while interacting my peers, day in and day out. Furthermore, it is with that voice and logic that I approach most if not all situations and subject matter. Over time, the rationality and reason that evolved in my writing became an integral part in the way that I behave and react to things outside of a literary or compositional setting. The voice I used to write in that yearbook is the same as the one I used to write this paper. Writing is a reflection of the person who wrote it. The principles that I uphold as a member of society are the same as the priorities I have in my writing.
I know who I was, but who were we? More importantly, who will we be? I only said goodbye once I accepted that at the core, we are two individuals who depended on one another from time to time. We are imperfect, we are juvenile, we are ambitious, and we are too young to even hope to understand whether or not life actually gives away lemons. We’re both thirsty for lemonade. However, knowing all of this I still couldn’t articulate what was needed, not until I recognized the reality that she may never read this again in ten years. So why burden myself with the weight that I have designated these words to have?
Writing is more legitimate than word of mouth. There is not much reason to trust most of what people say, yet somehow when words are written down, we somehow consider them to have more validity. Writing has been a conduit of everything that has claimed importance in our history. It is likely the single most important tool that is forced upon us from the day we first begin to form coherent sentences. I could say anything I wanted to about the subject, and it would sound like the ravings of a student overly interested in the benefits of proper communication. Through writing, I can articulate my thoughts down in an organized and cohesive manner. Not only would a message come across more smoothly, but it would appear to have more weight and authenticity to anyone interested in reading it.
This isn’t what I was taught as I treaded through grade school. I’m impressed I discovered the significance of writing as early as my first year of higher education. In our society, writing is perhaps the most important skill I will have at my disposal. However, I’ve noticed it’s misrepresented to the youth nowadays. Many of my peers admit to dreading the standardized testing prompts, and being repulsed by the overly structured responses expected in high school English classes. Unfortunately, it is as if the impact of writing is lost on some who become victims of the nonsense that early instructors force upon the young.
There is a part of me that coincides with the readers of this paper who deem writing to my best friend a trivial matter not meant for discussion on an academic scale. Then there’s the part of me that objectively looks at all writing as what it is: a physical manifestation of our—mostly—impartial thoughts, visible to anyone with the interest to read them. When I’m given the task of writing on a topic in which my thoughts cannot be clearly represented, or rather if my words have no meaning other than to regurgitate known facts, then I can never be genuinely engaged.
I wrote my goodbye to Lauren Hammett the night before I moved in to my first college dorm, on the other side of the country. In a sense, that was probably the most ideal moment I could have picked to write it. The letter was reminiscent of the endless responses we would share with one another at ungodly hours of the night. Simple, pure, and sweet. It was as if I were speaking to her directly, as she reads it in ten years.
