Life : My Story Of My Life Of Life

I was raised by a single mother, so there were some difficulties that other children from normal family that couldn’t understand. Since my parents divorced when I was three years old. My mother sent me to my grandparents place and let them took care of me at my early-age. It might be weird to say that the possibilities for me to see my own mother was pretty low, but that was the situation I had during my childhood. I needed to face the challenge when my classmates asked where were my parents and why they never showed up in the parents’ meeting. There was always questions around me and those struggles even used to blow me down into a shady person. That is the time my stepfather came into my life. I inherited a lot positive characteristics from my extended family. I take pride in my passion to learn in and how to be a resilient person.

I rake my hands over the white sheets as I flatten out the wrinkles of my childhood bed. The faded red comforter is still placed neatly at the end of the bed and the numerous pillows continue to be clean and fluffed. As it stands in my memory, almost everything in this room is exactly the same as how I had left it. My dresser still stands in the corner and the knob my brother and his friends had taken a baseball bat to is still missing. Even now, my late night coffee stains cling to the white rug and The Story of Ferdinand rest on its designated area of my nightstand. The only things missing are her paintings. They had all been taken down and sold for any amount that could make off of them. Now bare walls glare back at me. Of course this decision was made while I was away at college. My Uncle, Samuel, had decided that Mom’s prized possessions were worth more in paper than on canvas.

A lot of people wish that they can have someone to guide them through the journey of life. The ups and downs and the trials and tribulations. All this time I didn’t know that I had someone that was in my corner that I would consider to be a mentor. I didn’t see him as my mentor until two years ago. My mentor is my older cousin Isaiah, he is a mechanical engineer at General Electric. He has brown hair, brown eyes, and he’s athletic. Isaiah is caring, understanding, and very intelligent. Me on the otherhand, I am determined, honest, and very stylish. I have brown hair, brown eyes, and I’m short. He is twenty four years old and he is a graduate from Miami University of Ohio. Growing up there was a big age difference between us, but as we got

My story began like most in America. I was born to very Christian loving parents who were hardworking, family oriented people. My father was a military man, my mother worked odd jobs and was a homemaker. My young life started with turmoil due to my early childhood diagnosis of Dyslexia. I was hyperactive and was required to take medication and attend special education classes. My attitude towards learning was compromised because it was a constant struggle. My parents did all they could to help me along. We were a military family and I spent years overseas while my father served in the United States Army.

When a child is born, its family raises it in hope for him to become successful. Inevitably time remains slow, yet it is constant. Thanks be to God that we wake up every morning knowing that we can rely on its consistency to creep on us as children grow older. A mother’s dream, with three children, is for the last child to live happily and a father’s is for his children to be cautious of the threats the world has within. But as a result of the values and characteristic that the child has developed, he chose his own path in life. He chose to become a pilot. When he reached high school, he learned that the best way to earn your career is to obtain a degree that certifies you in your profession. That is when he decided to attend Embry-Riddle Aeronautical University. There he wants to major in Aeronautical Science and someday earn his way to his own 747.

Almost nineteen years ago, I began the journey of life. Because I had a tumultuous beginning, I started learning lessons immediately. I was a premature baby and I had to fight to survive. My parents were unsure if I would make it. They wondered what kinds of problems I might have. After a time in the neonatal intensive care, I came home to a very supportive family. Because my parents were so grateful to have a child and they had their own difficult journey getting me here, they cherished every moment with me; thus, begins my life lessons.

I remember waking up on a Saturday morning and I would find Sylvia the housekeeper working on the supper following that smell, I say good morning while I squeeze her from behind. And take my place at the table, but previous to I have awakened my sister she will come to the table and do the same thing that I did. I would get ready in packing my books, Sherlyn my sister, two years younger would be pestering me about how she is better than me at everything but despite this problem, together with Sylvia we will leave the house and she will take us to the catechism. I recall how she used to get very angry at me She would get mad and hit me on the shoulder I will respond and bump into her before telling me I am stupid, but not after I say that a stupid person is the stupid one for saying that a person is stupid, of course, it doesn't make sense at all even so Sylvia will demand for us to stop the fight before, sisters should love each other not fight that fighting is just ugly. I walk behind her and Sylvia she would walk right behind me, that road every Saturday afternoon, I could smell gasoline from my father business that was not far from where I was and overhear the sound of a motorcycle rumbling in the street unrestrained, I looked at the sky, blue with such a pure color of white clouds, I close my eyes for a moment to enjoy the moment.

