Capulets-Personal Narrative

Eventually, Ellen became exasperated by the group and stepped out onto the balcony where she was able to escape the maelstrom of yelling. However, she did enjoy speaking her mind on the topic of the New York upper class and how she wanted to become part of it. Unfortunately, Mr.Beaufort joined her a few moments later, breaking her temporary tranquility. Ostensibly, he appeared calm and had a conversation with Ellen about her home, but his intentions were gradually unveiled. It started with his sudden comment on Ellen’s hair, calling it gorgeous. She thanked him awkwardly and took a step back from him, only allowing Mr.Beaufort to take two steps forward. Soon afterwards, he engaged in a conversation about Mrs.Struthers’ paintings and how beautiful they were, but Ellen knew that he was a dilettante of the topic, for she had known that most art in Europe would triumph over any of the art in this house. Oblivious of his true intents, he seized this opportunity to come closer to Ellen and clasped his hand around hers. He asked her if she still kept in touch with her husband and if she was currently seeing anyone in New York, stumbling upon all his words. The tension in the air was palpable and Ellen only did what she could; she gave him a smile and said that she needed to step inside, leaving him on the outside. Her heart pounding, she dashed off the balcony into the house, thinking of the look on Newland’s face when she informed him that she would be going to the party, which was now elucidated. She sat down at the table with the Duke and Mrs.Struthers and finished her dinner. After having a few more drinks she began to feel a bit drowsy, so she thanked Mrs.Struthers for having her and concluded that besides her strange and revealing encounter with

Joseph Campbell has a theory called The Hero’s Journey in where an individual is shown in a mundane world, called to an adventure, and goes on the adventure. In the adventure, the individual goes on the path of trials that consisting of making new friends, new mentors, new enemies, facing new challenges, gaining new skills, and new knowledge. When the individual comes back to their mundane world, they are the master of two worlds through their new experiences they've gained in the adventure. The Hero’s Journey has been repeated in literature and films through many years: two examples that have The Hero’s Journey are the films, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire and Percy Jackson and the Olympians: The Lightning Thief.

Joseph Campbell is a leading mythology expert and philosopher who studied all myths from around the world and found the “Hero’s Journey,” a pattern or algorithm that appears in common in myth, religious ritual, and storytelling. The Hero’s Journey has three elements, separation, initiation and return. If I think about myself, coming to Hawaii by myself was a separation from my comfortable zone where I was surrounded by my supportive family. First time when I came here, I could not say anything and became quiet because I thought people would think I was a stupid and not understand me. I was afraid of how people think about my language skills. However, I tried to speak from myself, asked people to collect my mistakes, accepted what I cannot do

To play a role given to us, isn’t fun once we learn of it, however, breaking away pushes us further into the journey. The Hero's Journey, a repetitive process that seems to be in the basic natural structure of every human, and despite any efforts are often replicating it ourselves. Following the journey is simple and sometimes unavoidable. The whole journey is mapped out by Christopher Vogler's The Writer's Journey. Then seen in Dracula, Bedazzled, and Noah. Also, in a easier way Howl's Moving Castle and The Game.

The inn keeper's parlor was the best in town, they told her. His wife was wearing a heavy dress, adorned with lace and a massive broach that she raised a plump hand to touch, as if to be certain it was still there. They spoke of the massive rug, bought from Paris, and the finely crafted furniture they all sat upon. The preacher listened quietly, smiling as though their vanity wasn't a sin, while Mrs. Hartford eyed the dress with longing. Della thought that the dress was tasteless. The lace was poorly made, and the line of the bodice wasn't flattering. The fabric was an odd shade between blue and green, and the woman inside it was far less appealing. She didn't bother to mention that her own parlor had been filled with crystal, and priceless art her father had collected around the world. She didn't mention that her toys had cost more than Mrs. Johnson's gowns, or that she was mispronouncing the tea they'd been served. Not to be kind, not to be deceptive, but because did not matter anymore. Nothing mattered anymore. She'd given up that life to marry Ben, given up her family, given up her home and her gowns and her education.

In addition to the black Armani suit, Michael wore the Italian-leather shoes and white silk shirt exceptionally. Because he had loosened his finely striped silver tie after carrying her into the office, it was the only item of his clothing out of place.

