My Experience In Life : A Year Of My Life

For the majority of my life, I had been shy, even though it didn’t seem like it most of the time, I was scared to death when I met new people. I know that it sounds extremely trivial, but I feel that when you first meet someone, you’re ultimately giving them their first impression of yourself and that is a lot of pressure. It seemed almost certain that I would lead a life of being a social wallflower until March 2017, more specifically, March 28th, 2017. This day was and still is important to me because I learned how to be confident, and through my experience, it taught me something that I will hold onto forever. Prior to this day, I was an extremely introverted person and rarely went out of my way to make friends. As a volunteer at day

Unlike most people, I did not get to be a carefree child for long. Even though I always said that I could not wait to grow up, now I wish that it all did not happen so fast and early in my life. From eleven to twelve years old—that would be the period I describe as the time I had to put my big-girl pants on and face the real, cruel and unwelcoming adult world. In that time period, I can specifically pinpoint two major events that ended my childhood: my move from Russia to the United States and the birth of my baby sister Toma. To some those might not seem significant enough to change someone’s life to the extent that they changed mine; however those events molded me into the person I am today.

After a long ride, we saw our new home for the first time. It wasn’t luxurious, but to a couple of young children like us it was cool to live on the beach. The changes that lied ahead of us were great. There are many ways in which this new start changed my life. First, no longer did we live in fear. This enabled me to move on. I enrolled in eight grade that year. I felt like had a fresh start. No one knew my business. I could make myself whatever I wanted. My whole personality changed. That year I started at quarterback for junior high and from there everything started to look up. If I was to go into details of all the success I had it would be bragging, so I am just going to say I went from a casualty of a broken home to a respected and important part of High Island High School. In the five years I was there, I had more fun and a more productive life than all the other years put together.

My mother became depressed, my father became disabled, and my brother was skipping school. I continued going to school from eight until four, which was a big relief in my life because it made me forget the hard times. My grades slowly began to decline, as well as my motivation. I gave up many opportunities such as attending New York’s number one specialized high school. I recognized my mistakes and was able to identify my failure. School was not the only place where I lacked interest in because I also slowly started to push my friends away. As a young teenager, I did not think I would ever make it to college. I became frustrated at my parents because my life was ruined and it was all their fault.

It was the year 2008, I had just graduated from St. Michael’s School located in Los Angeles, CA. This year was quite exhilarating for me also scary because I was going to attend an all-girls high school. Los Angeles was my birth place also a place where I called home. One day, I came home to hearing my parents talking about moving to Mississippi. I remained devastated, not only we were moving to the south, I’m moving away from childhood friends. I was worried I wouldn’t see them again and I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to make new friends in Mississippi.

When my mom would send me off to school, nobody ever liked the new guy. I felt so scared, and awkward.I was bullied because of the color of my skin. I tended to be a little darker not only because of my roots but because long hard hours working with my dad after school. Resulted of me having sun burns. I was called every name in the book,and it was tough for me. Having to go to school and get treated like an old rag was already enough to what I would come home everyday with. I’d just get home and right away start working with my dad just to start giving us some income. I had to get used to this type of work everyday for the rest of my life. I wasn't so sure even if I even wanted to keep going to school. I mean I was already not caring for school and working with my dad after school. I wanted to drop out. To leave everything behind. I didn't need to keep going. I was a nobody. Nobody wanted me. My classmates told me so many times. I started to believe

When we were traveling to America we faced many difficulties, but once we made it to our Aunt's house in Virginia we knew it was going to be a great, yet grueling experience. When I first started going to school it seemed as if I was on another planet. Everyone looked different, spoke a strange language, and had a distinct mindset then me; the life of a kid should seem easy because there isn’t anything to worry about, yet worrying about everything was my coping mechanism. When I entered middle school depression and anger hit me like a freight train, so much to the point where I almost committed suicide. Fighting my so called friends for “fun” and not caring about my future was my life for those

In 2007 I was four. I was in my last year of preschool with Mrs. Valentina in the starfish room. I was completely oblivious to the events transpiring in the world around me and couldn’t wait to start kindergarten. Meanwhile, my parents were fighting tooth and nail to keep their jobs. 3 out of every 5 people in my father’s division were fired. They worked all day and night to keep their jobs for our family. My family was new and our parents needed steady employment to send my brother and I to a good school. Luckily, my parents kept their jobs by the skin of their teeth. However, my life was forever changed.

