Original_character

As long as I shtup flirt with , I ve al shipway perceived mirrors as something inimical . To be h unityst , I hate mirrors most of the measure . scarce , today I m sitting in front of one , and a beautiful woman is spiriting back at me It s time to fight my fear and hatred , time to look closely at who I am and to decide who I want to become . It s time to accept that mirrors existI look at my hands at first . Small and white , they ar , the hands of the person who never did any hard elbow grease , the musician s hands . They remind me of all the people I hugged and touched with my smile , of my friends who argon equal family members to me . There are quite a lot of people I can recall , as I ve always been sociable , non afraid to talk to an unfamiliar person . A chatterer , my Mom calls me . It s not that I like to talk so much it is rather that I believe that people should proclaim and become closer to make this introduction better . mickle are always trying to find and create differences , like races , different religions or sexual preferences . My upbringing has caused me to have a very open minded about life and the world around meAs I brush back my dark chocolate-brown hair and expose my ears , I am reminded of the music that lives in my soul . Form the early childhood the elegant splendour of the violin hypnotized me , made me forget about everything I knew and felt . Now I m 22 , and I am pursuing my passion to the fullest being enrolled in the conservatory . When I hear music inside me , I feel palliate , I travel to myself dancing through the shiny too large hall in the candlelight .

I have ideate of being able to dance since I was a child and , maybe the greatest my dream is to be able to dance . I want to experience the ability to feel the run aground move below my feet and the wind upon my face as I elegantly float across the dance floor . When I close my eyes and play my wish becomes reality at bottom my imaginationAnd than I look into my reflections eyes , the most feared moment in the whole procedure . I still can t see vivid blue there - rather the darkness of my bygone that became part of my present . When I look into my eyes I always think of thee one , who created me , and who made me who I am . I think of my father , and , like every time I do it , it hurts almost physically . His abusive ways made my life much more complicated and little carefree than it could be . When I think about it I always begin to put useless questions to myself , like : What if he hit her differently What if my mother never talked back that darkness I still can not understand how a person could physically harm someone...If you want to get a full essay, order it on our website: Orderessay

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