who knows Essay Example For Students

who knows Essay What the hell isMany things can destroy a man, but only three things that can destroy a real man, greed, paranoia and love. I have no idea why I just wrote that last quote, I just thought it would be nice to start my book with something that sounds halfway smart. Anyway, my name is Ammar Barakat, born on the sixth of July 1980. I am not famous, gifted, smart, good-looking or powerful, as a matter of fact, I am not special in anyway. Nevertheless I have decided to write this book to tell my story to the world (hopefully), because believe it or not, I think I have lead an interesting and unique life. Before I go any further I guess I should start telling u about my first few years of life, or what I can remember from it. We will write a custom essay on who knows specifically for you for only $16.38 $13.9/page Order now My first memory was when I was three years old; I remember it was me, my brother and my parents sitting in the car and stopping at a mini-market to pick up some chips on our way to the swimming pool. I have no idea why this memory is plastered in my head because there was nothing special about that day; we used to always stop at the mini-market with my brother and parents to pick up some chips on our way to the swimming pool. Although I was born in Syria, I spent the first four years of my life in the United Arab Emirates. My father had a good job, and we lived in a nice house and had a normal life, actually it was ironic since me and my family seemed to be living the American dream in an Arabic country. Since I dont remember much of the UAE days I cant tell u much about it, all could tell u is that any parent would wish to raise their children in the environment that I was raised in. My father went to work, my mother took care of me and my brother, and all me and my brother had to w orry about was the amount of French- fries we were going to eat at the swimming pool that day. Then, everything changed. The day that I have always feared has come, it was my brothers first day of school. Dont get me wrong, me and Tareq were never the best of friends, and I wasnt upset that he was leaving me, oh no, I was jealous of him. He was going to go off to meet new people and form new bonds while I sit at home and shit in my pants, which I often did when I was young. Before he started going to school it was just me, Tareq and the neighbors daughter whom we often played doctor with. What sucked even more was that the neighbors daughter was my brothers age and she was going to start school the same time as Tareq, so u can understand how a three-year-old boy like me would feel abandoned. Now that I look back at it, I can finally understand where my love of being alone comes from; I had so much time to my self that I actually fell in love with it. My parents told me that when I was at that age and the whole family would be talking a road trip, my brother would be the annoyi ng fucker that always sticks his head between the driver and passenger seats and annoy the shit out of them. While I on the other hand would sit quietly in the back spacing-out without making one sound the entire trip. They joked that they would have to always call my name until they get a reaction from me to see if Im still alive. .uac75e45d7dd3a1302ae45723d002bffe , .uac75e45d7dd3a1302ae45723d002bffe .postImageUrl , .uac75e45d7dd3a1302ae45723d002bffe .centered-text-area { min-height: 80px; position: relative; } .uac75e45d7dd3a1302ae45723d002bffe , .uac75e45d7dd3a1302ae45723d002bffe:hover , .uac75e45d7dd3a1302ae45723d002bffe:visited , .uac75e45d7dd3a1302ae45723d002bffe:active { border:0!important; } .uac75e45d7dd3a1302ae45723d002bffe .clearfix:after { content: ""; display: table; clear: both; } .uac75e45d7dd3a1302ae45723d002bffe { display: block; transition: background-color 250ms; webkit-transition: background-color 250ms; width: 100%; opacity: 1; transition: opacity 250ms; webkit-transition: opacity 250ms; background-color: #95A5A6; } .uac75e45d7dd3a1302ae45723d002bffe:active , .uac75e45d7dd3a1302ae45723d002bffe:hover { opacity: 1; transition: opacity 250ms; webkit-transition: opacity 250ms; background-color: #2C3E50; } .uac75e45d7dd3a1302ae45723d002bffe .centered-text-area { width: 100%; position: relative ; } .uac75e45d7dd3a1302ae45723d002bffe .ctaText { border-bottom: 0 solid #fff; color: #2980B9; font-size: 16px; font-weight: bold; margin: 0; padding: 0; text-decoration: underline; } .uac75e45d7dd3a1302ae45723d002bffe .postTitle { color: #FFFFFF; font-size: 16px; font-weight: 600; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 100%; } .uac75e45d7dd3a1302ae45723d002bffe .ctaButton { background-color: #7F8C8D!important; color: #2980B9; border: none; border-radius: 3px; box-shadow: none; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 26px; moz-border-radius: 3px; text-align: center; text-decoration: none; text-shadow: none; width: 80px; min-height: 80px; background: url(https://artscolumbia.org/wp-content/plugins/intelly-related-posts/assets/images/simple-arrow.png)no-repeat; position: absolute; right: 0; top: 0; } .uac75e45d7dd3a1302ae45723d002bffe:hover .ctaButton { background-color: #34495E!important; } .uac75e45d7dd3a1302ae45723d002bffe .centered-text { display: table; height: 80px; padding-left : 18px; top: 0; } .uac75e45d7dd3a1302ae45723d002bffe .uac75e45d7dd3a1302ae45723d002bffe-content { display: table-cell; margin: 0; padding: 0; padding-right: 108px; position: relative; vertical-align: middle; width: 100%; } .uac75e45d7dd3a1302ae45723d002bffe:after { content: ""; display: block; clear: both; } READ: Architecture Emperor Topsoil EssayThat was true even as I got older, I remember when my father would have one of his famous Lets pack our shit and drive somewhere really far fits, I always sat quietly and listened to my walkman for hours. I dont remember what I used to space out about, but Im sure it must have been very interesting. I always used my hours alone thinking about important stuff, and strangely these hours alone