Story About My Life During the summer of 2017 life was perfectly fine, not worrying about stress and being carefree and single. This is why it was carefree and fun first I had a job at McDonald’s which I thought was going to be boring and dreadful but it turned out that I loved it the managers they were nice and I was very good at every job they gave me and then when paycheck day came I was cut 400 dollars which didn’t bother me much at first because the manager said he would fix it I just had to give him all of my hours that I worked. Giving him all of my hours was easy to do so I did that with no problem. After I gave him my hours 2 weeks have passed and I still never got my full paycheck then finally I talked to the managers which apparently they had no clue about it and told me to talk to another manager and then after that my brother took a vacation to Washington state and never came back so I was done at that point I walked out and then a few days later they gave me my paycheck’s and begged me to come back, I considered coming back but after all of that annoyance I wanted to have a good summer so instead I never went back. This didn’t hinder me of the good summer I wanted so from there the summer truly began. After putting up with that I went fishing with my Dad and for the first 3 days we didn’t catch one thing but we never lost hope so we kept giving another shot and my Dad caught a 10 lb. Largemouth Bass which was the first time I’ve ever seen a Largemouth
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.
To some parents, teenagers may seem like aliens because they don’t understand them. In reality, the world deals with communicating with the unknown, this happens with languages and miscommunication between parents and children. In the story, Louise deals with trying to understand the heptapods language trying to communicte with her daughter. In The Story of Your Life, Ted Chiang uses imagery to help support the theme “Communication with the unknown”.
It was so quiet you could hear a pin drop, I could hear the sounds of birds chirping and I still just sat there on my bed sobbing and wondering what I would do with someone I barely know. I was pouting trying to figure out what to do. Suddenly, I heard a phone ring and it was my mom's phone and I tried to listen in on her conversation from my room but it was too hard. After she got off the phone, she came running upstairs and knocked on my door “Izzy are you up I have good news” I pretended I was asleep and didn't answer her, eventually she went back downstairs. I was so upset that I had to take a nap, so I did. About 45 minutes later I woke up and went downstairs, Mom said that she had wonderful news. “Izzy I got a phone call and I am able to bring one guest with me that can stay in the house and see me when I get back every day” I jumped with joy! “Izzy I know you want to come with me, but if you want, you can still see grandma if you want to”. As soon as mom said that, suddenly I realized that I haven't seen my grandmas in years and she knows i'm coming and she is probably super excited excited to see me. Also I want to be able to see mom, so I went back to my room to think things over. I listed the good things about going to grandmas. She probably is super excited to see me after all of these years and I do want to see her and also it would be cool to see her for 2 months because after the 2 months I may not see her fore many more years. I went downstairs and started
My story begins at the age of six. I am standing in my school uniform with a stain on my shirt from the ice cream my mother gave me on the ride there. My little sister, Gianni, lay in hospital bed staring at the polysterene tiled ceiling. There was nothing much else to look at save the cheap print of an uplifting pastel on the opposite wall. The air had a stagnant smell of bleach and sickness. My parents paced back and forth occasionally glancing forced reassuring smiles to my sister. We heard a moan on the adjacent bed through the cubicle curtains. My sister began to cry. Panicking, I ran to her bedside and started singing Jesus Loves the Little Children a song I learned in Bible school the Sunday before. I look at my grandmother and she gives me a reassuring nod from across the room. My sister gives me a hug and drifts off to sleep. The doctors come a bit later and take her away.
