Middle School-Personal Narrative

In the school year of 2015-2016, I am a high school student now. I should be excited for this upcoming school. However, I felt nervous about this school year. I lay in my bed until my mom called me many times. After eating my wonderful breakfast, my mom and younger sister asked to get ready for school. I didn’t want to change my pajama. My dad called me from the downstair, “Iris, hurry up. It is time to school now.” I was unhappy to get out of my room. Even though I have been in the Memorial High School many times before this school year, I was afraid of being in my first day of school.

Starting middle school was a mixture of anxiety and excitement. There was a brand new campus to explore, but we were also nervously anticipating the academic program that was about to begin. Most of my grade had been together since the age of four and by this time there were clear social divides. There were the girls who were seen as popular, and then there was everybody else. You could say that I was part of the popular crowd, though at the time I didn’t notice myself standing apart from the others. As a group of friends we got on well, we’d hang out, go to the cinema, have sleepovers, all the usual things friends do. Then things gradually started to change.

From my experience, surviving middle school takes a mixture of luck, naive fearlessness, and an aggressive number of colorful plastic binders. I started my first day of fifth grade a jumbled mess of nerves, anxious about making friends and doing well in class, and inexplicably dressed head-to-toe in red, white, and blue swag my mom got when the Summer Olympics were in Atlanta. I mean, my backpack matched my shoelaces, which matched my pants and my shirt. I might have even had a hat. A hat. A precisely matching hat. That I wore all day. Needless to say, I was not a particularly cool child. I studied hard, had a core group of equally nerdy friends, and constantly worried about whether I was doing the right thing or, perhaps more accurately, becoming the right thing. Was I not studying hard enough to get into college? Or maybe studying too hard, missing out on my youth? Would I grow into my teeth one day? Would my skin eventually stop looking like greasy peanut brittle?

I went to three different middle schools. The first middle school I went to was Baldwin Arts and Academics Magnet. This was probably the best middle school out of the three. I had the most and best friends. They were all different, and they loved and understood me. The two things I hated about Baldwin were the stairs and the miles our P.E. Coach would make us run. The teachers were sweet for the most part, and even though I didn't do well because I wasn't accustomed to magnet school, they helped me as much as they could. The transition from public school to magnet school proved too tough for me, so I had to go to another school.

When I hear the word “survival”, I think of someone who has made it through the impossible or conquered a near death experience; but that isn't all that it means. According to the the Merriam Webster dictionary, “A survivor is a person who copes well with difficulties in their life.” Moving from elementary school to middle school taught me many new characteristics such as how to be more independent, responsible, and more open to changes.

Middle school was just the beginning for me. When I came into the middle school, I thought I wasn’t going to survive but later on I realized it wasn’t terrible at all. I've made some great memories and the best one’s were here. Fifth grade was the start for me, sixth and seventh grade shaped my personality, and eighth grade made me come into contact with myself.

School was exactly how I had imagined it to be while I was in grade school. I had the privilege of having recess, early lunch hours, and most importantly, naptime! The day I started sixth grade, my whole world seem as if it flipped upside down. I was no longer at the top of the “food chain”, school was way more stressful, and I had, in fact, found new talents within myself.

There is a picture on my fridge of my two best friends and me on the last day of Kindergarten, rosy red cheeks, smiles that could light up the night on our faces, the innocence of being five years old beaming from our bright eyes. An image that might outlast our friendship, but will forever be in my mind. All through Elementary school these two remained my best friends. Our little circle of friendship slowly grew as more people started to enter our lives for different reasons and we developed small friendships that threatened to pierce the bubble of our little trio. Nevertheless, our friendship didn’t falter. I believed this was the way friendship would always be: a tight-knit group who would alway be by each other's’ sides, through thick and thin. And then came middle school.

After three long activity filled years, eighth grade is finally drawing to a close. My middle school years are soon to be over and high school is just around the corner. It will be an exciting time and full of new adventures. When I look back at my middle school years one of the most memorable things has been the F.A.P trips. The Field Activity Program has enabled me to participate in many opportunities I would have not had otherwise. In sixth grade we went to swim with the manatees. It was an amazing trip since we were permitted to get into the water and touch them if they approached us. This was an amazing experience because manatees are a protected species, and this is something you can not go out and do

Where do I even begin I went through four years in the Middle School and now I am off to the High School for another four years. At first when u think about it and it is scary to think about going to High School but then at the same time it”s not even that bad. You're not that little kid anymore that’s in Middle School you are going to go to High School. You will always have those memories about your time her at the Middle School but now that we have hit a certain age it’s time to face reality and expect things from the high that we don’t get here at the Middle School. Now it’s time to talk about what’s most scary and most difficult at the High School.

The first name was called and it turned out to be 1 of my friends.

Elementary school is hard. Mrs. Valerie, my first grade teacher, gave us a math worksheet, and it was easy up until I got to the back side. There were four long word problems! What does she think this is: middle school? Only I said it in my head. If she heard that, I would have gone straight to the principal’s office. I started the first one. I read all the words swiftly until I got to a word that I had never seen before in my life. It was only four letters: A-L-S-O. It looked like a whole different language. “When you come across a word you do not know, sound it out,” my mom would always say to me. I started to sound it out. “A-L-O-S,” but it was wrong. “A-L-Y-S-A-W,” I tried again, but it was still wrong. I did this over and over again thinking I was never going to get it. At the corner of my eye, I saw Mrs. Valerie walking around. Oh no, she is going to think I cannot pronounce simple English words. I pretended like I was hard at work on another problem until she walked past me. Now I just had to figure out what the word meant before she came around again. I tried everything that I could possibly think of. I tried to sound out each letter, and I

Growing up, there are always those few girls in elementary, middle, and high school that are just cruel. They roam the halls picking on other people, making them feel bad because they have nothing better to do with their life. Middle school was when I first experienced the harsh and painful words of those mean girls. While in middle school their words didn’t affect me much, it may have made me think about my appearance every once in a while; but their words didn’t affect me as much as it affected my friend, my suicidal friend.

Enter from the left, an undersized, awkwardly slow, roly poly. This is the visual I would use to best describe middle school me. At this peculiar point in my life I was really getting into paintball. One weekend over spring break, me and my friend Wesley go to the paint park. If there was ever a day to go to the paintball park, it was that weekend. The paint park was running a special and the place had more people than the ocean had anchovies. I mean it was like the scene from World War Z where the zombies are making giant mounds of zombie in order to scale the wall surrounding Jerusalem. The official count was thirty seven. It actually was a really bad paint park, I am pretty sure they didn’t even have a bathroom. I only went to it because

It was a crisp fall day in Colorado at my middle school, Lincoln Elementary. The leaves were beginning to change and fall from the trees as it was finally September. I felt them crush under my feet while I traveled up and down the pavement. The school’s recent addition of a new basketball court was a dream come true. I could smell the perfectly marked lines that were freshly painted on the court. My best friend Ryan and I often practiced shooting hoops at recess as we were both starters on our school’s basketball team. On this particular day, we were preparing for our first home game which was the next day. We had such an intense game of one on one that I completely lost track of time and did not hear our teacher blow her whistle to call our class inside.