Essay #1 Revision

Pre-writing Goals

Before I start writing about my sense of taste; I would like to point out my goals for this writing.  The point of this writing is to tell a story of how this particular sense has given me memories that will last forever.  My audience that I am trying to convey to is my fellow classmates, as well as my instructor.  I chose to write in the narrative form, because writing about my personal experiences is best written as a narrative.  Part of this narrative is based on my personal experiences. Just as well, there are parts of this narrative that are fictional.  My goal of doing this is to have my readers feel as if they were part of the story, or in some way relate with the story.  I hope to accomplish this goal by the end of this writing.

 

 

Apple Sessions

I can still recall how I would wake up early in the morning as a young child.  I would do what seemed to be my daily ritual of getting a shower, which was an attempt to wake me up, but to no avail.  I would get dressed, and while doing all of this; my mother would yell up the steps “Are you awake yet?”  Of course I would answer, “Yes”, but in reality I was only awake enough to answer that word.  I would drudge my way down the steps, and head to the kitchen.  It was there that I would have breakfast.  It was in this kitchen that my life would change simply by eating an apple.

It’s just astounding on how such a simple food could spring up so much conversation between two people.  Food has always brought me close to my family, friends, and loved ones. As Brillat-Savarin said, “every…sociability…can be found assembled around the same table: love, friendship, business, speculation, power, importunity, patronage, ambition, intrigue.  If an event is meant to matter emotionally, symbolically, or mystically, food will be close at hand to sanctify and bind it.” 

Although at the time, these “apple sessions” as I called them, didn’t seem that much of an important matter.  When I think about my past, I realize that it was then that I learned some of the most important things in my life.  This was the time that I would actually just stop and talk with my mother.  Nothing is better than knowing that when I would wake up each morning, there would be someone waiting for me.  I wouldn’t talk to her much during the day after school; I was too busy going out with friends, or staying in my room using the computer to talk to my friends, which now seems like such a redundant lifestyle.  Although it seemed I didn’t give a damn every day, I can still remember no matter what, the same “apple sessions” would go on every morning.  We would sit, have an apple, and talk.  It was very clear that I rarely talked to her during the day, and only left time in the morning. When she would want to talk, or do anything at night, I would complain to myself, because I would rather have spent time with my friends or use the computer.  Unfortunately, we never realize what we have until it’s gone.

I can never forget the day my mother died.  The morning was like any other. We had our apple and we talked about what I did the night before with my friends, and how she was looking forward to going to work that day because she got a friend a gift for her birthday.  I remember something distinctively different that day, which made this particular day different from any other.  Before I left for school I gave my mother a hug, and said to her “I love you.” which was something I rarely had done in the past. I went to school, and the day went on.  As I was leaving school, there were two policemen standing at the entrance with my school principal.  It was at that moment I was told that my mother was killed during a car collision, which caused a “pile-up” on the interstate during her commute home. 

   As I look back on that day, I realize how the days can go by just like any other, and how I never stopped to think about important people in my life, and how they can be gone in an instant.  It struck me the most when the next morning, I came downstairs to the kitchen, and realized that the morning apple sessions were now over.  I would never be able to have that apple, and talk with my mother again.  As I ate an apple that morning, the taste that I loved every morning seemed to have faded away, as if it vanished just as night does with the rising of the sun.  Perhaps, the taste I had for the apple was true, in that I did enjoy the flavor. I believe though, that the true love was not fully within the apple itself, but for what the apple represented to me individually, and what the true meaning was behind the taste of the apples. Out of all of the time my mother and I had with each other, I realize that the love isn’t in the apple, but for the person I shared the apple with. Of course, I enjoy the taste of the apple, but taste is not only what we put onto our taste buds, it’s the memories and experiences we have had.  The older we get, the more experiences we encounter, and the more our tastes change.

The sense of taste has a play on my emotions, as well as on my mind and body.  Taste can bring out my happiness, sadness, anger, etc.  This is all done by taste, again opening up the vault to our memories.  Some tastes can bring out a mix of our memories, and emotions.  Just as the taste of the apple is the key to some of the happiest moments in my memory; it also is the key to some of the darkest, despairing, mournful memories as well.  No matter how much I tell my mind to only think of the good, my mind must always show both sides of the coin.  To every aspect of good that is in the human mind, on the other side is just as well, the dark. The apple is the key to many aspects of my life, which makes me wonder just how much does the life of an apple resemble my own?

The apple starts out as such a little fruit.  It takes time, care, and energy for it to grow into the full apple that we enjoy to eat.  The apple reminds me of how my life was just like the life of an apple.  I started out young, with very little knowledge, experience, or many thoughts.  As time, love, and energy were put into my life, I grew.  The outside of the apple is the hard skin, which represents the “shell” that I put on to protect me from hurt, and pain. Just as there is the outside of the apple, there is also the inside which is the softer, juicy, flavorful part.  This is how I look at my personality. My personality, thoughts, and feelings are inside my body.  The inside of a person can tell me so much more than just the outside appearance.  Although I will never have those moments with my mother again, and wish I would have spent more time with her; I can be happy knowing that I can always remember the moments we did have.  I can remember all of the memories by using my sense of taste.  I can open up the vault that is my mind with the key.  That key just so happens to be the crunch, and taste of a crisp, juicy apple.

 

 

Works Cited

Brillat-Savarin, Anthelme, trans. And annotated by M. F. K. Fisher.  The Physiology of Taste.  San Francisco, California: North Point Press, 1986.

Post Writing Thoughts

After reading over my writing numerous times, I feel that I have succeeded in drawing an audience in feeling that the story could have been an experience they have had.  I feel that I’ve done this by listing experience, with details, as well as citing specific examples.  I had my friend read this writing, telling her it was from anonymous, and to tell me what she thought.  After reading the writing over with her, I asked for her thoughts on the writing. I did this to discourage any possible “lies” that could occur because of one’s fear of criticizing another friend’s writing.  Constructive criticism was given, and I did fix errors that I found, just as I fixed errors the reader found as well.  I hope you have enjoyed this writing.