My life has not always been easy, but without it I would not be who I am today. I spent my early childhood in Apache Junction Arizona which is just twenty miles outside the city of Mesa. I lived with both parents, three sisters, and one brother. My parents fought a lot about my mother’s drinking and how it caused so much trouble for us all. My mother fought the most with my dad’s daughter Sarah. They both agreed to move to Illinois where they had family. My father had family in Chicago while my mother had family in Carmi. They agreed to let Sarah live with her friend’s family and stay in Arizona

Life is a journey and by choosing my path, I create my destination. My journey started on the day I was born, July 16th, 1999, but it was not until March 20th, 2016 that my destination was drawn with passion. On that day, I came to America with tears dropped on my mom's face, with great pressure on my shoulder, with a strong determination to live well, to live happily. On that day, I promised myself that I will succeed to prove that if someone considers my studying abroad as wasting money and time, they were wrong. On that day, I knew that I would be the one who makes my mother proud of me and ensures a happy life for her. Without a strong financial support, studying abroad was too hard to complete, for most of the people, but not for my mother and me. We believed in ourselves, in each other and in the goal that we have set, hoping one day I would come back to my country with great knowledge and skills that I have learned in America. Our hope was a red light of fire that led us to the destination we set, our hope was a plan that gave us the motivation to wake up in the morning and tried our best to fulfill, our hope was so strong that it magically provided me the power to truly believe that I could do it no matter how other people thought. The day I hold the flight ticket in my hand, I could not believe that my life would have a whole new chapter, in the country that Vietnamese people called it "America Dream", where a 16-year-old girl would begin her study. It was such a

For years, I convinced myself that the story of my life began when I arrived in America at eleven months old. I tumbled through the clichéd white-picket-fence childhood, never realizing how impossible it was to completely discard the first year of my infancy. While I had always known about being adopted from China, I did not fully comprehend the weight of this detail until my late teenage years.

My origin begins with my father, who is 61 years old and my mother, who is 59 years old. In addition, my eldest sister, Candice, who is 34 years old, I am 33 years old, my eldest brother, David Jr, who is 31 years old, my youngest sister, Chakira, who is 24 old, and my youngest brother, D 'Angelo, who is 22 years old. My life started in a small village named Chinapoo Village Morvant on the island of Trinidad. We lived in my maternal grandparents’ home with my uncle and us living upstairs and my other uncle, his girlfriend and their children living downstairs. My father never wanted to live in his in-laws’ home, but when they married in 1981, my grandmother was alive and my mother did not want to leave her; she passed away when Candice was 3 months old. In 1991, my home life changed when my paternal aunt died and left her five children without guidance, so my mother coaxed my father into moving to San Juan to raise her three youngest. In 1995, we moved to the United States of America and settled in Bolingbrook, Illinois to be around my maternal aunt who was just diagnosed with breast cancer. We also lived with her and her two youngest children for six months. My cousins’ fathers refused to allow my parents to adopt any of them, so we left them in Trinidad.

Almost everyone has a unique or interesting experience in their lifetime. But I would say mine tops the list. Here’s my story. When I was in my Freshman year in High School, it was quickly approaching Christmas break, and I was feeling excited to be out of school after the difficult semester I had been through. Every year my family and I would travel somewhere for Christmas break. We’d usually go skiing in Red River, New Mexico or would go visit some family members in Chicago. This year we decided to go somewhere different. After we had spent time debating where to go, my mom suggested that we go to Alaska. We all agreed and planned the trip.

It was a perfect day. I woke up. I was young, I didn’t care about life. I had one thing I cared about, and it was Soccer. My summer that year had been dreadful to someone else's standards, but to me it was perfect. I would go out every day around Five Pm and go to a local Soccer field, and just forget how much my life sucks. This certain day, however, was distinct.

I have not posted any article in about 6 months, despite having several articles ready for a final edit, only leaving a click of the publish button..

It was in the years of my adulthood, about twelve years from my joining of the Child’s Union, and it was on my vacation; my vacation, that was, from Kim Chaek University of Technology. The windowless transport bus halted and recoiled, alerting me that my destination has been reached, and that I could depart to the residence of my humble relatives in the village of Sinuiju, which was a municipal city on the very edge of North Korea and China. I stepped from the ancient vehicle and began the walk towards the village’s center. There, I passed copious houses of plastered white structure and similar brown shingled roofs. Plantations were cultivated in modest amounts despite the frigid weather, and people looked as if they had fed on the crops. Up an inclination of crude concrete, positioned somewhat like gravel-built stairs, I greeted joyful faces of my aunt and uncle.