"Damn it!" I cursed under my breath for the umpteenth time. Once again, while balancing on a rolling ladder I had so clumsily managed to drop a book on the thankfully plush carpet of the used book store. Unfortunately this time I drop it on a patron. But what the hell, his mop of curly hair must have cushioned the impact, it wasn't a hardcover or anything. However, this costumer was giving me an impenetrable gaze, one that I couldn't brush off with a quick awkward laugh and a hurried apology. "Oh my goodness sir, I am so so sooooo sorry about the book! I wish I could say this wasn't a common occurrence in this shop but I'm afraid it is, I'm terribly clumsy you see. Always tripping over one thing or another" I babbled on failing to register

For two more weeks I remained in the hospital. Three times every day a nurse brought me a tray with a meal and medication. She watched as I swallowed the tablets, but never as I ate the meal. Compared to a normal sized portion of food, what I was given in hospital would be considered small, but my stomach was far too used to rations beyond small. Most days I was able to eat almost half a plate of pasta before my stomach rebelled and decided to throw it all back up again.

I was starting to worry, it is getting dark out.” She told me kissing my forehead. “Now come help me with dinner.’ Taking my hand and dragging me away, but not before I could see the smugness of my brother’s face. I sent him a glare before making it into the kitchen. The rest of the night went on, and rather like other nights when we’ve been together. We sat down, ate, and talked. Nothing particularly special about the rest of that night, excepting George’s visit. Still though, this was one of the few occasions we could actually all come together. At least one that was enjoyable. The next morning was one I was genuinely looking forward to. But when I woke up hearing Mum calling me. So I had gotten dressed, in a skirt this time, in an effort to silence her. I left my room expecting to see my mother making breakfast. But instead seeing two officers of sorts, waiting at the open door. With my mother and father standing in front of

One particularly bright, sunny day, I woke up to the sound of birds chirping and squirrels chattering. It was New Year’s Eve and I was going to have a party with my family and friends. I looked at the list of foods I was going to prepare for the party. This year, we all agreed to have a Mexican-themed food party. I checked off the foods I made and the last necessity was guacamole. I looked up the recipe online and the one that caught my eye was the famous Chipotle Hand Mashed-Erpiece Guacamole. Two ripe Hass avocados, one teaspoon of lime juice, two tablespoons of chopped cilantro, one-fourth cup of finely chopped red onion. One-half of finely jalapeño, and one-fourth teaspoon of kosher salt. Simple, right? That’s what I thought until I made the recipe for a disaster. I took out two avocados, lime juice, cilantro, and a few jalapeños from the refrigerator. Then, I pulled out a red onion and a glass container full of a white substance in them. I also pulled out a medium-sized bowl and wore an apron. I felt ready. I cut both of the avocados in half and removed the

Macy sits back in her chair and imbibes her cup of tea, and tries to forget read as her muse. This time was transient, but she felt as if she was always toiling with the unflattering feeling she had on this moment.

Awaiting the young hero's return the goddess couldn't help but stare off rather absent minded as the thoughts of the previous entangled within her brain. How would he react upon seeing her after all this time? Better yet, how would see? Seeing her beloved after such a long period of time; if made her heart beat nearly from the confines of her chest. A long sigh escaped her lips while the wafting smell of siring fish danced along the airwaves of the small one bedroom apartment, just across from the kitchen sat a table set for two with a rose in the center. It was romantic; she hoped. Dressed in a little black cocktail dress, and up-class converse green wedges. The lack of heels were, if only secretly a backup plan should he return with another

“Take it do as I ask” I insisted to Elie (pg.75). I wanted to give my only son our family’s inheritance, but he was refusing to accept it. I take one long look at Elie, observing of his face. Although I was shaking with fear I put on a brave face for my son. “Time is running out” I said with pain in my voice as I tried to convince him one last time before it’s too late (pg. 75). He finally caved in and took it. Now the most painful part came and we said our final goodbyes. As I walked away, I looked back thinking that would be the last time I ever saw my son; it took everything in me not to break down and cry. Every step I took seemed to be getting heavier and heavier as if my feet knew that the end was near. We all walked in a line with our

She breezed on through ‘Avalon’ and ‘Margie’, unfazed by Cecil as he tried his damnedest to get her to look at him. She would look right through him, a dull glaze settled over her green eyes. Her mother and father had the worst taste when it came to potential suitors — influential men with limited, insipid views. It had taken weeks to convince Cecil to let her sing and have a good night out, and he had the audacity to follow her to make sure her fun was limited.

My nights and weekends so far at Marquette have been pretty relaxed. On nights during the week, I tend to go to the AMU or the library to study and work on homework with friends. Also, on week nights, I have club tennis and try to spend at least an hour working out. If I get all of this done, I usually go back to my dorm to play a little Xbox or go to bed slightly earlier than usual. Weekends are different, in that I focus less on studying. I will hang out with friends at different dorms to watch movies, go bowling, attend any sporting events, play basketball at the rec center, and on Sunday, I finish any homework I have left. For me, this plan has been perfect. It allows me to balance my school work with some fun, keeping me sane.