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years of service, I found myself __43__ a civilian school with twelve-year-olds who shared no similar life experience with me.
I was a stranger in a strange land. Everyone in my class had grown up together, and they had no room to __44__ for a newcomer. I wore different clothes, had different thoughts, and spoke with an accent. I __45__ for the first few weeks of school. I had no friends and no __46__ of a bright future. To deal with it, I began __47__ in my diary every day---stories of adventure, of feelings that I couldn’t speak out. I wrote as if my life depended on it, as if the very next breath I took could not happen __48__ I wrote down the words.
One day, my teacher, Mrs. Bush, came to ask me why I always sat there. I told her I __49__ writing to playing. She smiled at me and walked away. About three weeks later, she gave us a writing assignment. I was __50__ that I could now participate in something I knew I excelled in.
That night I worked on the essay. I wrote with great __51__. It was my one chance to feel important and __52__ by the class.
A few days later, Mrs. Bush called me up to the __53__ of the classroom. I stood before thirty pairs of eyes looking at me, and I got __54__. Was I in trouble? Then Mrs. Bush told the class how much she __55__ all the work that went into the essay and everyone had done a great job. But, she said, one student stood __56__ as an excellent writer, one with imagination, creativity, and word mastery. That student was me!
The class clapped and Mrs. Bush handed me my paper, with the following __57__ on it: “Malinda. You fill your paper with the breathings of your heart. Please keep on writing and share your __58__ for writing with the wor