My Experience In My Life

Sixteen years old can be a very confusing age in any person’s life. We’re expected to act like adults but get treated like children, the age we begin to prepare ourselves for our last year of high school, the year we start to look into colleges we want to attend and what it is we want to do with our lives. But for me it was the age when my parents thought they would lead separate lives.

“Tough times don’t last, tough people do” - Julian Edelman. Throughout life I have overcome obstacles that seemed almost impossible to conquer. Crying, fighting, searching for a way out of my life that has haunted me for eighteen years. I thought I would never live to see this age, but here I am today, standing tall and proud amongst others everyday. The lessons I have learned and experiences I have gone through have built my character, gave meaning to my visits back home, and have helped me find ways to keep myself busy with free time.

The story began about a year and some months ago. Early in the Fall 2016 semester, I met a girl named Ann through a friend of mine. My first impression of Ann was that she was very pretty, but she talked a lot. I mean a lot! After I met her, the three of us began to hangout a couple of times each week. Even though she talked a lot it was fun having her around because of the energy she brought to any situation. At first, I felt that being around her drained my energy, but I eventually got accustomed to it, and grew to feed off it.

The idea of flying has terrified me since a youthful age. Being in a metal bird, thousands of feet above the ground, that consumes me from one location to the next safely, doesn’t sound appealing. A pilot, who I could only hope knows exactly what he is doing, has my life in his hands. When I found out that I would be taking a helicopter to prom instead of a nice car, I honestly believed I was having a nightmare. The one entity in the entire world that scares me the most will be my transportation of choice for the ultimate night of my adolescent years.

When I was younger, I oftentimes found myself with a pencil and paper in my hand. I would leave a multitude of marks on the paper in some form or fashion, whether it be scribbles, unvarying words and sentences, my name, or the names of family members. Growing older, I would find myself writing more than enough when it came to essays. I could never bring myself to leave out any details and I rarely used simple sentences. Originally, I assumed it was because I wanted the validation of my parents and teachers, but it was something else I had yet to realize. I liked writing and I realized it one day when I was in my room, listening to music.

My story begins on the 8th of November an "epic" day. I was born about two weeks early with my twin brother. we weighted about 8 ounces and we could fit in the palm of my dad's hand but not all was good we suffered from asthma and we were also diagnosed with being color blind. we had to be put in machines to help me breathe. That’s all I remember for my first 2 years of being alive. Then disaster struck as we had to go into the foster care system because our parents were drug and alcoholic addicts. Me and my 4 brothers we spilt up into two different homes me and isaac were with one family after about 2 months going home to home. Meanwhile our 3 other brothers were with a different foster family.

In life there are many obstacles a person will face, such as school, work, family and time.

When I was seven years of age my family and I lived in Los Angeles, California, approximately thirty-five miles from the city of Reseda, the epicenter of the now infamous 1994 Northridge earthquake. Many memories from my childhood are a blur, but the morning of January seventeenth is crystal clear. I recall being awakened roughly at 4:30 in the morning when my bed began trembling uncontrollably beneath me. An unexplainable fear took over me, which kept me from jumping out of my bed and running out of my room, so I laid on my bed, paralyzed, waiting for my father to save me. However, before my father was able to find his way to my room, the shaking stopped.

I grew up in Romania where I called a camper my home for the first eight years of my life. We moved from city to city reaching out to the Gypsy community. A childhood in which one gets lice most summers, intermingles two languages assuming everyone understands both, and attends second grade in three different countries is, of course, an unconventional upbringing. With the unconventional upbringing, however, came extraordinary experiences that have shaped who I am and the life I have chosen to pursue.

It was the last weekend of my summer vacation before entering senior year. All my life I have been spending my summer vacations in my beach house on Contadora Island, a small paradise off the coast of Panama. Everything on the island is joy and serenity. It had almost become a tradition for all the island residents to go spend the last weekend there. I had a very close friend who also had a house in Contadora. He was the most caring and gentle person I have ever met. I would regard him as an example of how people should treat others. He was always so considerate and friendly with everyone, no matter what. These were qualities that I did not see in myself at the time. Whenever I had the opportunity, I would criticize someone for not being or looking a certain way. Or I would not treat people with the corresponded respect they deserved. These were all things that Walter would try to change in me, with his caring and humble personality, but my arrogance would keep persisting. When it came to the formation of his professional self in academics, he always strived for more. He was the most ambitious, while I was a conformist with mediocre results. Coming back to this particular weekend, Walter had opted to spend it camping at a reservoir with another group of friends. The weekend on the island was very fun, even though he had not come. I woke up early on Sunday, it was February 28, 2016. Little did I know that this day would mark the rest of my days. I woke up early to enjoy my

My personal life has had many twists and turns that have shaped my life and my view on language as an individual. My life began growing up in a mixed family household: my mother being born in Jordan and moving to the United States when she was young, and my father who has lived in the United States. Growing up in a mixed household I only spoke English and I rarely heard any Arabic in my life. I would only know hear Arabic when I did something wrong or when we were spending time with my mother’s side of the family. While I was very influenced by Arabic culture I was not submerged in the culture so I did not understand all the complexities of Arabic culture in the US. If I grew up in a household where Arabic was spoken regularly (maybe not

My life, or perhaps in the manner that I perceive it, has been overwhelmingly filled with enlightening and repressive circumstances that could have been averted, but all in all, makes up one's destiny. These events intricately tailored me into a young man that grew conscientious of the detrimental behavior of “acting before thinking” and into the realm of “thinking before acting". What I would soon come to understand was that through sheer patience, and trial-and-error it instilled within me new insights to learn from and that the most triumphant moments in my life began at the crossroads of unknowingness, a decision to stay in mediocrity, or the pursuit towards personal greatness- thus the decision had to be met.

Want to know what I did this summer that is different than yours? Well you’re going to hear a lot about it from me in this writing. Traveling in a long hot car ride down to Panama City, Florida is one heck of a ride let me tell you. The hot air on your face as you’re just trying to relax in the back seat of a crammed SUV. The air is so hot that it’s way to hard to fall asleep in the fifteen hour long car ride to your destination. So then you're forced to actually communicate with the people in the car with you, which than you figure out isn’t so bad after all. Laughing the whole way down and jamming out made our whole trip down so much better than it originally was going to be. And than when you finally pull into the driveway of your new

When I look at how different our lives were five months ago so many things run through my mind, “What could we have done differently?” “What could I have done differently?” The week of finals before the end of my junior year I wondered if bad things really do happen to good people, or if good people do bad things that put them into bad places.

It's hard living alone, in a jungle, and your only resources are what you can find. Being a nomad is definitely not easy, especially when you live in a place like Nicaragua. I have no friends, no family, no home, no entertainment, and the only things I have is a compass, a tent, a water bottle, a knife, and a bag. Almost everything I once had, is now lost. More specifically, taken. Taken by the almighty ruler, petar. He and his slovakian army killed each and every single person in Nicaragua, including my family. I'm the only survivor, and if there are other people who are still alive, they’re probably in prison, getting ready to enter the gas chamber. I have never been so sad in my life, and petar is probably feeling the exact opposite. All the Slovakian wanted was power. I’m only sixteen years old, and I decided not to continue on in the pool of sadness that I'm in.