A Personal Narrative With Analysis

1. I wrote arguments in my persuasive and literary analysis to fulfill standard one. I used my research as evidence and combined that with my prior knowledge to make educated arguments to support my claims. I spent time going through information and analyzing the information to find sufficient evidence.

The air was crisp and clean, as it was a mild autumn day. Throughout the forest, the sounds of nature could be heard. Birds chirping, leaves falling off trees in the midday breeze. The calm sounds of the woods gave way to a new sound: the gentle humming of a young female wanderer, on a quest to visit her grandmother. She quite enjoyed the sounds and view of the forest, as it was her favorite thing to surround herself with as she was growing up in the village not far from the forest edge. As she strolled through the winding paths of the forest road, she thought of the wonderful experiences of the day ahead with her grandmother.

I swallowed the cool air and aroma of the summer's morning dew into my hollowed lungs, with the hope to fill them with something as to eliminate the feeling of lonesomeness. At the same time, that lonesomeness was nervousness, but newfound self-confidence had a similar feeling. My palms were clammy and pink as I wondered who would come into my life. Yet I had no desire to develop a new relationship with someone, I only wished to seclude myself with the untouched wilderness. I was young, and I discovered many things while I was at summer camp that helped me grow intellectually. It was solely the minds of others from foreign lands that intrigued me the most. I sought after new philosophies that would aid me in this search for what I wanted to do with my

Chalk flying on our bruised shins and flip flop tanned, callused feet, as the ball kept bouncing. Up and up and up we go, passing houses one at a time. The ground scorching our unclipped toes as we race the cars up the street to the shaded part of the sidewalk. Pausing, only to catch our breath we wasted on hill sprints up to cooler ground, until we realize what we're stepping on. Sap as sticky as gum that has been sitting out in the sun all day, slowly dripping from the Pine tree hanging above us as if it knew the pain we were in. Out of the shade we went, dreading what lies ahead all thinking about the logic behind not wearing shoes. Finally turned the corner that led to the shaded cul de sac when he ran into her. She was not one of those ordinary neighbors. No smile rest upon this gut wrenching face that I remember from my

I do this for the ones who sing in the shower instead of a stage. with the heart of a poet filled with

This small yet powerful voice shakes our morals to the concrete foundation, affects our decision-making and even persuades our choices made. The day was a very typical but a distinctiveness hung in the mist like the salty, crisp aroma of the great pacific ocean. My thoughts were blank, incomplete, tuned out by the muffling of the vehicle and the constant static of the radio. Switching lanes on to my usual route, I saw the leaves blow in the cool breeze, hovering like a small swarm of doves. The leaves have begun their cycle of life, changing into vibrant shades and hues of sun kissed orange and moribund yellow. Peering out the window, the environment grabbed my attention, and the constant sipping of the dark brew of coffee kept my eyes alert and attentive to all my sense into taking full effect. Life seemed to great, to perfect, to good, but in reality the covering mask was about to be

I am forty four years old with three children and a wonderful husband. I grew up in Oklahoma and later moved to Kansas, and then Arizona where I finished my degree is Political Science at Arizona State University. My career goals were to attend law school after undergrad, so that I could be an advocate for children that were suffering serious injustices back then, and sadly they still seem to be suffering those injustices today.

“Bro you’re like totally hard-core but sometimes you’re flashing the rambunctiousness!” The two most opposite words in the entire dictionary is what I and many others feel represent me best. Not committed, scary, dedicated or strict but hard-core. Because when I’m not focused in on the task at hand, what can you say? I’m just pure rambunctious! However one of my favorite things to live by is probably why I’m a bit “intimidating” or “scary”, I approach everything I do as if there is a winner and there is a loser. In sports if I give it my best effort and lose, I’m not satisfied. In class if I study longer and harder than anybody else and receive the grade I don’t want, then I am a loser, a failure. But at the end of the day I am human, I do

Reflection: it is something I do not get to do often at my own will, but a pressure that forces itself on me at my grayest hours. Here I am, three days after the incredible success of my very first conference; and there is a feeling of dissatisfaction and sadness. My vision for this conference was executed in the best way it could, I had the most important people there, I added to my name positively and again, and I proved to those who looked down on me, that their words are nothing but characteristics I know I am not. But yet, I feel incomplete. In the past 4 years of my high school career, I have acquired the ability to put on events that uplift spirits such as pep rallies and speak up for people who are unable to speak for themselves. My

Making this piece was puzzling. I am entirely a person who relies on the approval of their peers, so the process was completed with an emphasis on the people who would have to look at the work afterwards.

Of all the strange things in the world, humans are by far the strangest creatures I’ve ever observed. This is not only odd, but also ironic because I myself am human and often a subject of human curiosity. It is no secret that as a race we are intrigued by things that are different, this is the sole cause for landing on the moon and attempting to explore the deep marianas trench. Physically, I would not label myself as interesting to others, but when it comes to functional processing and interaction I typically draw attention, either that or I am completely invisible. From a very young age I have struggled with understanding things that I am subconsciously supposed to know and when I fail to remember these things it tends to complicate the flow of communication. Later on, I was

The summer before my sophomore year, my cross country coach challenged our team to run 400 miles over the summer in preparation for the oncoming season. Numerous athletes on our team participated, including myself. Equating to running over four miles a day, it was not going to be effortless, however the challenge sparked a drive for success in me, and I was determined to satisfy that drive. In the final weeks, I grew excited as the finish drew near, and I eclipsed the 400 mile mark with a day to spare. Success soon followed, as for the first time our coach could remember, our team won our home meet. Overall, we were much more competitive as a team that year, and it was a fantastic experience. Partaking in those experiences again was something

Great changes can come from scary experiences. For me, it was trips to two different hospitals and an infection that led me to recognize my privileges and become a mature person. I’ve never been fond of hospitals, especially after my visit to one in China. That trip left a scarring image of hospitals in my mind-a scary, dark place I wanted to avoid. However, my first encounter with hospitalization in America was surprisingly pleasant and nurturing; it contrasted greatly with the gruesome conditions I witnessed overseas.

There once was beautiful little mining town with a stream running right through the middle. When it was summer the children would play in it til’ they were called back for supper by their mothers. On those cloudless, cheerful summer mornings you could go out and smell the misty breeze coming off the water. It brushed past the trees and made them sway slightly as the trees rustled. The town was full of tiny little houses with quaint wooden porches and small picket fences to match. It’s the kind of town where everyone knows everyone else, and when you walk around you have to stop and say hello to at least ten people.

I could hardly keep from staring at the young boy: his abnormal posture and exaggerated reflexes left me frozen in my steps. He was constrained to a wheel chair and unable to form a complete sentence. “What is wrong with him,” I silently pondered. When he strolled into the room of the school I was touring about a year ago my initial interest was turned toward education. At the time we met, I was playing collegiate soccer, taking honors classes, working about twenty hours a week, and feeling sorry for myself. The boy’s outgoing personality and excitement about life put my situation into perspective. As treatment began, the lights were dimmed and I learned that I was in what is known as a multi-sensory room. Bright colors, strings of light and