How To Write A Personal Narrative Essay

I have been personally convicted this year about one specific thing. For several years, I have felt like an outcast, a background noise, a misfit. I have allowed these feelings to control how I treat the people around me. I have placed multiple labels on this certain group of people, claiming they were full of themselves, snobby, and prideful. Recently, this has changed. I have learned not to judge said people so quickly, but instead I have attempted to learn their story, to interact with them more, and to accept that I will not have a close bond with everyone.

When in the course of college academics it becomes necessary to type personal narratives, without so much as a hint of a topic, it can drive a student to some rather interesting conclusions. Some of these conclusions may be as simple as “Hmm, what should I write about?” Or perhaps more complicated and “Great, it’s 2:00 A.M. the day the paper is due and I have nothing typed.” No matter the situation the creative thinking process can be greatly limited, thus I present to you the narrative of me typing my personal narrative essay.

Walking into the auditorium for my first audition in high school, my mind raced with fears and anxieties. I auditioned with a group of friends for the production of In the Heights. Immediately, I realized the high school’s drama program differed greatly from the middle school’s. The directors expected the students to prepare their song ahead of the time. My group had little to no preparation; It was the definition of “winging it.” When returning home, I began brainstorming other after school activities I could join because of the poor performance my group and I put on. Shockingly, I made the show and every show since. That moment changed my life for the better. Freshman year I was a shy, insecure student afraid of socializing with the others. Today, in my senior year, I am no longer that person. I am a confident young

I believe that when people come together, it’s a beautiful thing. And when someone who can’t do something tries to do it and everyone else helps, that is a great moment.

I am writing a personal narrative essay. In this essay I will talk about how my family has been such a motivator for me to want to go to college. My family and I have went through some hardships so I’m going to college to help them out. I’ll also discuss my roles in my important spaces like me being a captain on the basketball team, being a peer mentor for my high school, and many other roles I play. I will touch on the topic of how my hometown has had such an impact on me.

I can feel the tension in my muscles as the crowd readies itself for the main event.I prepared myself for the final match through boxing,dodging swings,running laps, inhaling when I hold back a punch and exhaling when I release the force of my punch.Without a doubt Gabriel has trained just as hard as I have and I still cannot beat him,until now.I felt more confident than ever as I walked out into the waiting eyes of the audience.I have climbed over many obstacles to get to the grand finale and I plan on seeing this fight to the end.

Everyone holds a unique and distinctive story that describes an individual. My story started on December 20, 1995, the day I was born. I am known as Javier Alexander Bonilla Jr, named after my father. At first glance at me there is not much to think of, merely a young lad trying to obtain an Associate of Arts Degree in Accouning. However, I am an optimistic and open minded individual who thrives for success. Currently I work for the City of Hialeah as an Assistant to the Operator Concession. Though I love my job due to the fact everyone is so nice and allows me to study while being on duty, but I am always in a search for a better position within the City. Due to all the working and studying, my spare time is devoted to hanging out with friends or playing basketball.

Ever since I was young, I loved to read and the places that books and my imagination could carry me. I also adored traveling to new places and exploring both the historical and natural sites my family would take my brother and I to. But I dreamed of traveling around the world, to new places, cultures and people, as my parents often told us of when they had spent a year in England and lived on a canal boat. I strived for any chance to go abroad so when my grandparents decided to take a trip back to Lithuania, I asked to go along. Unfortunately, my grandfather had a heart attack and the trip was cancelled while he recovered. Later, one of my closest cousins took a post-graduate trip abroad through the Rotary Youth Exchange Program, deferring her

Where I want to start telling is the day I broke the family. It was christmas, the happiest time of the year for a teenager, receiving presents -or money- from anyone and everyone. We were at dinner when all D.B could talk about was his crumby book, it’s nice and all but just because he has money doesn’t mean he has to talk about ALL the goddamn time. Tonight I wanted to go to the hamburger joint for dinner tonight but of course D.B wanted to go to this fancy new restaurant so that’s where we ended up going. D.B always gets what he wants, ever since he was a child, he was the kind of kid that every parent and teacher loved, he was so intelligent and courteous and compassionate UGH! What a brown noser. I could not stand to listen to one more minute of my brother D.B’s goddamn successes and accomplishments, blah blah blah, so he wrote a book, a book about a stupid kid and his goldfish, for that he makes money? Any dummy could do that. Half

I was in 8th grade, but I walked out that high school gym with my shoulders back and head high like I was the big man on campus. My confidence went through the roof. In one day I had gone from extreme anger with my parents. Then I experienced terror as my parents drove me to the high school. Surprisingly this turned around to confidence and pure excitement for the years to come.

From a very young age, I learned that one word held much more weight in my family than others: “money.” My family’s priorities revolved around bills and expenses, and the money that we were seemingly always lacking to pay them. My mother, who was diagnosed with severe obsessive compulsive disorder before my birth, was unable to work, leaving my father to support our family with his insufficient truck-driving wage. The stress caused by these financial issues, in addition to my mother’s mental condition and my father’s alcoholism, led to constant fighting in our household that ultimately caused my parents to separate the year before I began kindergarten. My brother and I stayed with my mother despite her condition.

I vaguely remember the time I was a baby, my family says I was so small due to being premature and many more stories. At that time my abuelita, Maria, was still alive. She had pancreas cancer and her health wasn’t improving. Unlike my siblings, I don’t have any memories due to the fact I was only an infant when she was alive. Though according to my family, I use to try to put pills in her mouth. My only knowledge of her is from my mother, she says she was a hard worker, neat, and family always came first.

“It’s right over there in the basket,” he quickly answered. As I walked over to pick up the volleyball I had an ever better idea. My homemade grenade was already circular and about the size of a volleyball, so I just painted it the same color and design as a volleyball. My master plan was set.

I grew up in a christian house hold all my life, I went to church twice a week and that's not counting bible studies. I go baptized when I was six and then we moved to florida, And then we started having family problems. I don't think I took my relationship with God seriously until a couple years ago.

It is 6 am on a hot day in July and I’ve already showered and eaten breakfast. I know that my classmates are all sleeping in and enjoying their summer break, but I don’t envy them; I’m excited to start my day interning with a local newspaper doing investigative journalism. I work a typical 8-5 day during my summer vacation and despite the early mornings, nothing has made me happier.Although it wasn't clear to me then, looking back on my high school experiences and everything that led to me to this internship, I believe this path began with a particularly savvy teacher and a little book she gave me to read outside of class.