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The document describes the contrasting scenes of a family's chaotic departure and their calm return home, highlighting the emotional atmosphere and sensory details of both moments. It also contrasts two important role models in the author's life: the grandfather, who embodies patience and wisdom, and Tania, the vibrant neighbor who represents boldness and spontaneity. Together, they illustrate the balance of stillness and movement in the author's personal growth.

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onlyson2017
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3 views2 pages

Sample Compositions Print

The document describes the contrasting scenes of a family's chaotic departure and their calm return home, highlighting the emotional atmosphere and sensory details of both moments. It also contrasts two important role models in the author's life: the grandfather, who embodies patience and wisdom, and Tania, the vibrant neighbor who represents boldness and spontaneity. Together, they illustrate the balance of stillness and movement in the author's personal growth.

Uploaded by

onlyson2017
Copyright
© © All Rights Reserved
We take content rights seriously. If you suspect this is your content, claim it here.
Available Formats
Download as DOCX, PDF, TXT or read online on Scribd
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Describe the scene in your home when your family is preparing to go away somewhere

together, and when they arrive home.

At first glance, the house looks like it’s bracing for a storm. Suitcases crouch like animals in the
hallway, ready to pounce into the car. Every room glow with early morning light—the kind that
softens outlines but reveals clutter. The scent of burnt toast drifts through the air, mingling with
the sharp tang of lemon-scented floor polish from last night’s rushed clean-up.

Closer in, the living room hums like a beehive. My father is stationed by the door, his voice rising
above the morning chaos, reading a list from a crumpled sheet. He checks things twice, fingers
tapping against the wall as if that might summon time itself to slow down. My mother flits from
room to room like a small whirlwind—hair half-brushed, phone clutched in one hand, a roll of
duct tape in the other. She’s fixing a suitcase handle, yelling instructions no one hears.

The kitchen is alive with sound and movement. Cups clatter, the fridge door thuds shut, and
someone’s music spills from a phone speaker. My brother, mismatched socks peeking under his
jeans, searches for his lost cap like it's a matter of life and death. I pack snacks with robotic
determination, watching crumbs collect like confetti on the kitchen counter.

Then, silence. We leave.

Several days later, we return, and the house greets us like an old friend. From the outside, it’s
still, familiar. The front door groans open and warm, stale air rushes out like a sigh. Inside,
shadows stretch across the walls in the late afternoon sun. The hallway—once packed with
movement—is now still, except for the soft thud of bags being dropped.

Closer in, the tiredness sets in. My sister curls up in her chair, eyes closed before she even says
hello. My father runs a finger along the dusty mantle, already drafting his mental to-do list. My
mother stands in the kitchen again, pouring tea as if the days away never happened. The table is
bare. The floor creaks. The fridge hums softly in the quiet.

Finally, I walk to the living room, sink into the old couch, and breathe in the scent of home: dust,
lavender, and something undefinably ours. The storm has passed. The house, and we, are at rest
again.
Question 3: Describe two very different people who are important role models for you

If you looked at them side by side, you'd think they came from different worlds.

One moves slowly, like time itself has agreed to wait for him. He lives in a house that smells of
old books and warm porridge, where the ticking clock is louder than the television. That’s my
grandfather—sharp-eyed even in his old age, with silver hair combed back and a voice that
never rises above a calm murmur.

The other arrives like thunder. She laughs loudly, walks fast, and always wears something bright
—even if it's just lipstick. That’s Tania, my neighbour’s daughter, and the boldest person I know.
Her room pulses with colour and music. Posters line her walls, each one stamped with quotes
like “Speak the truth, even if your voice shakes.”

Step closer into my grandfather’s world and you'll find order and thought. Every pencil has its
place, every morning begins with sunrise tea. He folds his newspaper precisely and reads every
line like it's a sacred text. When he speaks, it's with purpose, never to fill silence. His wisdom
feels earned—built over years of listening, teaching, and making careful choices. He taught me
how to wait, to think, to respect stillness.

In contrast, Tania thrives in movement. She's the first to volunteer, the first to challenge, the first
to fail and laugh it off. She writes poetry that punches through your ribs and plays guitar with
chipped nails. Her confidence is like wildfire—messy but warm. I watched her speak out in
school assemblies, defend unpopular opinions, and encourage others to find their voice. From
her, I learned that mistakes are fuel, not failure.

They have never met. One spends afternoons under a jacaranda tree reading, while the other
dances barefoot in summer rain. Yet somehow, both hold pieces of who I am.

Grandfather taught me the strength in silence; Tania, the power in making noise. One gave me
roots, the other gave me wings.

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