**HIIII I'm new to this forum and already love it, but I was hoping someone would be willing to lend me a hand. I graduated high school last year, woohoo 2020 graduates I know your pain, and I'm finally feeling ready to take on college this upcoming semester.** I chose this topic cause I thought it was fun and kind of "out there", and I really enjoyed writing this essay, **BUT** I do believe my response was a little unorthodox and could really use some tweaking. Help me out? Any advice is appreciated and thank youuuuu!!  
  
## I'd go to the past

  
  
I've always loved the thought of traveling and yearned to explore the most exotic places in the world, but if I was miraculously bestowed a ticket that could take me anywhere, absolutely anywhere, I'd go to the past. Not a new place on the other side of the globe or a tropical island, No, I'd just go back to 7 years ago in my old childhood home. To the day Papa said his final vow, "La Vie est une Chanson". I'd say all the thoughts I had taken for granted.  
  
August 12, 2003, I don't remember much of this day, for I was only a wee newborn at the time, the only window I have to this day is the photograph I now hold dearly in my album "La Vie est une Chanson". I see Papa holding me for the very first time, surrounded by flowers as beautiful as the shimmering sun, and through the photo I can already picture the smell of freshly baked bread rising in the oven I remember Papa loved making. I always did love that bread it tasted sweet like corn and always felt like biting into the fluffiest cloud you could imagine. If only I had told him.  
  
February 2, 2004, Papa's crooked smile was sprawled upon his face permanently as he wrote in delight in his journal " My little girl said Papa" with more exclamation points than that of an excited teenage girl. Abuelita, my great grandmother, tells me about this day every chance she gets. She tells me about how he would smirk and laugh every time he'd get me to say "Papa" in front of my Nana just to make her jealous. Now I have that piece of paper with the smudged ink and heavy memories next to the photo in the "La Vie est une Chanson". I always did love his mischievous crooked smile he'd crack every time he'd have a fun plan. If only I had told him so.  
  
December 23, 2008, it was near Christmas day and my Papa was ecstatic to start cooking up a meal for the whole family, and I wasn't far behind having been 5 years old I hadn't known anything about how to cook all I knew was that whatever he was doing smelled insanely good and I wanted in on the fun. Well, Papa decided to give me a chance, let me say- BIG mistake. And so I hopped onto the counter and started mixing batter while Papa chopped vegetables. Five minutes in and I have lost utter interest in mixing the gooey batter and so I did the only reasonable thing I could've done- I threw a ball of batter at Papa. Reasonable. Next thing I know Papa and I are having a brawl with batter splattered in every inch of the walls and our faces as we cackled and laughed. Now I have but a dried clay ornament that resembles that of the batter that day in "La Vie est une Chanson". I loved how Papa always knew how to make me laugh and have fun even when I least expected it. If only I had told him so.  
  
June 15, 2013, I sat in a room of white and greys while everyone seemed to be spewing tears and praying all around. I knew what this place was. I remember asking my mother if he had hurt his leg or maybe hurt his wrist again while baking. My mother only shook her head. So I wondered and wondered and asked, "Can I see him? I'll get him some bread from the store there, He loves bread!". My mother only let out a small chuckle and nodded giving me 5 bills to buy the bread. After buying the bread buelita welcomed me into the room with tears and I saw Papa for the very first time in weeks. He was thin and nimble as if made of glass. "Hi, Papa, I brought you some bread! I hope it'll make you feel better." I said as I neared the bed he lied on. He gave me a crooked smile and laughed, but not the laugh of years before, this one sounded weaker and frail. Worried I asked if he was alright and what was wrong, but he only responded "La Vie est une Chanson". Seconds later there was a long and excruciating sound. At the time I didn't know what he meant, but now at 17 years old, seven years later I realize "Life is like a Song".  
  
Songs come to an end every day, they share emotions, families, friends, they run with twists and turns notes high and low, but at some point, they all come to an end. But even though a song has ended their melodies live on in the minds of their loved ones and through the stories they share to others. If I had a ticket to anywhere, absolutely anywhere, I'd go back and say, " I love you, Papa, I love the bread you made with your own 2 hands and dedication, I love that crooked smile that made the day feel warm, I love that laugh that made me the coldest of hearts smile. Papa your melody lives on in my heart and I will work hard to make you proud and earn my ticket to travel the world, for you. "La Vie est une Chanson"