Example Of Personal Narrative Individualism

It is true in life that everything happens for a reason. It is also true to say that sometimes it is all about being in the right place, at the right time. There was never a more prominent example of this than a traumatic summers evening, only a few years ago.

My schooling began in Cali, Colombia. At the age of two, my mother matriculated me at local nursery because she worked in the daytime. When I was four, my mother enrolled me in a non-religious private pre-school. The school was known for having a strong program in math and literacy. In my country, education is mandatory until middle school. My homeland uses an alphabet and similar to English it goes from left to right. In pre-school, I remember singing the national anthem every morning. I would stand up alongside of many other students and with our hand across our chest we would sing the entire national anthem. I also remember doing a lot of hands-on activities like counting the elements of each set and making a line to the corresponding number

I never thought that I would be saving someone life from drowning. That was until my friends and I did help someone. Which was something that happened very fast.

My moms raised me with a strong set of morals, including “hard work pays off.” Sometimes this can be discouraging when you work hard, but it doesn’t pay off as you’d like it to. I’ve always gotten the grades I strive for without much struggle. However, once high school started, everything changed. I’d work for weeks on a scholarship essay, and I wouldn’t even place. I’d work for months to get something published and then read other people’s names in the congratulations announcement. I’d constantly wonder: Who’s at the top of the class? Who’s going to win the end of year awards? When you consistently get the grades that I do, people just expect those grades. No one congratulates you on your hard work anymore, and you don’t always get recognized. Despite the lack of recognition, I still take pride in my grades, and continue to work hard. Getting great grades is something I know I can do, even when it’s difficult to do. The difficulty makes it even more satisfying when I see the hard work pay off, and I get the grade I wanted. I’ve encountered

Growing up, I’d always been expected to do well in school. Which isn’t out of the ordinary, every parent wants their child to be successful and have a beneficial career. So, since good grades were what my parents expected that’s what I got. All throughout elementary, I strived to do my absolute best in every subject. At my sixth grade graduation I was awarded the Presidential Award for Academic Achievement, in my junior high years I did well as well. My eighth-grade year I achieved my goal of obtaining a 4.0 G.p.a. The first year of high school was nerve-racking but I still managed to keep my grades up. However, Sophomore year was definitely a bump in the road for me. In all my ten years of being in school (including head start and kindergarten)

Even though my father never went to college, I have always wanted to go. I knew I wanted to be better and do more than my deadbeat dad did. My father always told me “you are a smart girl”, and to him anything below a C grade wise was utterly unacceptable, well for everyone besides my brother who could never manage more than a D. The amount of punishment he had to endure for that I didn’t want to imagine how much it hurt. I remember the pit in my stomach every time report cards were sent out even though I knew I did well, but the better grades I got the easier it became to keep them up. I thank my father for his strict parenting when it came to education because I know now if I didn’t have rules like that I don’t think I would be where I am now, and better off than him.

I have encountered many of my peers taking drugs, listened to songs about drugs and even seen drugs romanticized on social media. Like most teenagers, I lived in a world surrounded by drugs, but I had never had an experience with them. I came from a “picture-perfect” family and prior to my freshman year of high school, I was somewhat narcissistic, believing that I was too good to even be associated with drugs.

On 18Oct16 at 1111 hrs. I, Deputy Halbasch, was dispatched to 19609 Hwy 226 for a disturbance.

Early morning towards the end of June last year, it was family rodeo back home where my mom grew up at. We had always gone back to that town and that rodeo since i was a yee young lad, around 5 or 6. We used to go see my grandma, but she died when i was 10. Anyways, it was my mother, my brothers, sister and her family, me and my girlfriend. Well, the car we were suppose to drive 5 hours north with was very cramped for all of us, so i asked my girlfriend if we could borrow her new car she just bought the day before. She “talked” to her mom and her mom said “yes,” so her and I drove in that car while my brother and mom and their friend drove the other.

My job at injury was working as an assembler for Volt Information Services, Inc. This job was in the heavy duty range. I had no history of injuries to my right foot prior to my injury. On a typical day I walked and stood for the whole eight hour shift, and was required to lift “nodes” which weighed 18-100 pounds each, about 30 times a day.

To me, I was just a helpless little 7-year-old that they had ripped me away from his friends, family, home and life in Costa Rica, a relatively unrecognizable, spanish-speaking country in Central America, and moved to this rural, musty little town in the middle of nowhere, Texas in who cares, USA. We had had this same overly-emotional conversation 2 dozen times before-or that’s what it seemed like at least-but it was this 25th time that convinced me that if I didn’t choose to adapt to my new environment by becoming more outgoing and extroverted then I would end up becoming some outlandish, depression isolationist who was not useful to any aspect of society, and that thought, to this day, is the most terrifying thing I have ever

People often think of language as a connector, something that brings people together by helping them share experiences, feelings, ideas, etc. We, however, are interested in how language sets people apart. Start with the peculiarities of your own personal language—the voice you use when speaking most intimately to yourself, the vocabulary that spills out when you're startled, or special phrases and gestures that no one else seems to use or even understand—and tell us how your language makes you unique. You may want to think about subtle riffs or idiosyncrasies based on cadence, rhythm, rhyme, or (mis)pronunciation.

Too many Americans believe in the myth of rugged individualism and the self made man because they are uneducated on just how dependant our country’s founders actually were. Without the assistance of indentured servants, slaves, and the trade goods of other countries, I believe America as we know it would not exist. Being honest, I never actually considered just how un-independent Americans really are. As a child, I was told many times that achieving success consists of one’s own ability. My father in his earlier years proclaimed how he would be a millionaire, and boasted how he would do it on his own. Later he realized that God intended and will always intend for people to help one another. My father is a completely different man today and uses his past as a testimony that there is no such thing as self made. It is unnatural for people to be loners and self dependant without the assistance of others. At no time in history has a person ever been so omnipotent that they could carry on without the assistance of other humans. In fact, without

The day was Thursday, June 6, 2013. I remember it like it was yesterday. A humid night at Fort Riley, Kansas. My husband, Robert, had been deployed to Afghanistan for the past seven months. I was anxiously awaiting his return. We had previously been through the experience of a deployment when he deployed to Iraq three years earlier, however, experience can't prepare you for this moment. My three children and I had been waiting for hours. It was ten o'clock in the evening but we were awake as though we had drunk a case of Red Bulls. We were standing in a huge, empty building with all of the other families waiting for their Soldier to arrive. My stomach felt as though it was in a million knots. I couldn't believe after all of this time he would finally be back!

I always read about people going through things like this in books and movies but I never thought that I would be a victim in the twisted novel called my life. In 2013 I went on a field trip with some of my 6th grade classmates and teachers.We were on our way to West Virginia. I was kind of scared but at the same time I was happy because I was taking a break from doing school work.