I have always felt a disconnection from family, and, coupled with my misanthropic tendencies, for most of my formative years I was raised by the internet and television--a foster child of escapism. I continued like this for most of my life until my Junior year in high school. During the transition to my Junior year my normal modes of escapism faded away, and alone with the echo of my thoughts I was at my lowest point: my grades were below what I could achieve due to my negligence, my pride and self-doubt swallowed me, and I had succumbed to the usual trappings of adolescent arrogance. I want to say that I had an epiphany, or that I over night I changed into the changing man I am today, but that isn’t true. Though, through the streets of my

No matter how great my graders were, how much I accomplished, or how amazing of a student I was, I was always the reason they argued. My older brother, Mark, isn’t the dream child. He’s made mistakes in his life; he’s been caught drinking, smoking, and ditching classes, but even then I’m considered worse than him. I’m the one who learned Spanish, the one who listened to Latin music, who attended Catholic masses. I wasn’t like my siblings, I never cared to learn Arabic, go to church with my dad, or spend time practicing the culture with my cousins. I was the child who took a stance for the things I believed in and argued with against my dad. The child who never made him proud. Nonetheless, I woke up every morning thrilled to go to school and escape it all, to learn, go to college, and become something, someone, so I wouldn’t end up like my

It was a warm, sunny day in the middle of June. I held my little boy’s hand tightly as we walked through the exit of my high school. In my other hand, I felt the smooth, heavy leather case that housed my high school diploma. I had done it. I had graduated on time, same as my childless classmates. As an adolescent mother, I had beaten the towering odds that were relentlessly stacked against me. I tear rolled down my cheek as my son and I made our way back to the group home in which we lived. No one was there to greet us, or to celebrate this incredible accomplishment, but I was proud of myself, and at that moment, that had to be enough. This was a turning point in my life; I knew that I could achieve whatever I put my mind to, and if only I had known back then how right I was. From that moment on, and from every life experience thereafter, I knew I was meant to assist others in finding their strength, as well as finding the courage and motivation to achieve their goals.

Walking to the bus stop that morning was difficult, but exciting at the same time. I was soon going to be at the high school for my first day. I knew that it was just an orientation, but I was still nervous. I don’t have any older siblings so taking my first step into the school was like a step in the dark, I had no idea what high school would actually be like. Little did I know that high school would change the way I view life, school, and grades.

As I stared out the passenger window of my mother's black BMW that was currently halted at a red light, the reality of my forever-changed life hit me, hard. My father had, once again, charmed his way to a better position in the army with his compelling words, but everything comes with a price. This time it happened to be at the expense of my junior year. I wasn't exactly the cheerleader, but I had established a routine that I didn’t intend on changing. This adjustment was of no concern to my mother, who had never been one to argue, considering most of the people she interacted with were overseas. So, thanks to my parents, here I was on the first day of the 11th grade at Northside High School in Philadelphia instead of Atlanta, where I previously lived. The

It was August and school was just around the corner. I was going to be a freshman that year. It wouldn’t be too bad if I hadn’t just moved to the west side of Cleveland. Once again, I was going to be a new kid, but I guess we all were because we were freshmen. Later I found out that the school I would be attending, John Marshall High School, was a 9th grade academy. They separated us from the upperclassmen because the High School wasn’t big enough. Construction workers were in the process of building the new high school that year, so that grades 9-12 could be together. We were placed in an old middle school, it sucked! I wanted the real high school experience, but in this situation, I still felt like a child.

The first year, the time to prove myself had arrived. Classes, rooms, teachers, and some students were unfamiliar. Eventually, minutes melted into hours, hours to days, and days to weeks. It didn’t take long before my schedule was routine, something of second nature. Humor and happiness were found in the form of my advisory family, where school was transformed into something more than going through the same motions of day to day activity. By the closing point of sixth grade, I was having a hard time letting go of what I’d adapted to. “What’s wrong?” my dad asked when I was getting into the car after being picked up early on the last day. I explained how distressed I was that my first year of middle school exceeded my expectations, and that it had to come to an end. Although his outlook viewed my reason for sorrow as trivial, I didn’t.