Becoming A Cheetah Girl And A Singer Like Hilary Duff

Growing up I was known to be a very shy child. I was too scared to talk to anyone and I was very reserved. I always have cared about what people thought about me. I didn’t want to wear “boy” clothes because I worried kids would make fun of me. I didn’t even make close friends until fifth grade. When I did finally feel comfortable at school and found amazing friends, I decided to switch schools shortly after for a chance at new opportunities. It lead me to standing alone in a crowded high school while I waited for that first bell to ring, so I could head to my first period class.

First, my parent’s had to withdraw me from school, along with my sisters, Callie and Alisha. I remember going to school in my regular clothes instead of my usual ugly uniform shirt and skirt. “Why is she allowed to wear normal clothes today?” questioned Bailey, as she pointed at me with her short chubby finger. The room went quiet, and the class stared at me. My teacher, Mrs. Class, told everyone that I was leaving. After I gathered

By maintaining a facade of “normalcy”, I became instantly popular, and I gained influence that I had never thought possible. Girls looked to me for advice on everything from boys to hairstyles, and I reveled in my “superiority”. Thus, when sixth grade arrived, I was a bully; I became the people who had tormented me. I was deliberately vicious, ridiculing anyone who didn’t fit the impossible standard I used to hide my insecurities. I slashed people down and used their broken pieces to repair myself. The girl I had been seemed permanently lost to the monster I had become-until Julia.

It was spring of 2005 a few months before my parents had their debate about whether or not we should move. I was your classic third grader who attended Orange Brook Elementary. Me and my three best friends, Samantha, who was from Trinidad, and had stunning curly hair I always envied. Lesly, who was the keen one in the group. Rebeca, the spontaneous, but short tempered in the group was nicknamed “Chihuahua “for the reason being that she was physically and personality wise similar to a Chihuahua. Then there was me, the individual known for bringing the group together, and being the less attractive out of all my friends. I say this not to bring myself down, but I had the thick eyebrows, my stomach would poke out as if I was pregnant, and I was short. Puberty really worked its wonders, but no worries, I was still a happy child nether less. Even though we were all unlike physically and, by personality we were inseparable. If we weren’t in school together we would always bike to the local mini store called “la vaquita” which means little cow in English.

This was a turning point for me. I started to think that I was unique, and as much as I hate to admit it, I began to relish the attention I got. I now use my curly red hair as the basis of my individuality. This discovery has led to a new sense of confidence, and has affected the way I see myself. I began to speak out in class and in groups instead of retiring shyly into the background. I can now speak with assurance in front of people, enabling me to become more fully involved in school, community and church

My earliest childhood memories are of constant fear. A skinny kid, vampiric skin with crooked teeth, somewhat shy and reserved with social anxiety, I was an easy target for bullies, which made my issues even more difficult to handle. I never spoke to anyone about my feelings because I felt that it was considered a weakness. At the age of four I started playing video games. As I got older, I was almost consider to be a part of me. I saw the joy that my parents got when

When I was younger, my opinions on matters I understood were rejected. They treated my comments like the spoiled milk in the back of a fridge, wondering why it never got drank; why it never got used. As I became a tween, my phases didn’t matter, the pressure of my parents looming divorce didn’t matter, the hands violating my soft, warm skin didn’t matter. I was only 9 when the first one happened. The second, 14. You never think these things are going happen, then they do. As a kid, my only concern was if my twin brother was having as much fun as I was. Now, I worry about walking to my car in the dark, by myself, after I get out of my after school activities. Times up on being treated as something beneath

“My childhood was happy and pleasantly uneventful. I was the youngest child by 11 years and grew up in a middle class family with loving parents and sisters. I was a good student, a strong athlete and a happy and well­-adjusted child. Somewhere in the middle of Grade 6, however, my safe and simple childhood world began to unravel – and I didn't know how to react.

