Write a daily journal for 10 days of your holidays
Dear student,
Such questions are meant to test your writing skills and should be attempted on your own. However, these points might help you elaborate:
Refer to our website for the format of a diary entry. (A journal is a daily record of events, much like a diary.)
The best holidays I enjoyed in the company of my grandparents was in their house in the village by the sea. In the village, I used to wake up to the hot sharp smell of spices on my tongue and the papery feel of feet caked with dust. The salt of the sea would settle in a warm loamy mist on my skin, even my days spent there seem to be coated with that when I see them in retrospect. Mornings would entail a long lazy breakfast, then going to the fields with my grandfather as he supervised the work of the farmers tenured to work for him and eventually a slow trudge back to the house. On the way back, my usually reticent and reserved grandfather would open up and regale me with stories from his life, how he grew up in a poor household, farmed the lands till his back would break and finally managed to build a house with his own bare hands. I loved listening to the deep throaty voice of my grandfather, cloaked in the dust of time. My grandmother would keep our lunch ready and the three of us would sit down to eat together. Post lunch was siesta time for them while I would read books sprawled on the hammock. Evenings were spent chatting with my grandmother, a firebrand lady who had run away with my grandfather because her family did not approve of his financially weak circumstances. She was a stellar storyteller, narrating funny incidents and anecdotes in the most animated way possible. Night used to come with a velvety rich blanket studded with stars and we would pull out our cots and sleep in the courtyard.
Regards
Such questions are meant to test your writing skills and should be attempted on your own. However, these points might help you elaborate:
Refer to our website for the format of a diary entry. (A journal is a daily record of events, much like a diary.)
The best holidays I enjoyed in the company of my grandparents was in their house in the village by the sea. In the village, I used to wake up to the hot sharp smell of spices on my tongue and the papery feel of feet caked with dust. The salt of the sea would settle in a warm loamy mist on my skin, even my days spent there seem to be coated with that when I see them in retrospect. Mornings would entail a long lazy breakfast, then going to the fields with my grandfather as he supervised the work of the farmers tenured to work for him and eventually a slow trudge back to the house. On the way back, my usually reticent and reserved grandfather would open up and regale me with stories from his life, how he grew up in a poor household, farmed the lands till his back would break and finally managed to build a house with his own bare hands. I loved listening to the deep throaty voice of my grandfather, cloaked in the dust of time. My grandmother would keep our lunch ready and the three of us would sit down to eat together. Post lunch was siesta time for them while I would read books sprawled on the hammock. Evenings were spent chatting with my grandmother, a firebrand lady who had run away with my grandfather because her family did not approve of his financially weak circumstances. She was a stellar storyteller, narrating funny incidents and anecdotes in the most animated way possible. Night used to come with a velvety rich blanket studded with stars and we would pull out our cots and sleep in the courtyard.
Regards
