epistolary description essay

8/9/2019 Epistolary Description Essay

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Shahid Mahdi English 9 Ms. Flood

Descriptive Essay

Dear Nick,

I find that I'm already missing the raw, natural Swiss breeze. Myfamily and I concluded the ultimate stage of the moving

process earlier today, and I am writing from my new sanctuary-the domain which shall "host" the rest of my adolescent years. The room is quite spacious, but is currently cluttered with pilesof books and magazines alike- mainly sports editorials andvenerable copies of TIME & Economist issues, all of which areyet to find their respective accommodation within my family'sthird home. Opposite my bed, which seems to be shrinkingevery day, is a wide, rectangular crystal-clear window whichoverlooks the adjacent street, enabling myself to pointlessly

recline and count the number of buses that, despite their grandsize, don't cause too much of a noisy ruckus. Stacks of shoes,all for different purposes, are neatly arranged-for now-underneath the thin, snow-white bookshelf, which is packed tothe brim with a unruly combination of CDs, DVDs, and novelsthat I've read, watched, and listened to at least thrice. Yet,above the bookshelf, rests a signed Chelsea FC team ball fromour championship winning season, back in '05/06. You shouldkeep in mind that football (or "soccer"- don't fret, I'll have to

become familiar with that term too- is practically a religionhere. Seas of blue and red parade down streets on heatedderby day fixtures; the intensity is so great one can almostsmell it. Based on the die-hard fans' behaviour, however, itusually reeks of sweat and alcohol. On that note, the world'sgreatest team's merchandise is widespread within my domain.Shirts from seasons past, match programmes and othermementos of "Blue Days Out" are safe in a dusty, deterioratingshoebox half my age. I know, not very creative. Or secure.

As one walks into my room they are seemingly nudged bythe oblong frame of my bathroom. Sure enough, having this



feature within the actual room may not be an essential, but Idecided that as a growing teenager, I wouldn't be able to copewith the dramatic hairdryer mishaps and the torturous mirror-hogging antics of my sister.

Beneath my wooden, lustrous antique desk are where myfootballs (or soccerballs -there it is again) are kept. I have theWorld Cup Final ball for this summer's tournament- y'know, theone you and I would drool over, but never managed to obtainas the proximate adidas store was across Lac Leman. Anyhow,my cousin had a harebrained scheme to take free-kicks alongVictoria Palace Gardens- the one park that had a panoramicview of the river Thames. So, there was my cousin, looking

around and taking a shootout stance as if he was Mr. ClintEastwood himself. He ran up and released one hell of a shot.I'm fairly confident that would've broken my other arm, had Iattempted to save it. As if I needed another one of those. Theball gracefully glided into the expanse of the Thames, and, hadit not fatefully been low tide that day, I would be squanderinganother £30 withdrawal from my hard-earned pocket money.My cousin and I, feeling like Butch Cassidy & The Sundance Kid(I really am sticking to this Western movie theme, aren't I),

voyaged down into the foul Thames and traversed the stinkybeach to retrieve the ball. Alas, we were successful. The onlyissue now is how to convince the Korean neighbours next door-whom were taking a leisurely stroll that day- that my cousinand I weren't, ahem, excreting in the river. Judging on the odorof the emerald river that day, it didn't need any more of thatsubstance.

So, back to the house. Downstairs, the living room epitomises"modern" to a strangely high degree- in other words, mymother's "interior designer/architect" mindset was in full forceas we refurbished the house. The fact that we own chairs thatare made of glass and plastic strings should say enough. Vast,newly installed mirrors not only give the appearance of a largerroom, but also makes my family and I think twice about goinginto the kitchen for a midnight snack. An abundance of artworkdecorates the living room, as does the glossy, unused Yamahapiano in the corner. This item serves as part of the furniturerather than a musical instrument. Daunting yet stylish lights atthe rear of the room stand tall as bodyguards, and finally, our



smooth, suave, black sofas give the area a James Bond twist.

Moving on, I should stop ranting & rambling on about myhouse, albeit one of my many talents.

Based on experience navigating through my new second home- The American School in London- is no easy feat. Between theimmense library, arguably the school's most famous attribute,and the duo of gyms, A.S.L. truly is an imposing place despiteits urban location. Underneath the creamy façade lies evenmore, including a newly renovated theatre with a capacity of around four hundred. Despite this, one still finds him/herself feeling uncomfortable and confined, as there is not a lot of space to recline and stretch one's legs. As a result, we're forced

to "break the rules" and sit in a casual, elevated position,placing the soles onto the thin, fine cut wooden ledge thatseparates each tier. However, this is frowned upon. Thecomplex itself is arranged in a straightforward, logic fashion,with color-coded staircases and various non-reflective metallicsigns to reassure anxious parents as to whether they'reheading towards high school or lower school. The commons, inwhich hundreds of students satiate themselves, lacks a decorand can bring a depressing vibe on a rainy day. The only signs

of color are draped across the chairs, and more than half thetime our rears are placed on those. Nostalgic photos of thosebefore us who have graduated embellish the area, locking in 12years worth of memories within a lunch room. I couldn't affordto forget the astounding presence of computers. I'm surprisedthe myriad of thin, insect-like wires aren't sticking out of thewalls. A staircase could surely be made of those alone.

Anyhow, I must run along and scrub off that stain from the Thames, and do my best not to visualise what it once was apart of.

Take Care Bro,Shahid Mahdi

epistolary description essay

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