It wasn’t until around third grade that I realized she was different. My best friend, Emily, whom I had known since I was five years old, had Turner Syndrome. We had multiple interests in common: we loved High School Musical, Wii games, and Harry Potter. Since I had known her for so long, I was accustomed to her unique personality and habits. However, our elementary school playground was often the most accessible for peers to spew judgemental remarks. Classmates loved to evoke any emotion out of Emily, from pure frustration to fear. She was an easy target, and I knew that it was my job to protect her at all costs. Being so young, I was unable to understand why others chose to tease her; she seemed to be remarkably similar to me. Even so, I

Imagine a cliché light bulb moment. It was 11:45; lunch time. The day was Friday, which means pizza sticks, which in turn translated to a happy Haley. I was siting at one of the sticky, grimy, dirty lunch tables with my friends and I looked around and thought about how two years ago I was coming up with lists for reasons I would never go to Heritage. But I looked at all of us laughing uncontrollably hard at the fact that I had spilled ranch down my shirt- and fell in love. We are all laughing the kind of laughs where your whole body shakes and your eyes fill with water because you can’t control your laughs. That’s the moment where I realized that I fell in love with my friends and my school. I fell in love with the Haley I was when I was with my friends, and the Haley I was at school. As I was sitting there with the dressing dripping down my shirt, I realized that I was one of them whether I was ready or

When I was 5 my family and I moved to California. We moved to a small city named Hemet. I started school here since kindergarten I went to an elementary school called Hemet Elementary. The school was a nice looking school kind of old but big. Overtime, the school had a problem with a water leak and was flooding. Due to that problem they closed the school down and transferred every kid that went to that school to another school. Everyone got split up to different schools because there were too many kids to put just at one school. I ended up getting to go to Whittier Elementary for fifth grade. As I got older I went through puberty at an early age so in a way I matured up faster. I started to notice that I liked different things as I got into middle school. I wasn’t into childish

Some kids try to attract the attention of everyone, but unlike most kids, I loathed unnecessary attention. I dressed normal, I looked normal, and I was not a sob story, but for some reason, I still attracted the eyes of many. My loving mother cooed that my beauty caused the unsolicited gazes, but I knew it had to be more. As I grew up, I began to discern patterns in my ability to solicit attention. Eye's glazed over as I attempted to discuss topics beyond general knowledge. Eyes popped when I sketched unique, fashion clothing. Eyebrows scrunched in confusion when I expressed my love for the song "My Girl" by The Temptations. Finally, I concluded, that I had a case of the weirdness.

It was the eighth grade and middle school was an insufferable pit full of annoying people always looking to drag the other down. There was a large group, the preps; they tormented me picking on everything they could. I’d become convinced by my so called friends that the only way to distance myself from these girls was to be different, but only in the way that they told me to. We all wore skinny jeans, hair in our faces, t-shirts from hot topic, and listened to loud, angry music all in a sad attempt to be different, but that was never really me and my friends hated me for that. No matter how hard I tried, it was never enough to please the little rulers of our dark group. I only had one real friend; her name was raven and she never cared how

It began seven years ago with a simple announcement. “Any takers? This is your last opportunity.” I had promised my mother I would audition; the ultimatum seemed to be flung towards me, and settled in my lap as I squirmed, ridden with blistering guilt. In that moment, I salvaged a trace of reckless abandon and impulsively jumped onstage, prompting an onset of skittish whispers and dry coughs. My knees clacked together in jerky rhythm, as the squints of fifth graders on edge collectively fixed on my chattering teeth. The slightly muted titters weren’t unwarranted. It seemed no one could figure me out at that point; I was the unhinged class clown. At times I could be chaotic and rowdy, taking sophomoric (usually school food related) dares for fifty cents and yodeling during gym class. Later on, I would shut out my peers, and they would be left to stew, wondering if they’d done something wrong, when the case was I was simply engrossed in my own thoughts. As much as I’ve tried, I can’t shake this tendency to occasionally shut people

11 days past before I got the worst news of my life. Megan was in a car accident that ended her life. She was only 15 years old. She died on March 20, 2016. The next day was the first day of school I missed all year. I didn’t cry, I just wished someone was wrong. I was in denial. That was the day I felt the most alone. The next few days I sat at lunch alone. Went to my classes without her, and even tried smiling to hide the pain. I felt broken without any support. I only wanted to get the feeling of sadness out of my system. So I studied and I wrote essays and did so much work, I ended up with my first 4.0 that quarter. I knew It would have made Megan proud. At her funeral, I spoke about how smart she was, and how funny she made me laugh every single day, even if she was having the worst day of her life. My life got a kick in the behind after I lost my best friend. It made me realize that I am human and the world is cruel. I understood that life is short and I need to be the best I can be at all times because what if tomorrow is our last day here. My life has a different outlook, not for me, but for what Megan's could have looked like. Everyday I remember why I want to become a