Mazumdar 1.

Man, I love taking classes by Professor Mazumdar. Last quarter was "Cultural Ecology and Environmental Design," (how culture affects domestic architecture, etc. etc.) and this quarter is all about "Elements of Environmental Design" (where we get to design actual buildings and such). Mr. Sanjoy Mazumdar said that UCI used to have his "Cultural Ecology and Environmental Design" class as a social ecology requirement. I have no idea why they would change that. There should be more courses on how culture affects everything... that there is in the world... I'm glad I'm taking another course by him this quarter, as well as a Psychology and Social Behavior class on "Human Development in Cross-Cultural Perspective," taught by funny guy Mr. Chuansheng Chen.

I just thought I'd share my first assignment for one of my Urban and Regional Planning classes. It's a "reflection on home." Basically somewhat of my childhood briefly laid out onto paper. It was a little nostalgic to write it. Just a little bit.

Throughout my life, there have been four main homes I consider to have actually lived in. There is the apartment in Newport Beach, where I currently reside for going to college at the University of California, Irvine. There is my parents’ house in Northern California, where I spent almost half of my life living in. There is also my grandmother’s house that is only a block away from my parents’, which I consider being like a second home to me since my brother and I would stay there during the day when my parents went to work. The last home is where I was raised until nine years old, which is also located in Northern California. This home in particular, has always been the one to evoke many memories and emotions.

There have been several prominent events that have occurred in this house to make it the most vividly remembered home. Many of these events happen to bring about negative emotions, but a few positive ones as well. This house was one story tall, but with an expansive area. From the outside, you can see the tall front windows spanning across from what seemed like the whole half of the house. On the side of the windows laid the flat one-step cement front porch, where I sat one afternoon after being kicked out by my alcoholic father for refusing to stop crying. Then there was the front door, chipped at the edges where the robber broke into our house and stole my mother’s prized stereo system and jewelry.

Upon entering the house, there was a large spread of cold white tiles where I remember always shying away behind my mother as strangers knocked on the door. Immediately across from this tiled floor was the living room, which held a mighty fireplace stuck into a wall of earthy jagged stones. I remember setting up a huge tent out in this well-carpeted room, pretending I was camping with my father and brother because our mother thought it would be too cold outside. It was also here that I would always witness my parents arguing. They would be constantly throwing words and fists at each other, and me sitting there crying without knowing what to do.

Separated by a large glass sliding door, you could enter the backyard from the living room. The whole backyard was laid out in a wooden deck, except for the side where there were lines of various fruit trees. The biggest tree of them all was the great apple tree, standing in a most spectacular manner. It was here in front of this tree, where my brother and I played with the stones that lay around this small orchard. We would collect these stones and gather them into a big glass jar. I was six years old when the jar suddenly exploded with hundreds of little glass shards flying into the air, and cutting my hand. Back into the house, and turning into the kitchen is where I ran to wash the blood that hastily fled from my hand.

Across from the sink where I cleaned my hand that was later stitched up, was the stove where I first experienced the phenomenon of burning and fire. I was no more than 4 or 5 years old when I accidentally swiped a cloth across the heated stove, lighting it on fire. In a panic, I ran to the family room and desperately smashed out the fire under the incredible black marble table, that was displayed as the centerpiece of the room. This same room was also where my first real pet was housed; a turtle with a dark brown shell, of which is still swimming along today.

These particular areas of the house are where I remember the most of my time spent living there. I will always have these memories and emotions in the back of my mind as I continuously move to other places. To me, it will always be my first actual home.

[There was a small sketch here that was on my actual paper. It was the front of my old house]

It's funny, because I've actually used this home in many papers I've written. I never seem to have a limit on how much I can express through it.