In order to not go off topic, I will make a long story short. I am now 35 years old and I will be graduating this December of 2017 with my Master's degree in Public Administration. I am looking forward to graduation day, because I want to look my father (who has worked at supermarkets and bodegas as far as I can remember, for minimum wage without health benefits) in his eyes and let him know that as a man I appreciate all the times he beat me as his form of discipline (I needed that). I know that he was scared for my future. Besides the numerous times that I saw him and my mother on their knees praying for me, I know that beating me was his only way of fighting the bad habits that I picked up on the streets of Brooklyn. He disciplined me for stealing money and clothes (which I did because they couldn’t afford to buy me name-brand clothing). By stealing or selling drugs was the only way that the people I associated myself with got what they wanted. My father would try his best to explain to me why ethically and morally it was wrong to steal. He also disciplined me for not respecting him, for hanging out on corners and dangerous parks during late hours of the night with malicious people and for representing our family in such a terrible way. I want him to know that his efforts did not go unnoticed by me. It might have taken me a while to realize that the paradigm instilled in me by our community was misleading me to a false understanding of life (the visions of these
I remember when I was a little four year old girl I woke up in my room to the sun. It was spring time on a Saturday and it was just me and my mom at home. When I woke up I immediately went looking for her knowing she was around somewhere. I checked in the kitchen and living room but it was empty and quiet. After doing that I decided to check the basement, which as a kid is the worst place to be all alone, however for some reason I felt like she was down there because she couldn't have gone anywhere else in the small house. I traveled down the stairs very slowly because I was scared and really didn't even want to go down there. As I was walking down the basement stairs, I passed the sunny door leading to the backyard and all of the sunlight that came from the door was lighting up the basement making it look welcoming and not so cold and dark. I then heard the washing machine turn on and that's when I knew she was there and decided to pass through the dimly lit basement fastly to the laundry room where she was. When I approached her she turned around and seen that I was up and straightaway said “Oh you are up! I washed your Mrs. Bear ”. Mrs. Bear is a white bear with a brown threaded nose and two black eyes that I had been given from my mother. Mrs. Bear would always get dirty fast and as a little kid I cared about her alot, even today I still do, so when I heard my mom say she washed her I was ecstatic. I looked up to see Mrs. Bear sitting on the ledge of the small basement
I sat in front of my bright, intense computer screen, desperately trying to finish my math homework. I was failing this class, as well as every other class, but I was far behind my peers in math. I was wishing I could have some alien genius tutor me.
Every person has a story to tell. A story filled with adventure, mystery, love, sadness, etc. A story to teach us life long lasting lessons we’ll never forget! Lessons we can learn/take throughout life! Stories that inspire us every day to work harder. To inspire us to take on the hard challenges we face each day. To inspire us to grab on/hold on to our dreams. To believe in our dreams and to achieve our dreams throughout life! To not let anyone bring us down and tell us what we can and can’t do. To be ourselves and not someone we’re not. Many stories have good and bad endings. We remember some stories while others drift away. Stories that have impacted our lives mentally or physically. This is the story of my life, no lies or tricks, this is who I am.
“My little girl is going to make it far! This one is going to see the world!”, uttered my grandfather as he held me for the first time after I was born. It turned out he was right as always. My life story includes escaping war-torn Kabul on a donkey which my family and I are lucky to have survived after nearly being hit by a missile, then immigrating to Germany for hopes of a better future and lastly ending up in the United States as a teenager. Three different continents and each provided me with more growth then the previous one.
Most people, including myself, have that one special item or group of items that they cannot live without, but is that all we see them as? Sometimes people think that an object as simple as a pen cannot possibly play a major part in forming someone’s life story, even though they do not know the story behind it. For all they know, that pen is a form of inspiration that pushes its owner to write just like their most cherished authors and just like that pen, I have objects in my life that do the same for me. A few of my most treasured objects that tell my life story are heirlooms my grandpa left me, my Ipod Shuffle, and books. They all have a back story and play a strong role in structuring the backbone of what is my life story.
This explains the beginning of my life all the way to the end of my life. My life from the beginning was very fun as I grew up living with my mom’s friend and my friend. But there were a lot of fights and I was very hyper back then. I have ADHD so back then when I was little; I was very hyper and wouldn't stop moving around the place. I always was annoying back then and never seemed to get my homework done at school.
Have you ever been mistaken to be way younger than you actually are? Or people think you’re a different race than you actually are? I get that all the time. Let me tell you a little short and sweet story about my life. First I will tell you about my name, my birthday and my education.
She realizes out of here experience that all her relatives tolerate her out of love. As a result she wants to lead a fragmented life in a fragmented Island as she is already a disillusioned being with no sense of understanding or a healthy bondage between herself and her family members. The sinister charm of the Island calls her to more meaningful and satisfying existence as a gift witnessed very many magic activities of her father. She craves for such a bewitching life that is possible only in Island along with her unborn child.
People don’t realize the sad truth that I’ve been holding on for and secretly suffering with most of my life. People seem to see me as a girl that is naturally bubbly, happy, and outgoing. This was a way for me to hide my real emotions in the time when my depression and anxiety were major factors impacting my self-esteem, just a couple of years ago. So, yes, I admit it -- I was a victim of depression and anxiety. My anxiety has been occurring ever since I was a toddler. My usual anxious behavior would be when I would easily get nervous, wouldn’t talk that well in order to be understood, would go through emotional meltdowns at times, and so forth. My depression however, seem to connect a lot with my anxiety because of my meltdowns and it would easily bring my self-esteem down. One interesting fact about my depression is that it got extreme when I was in middle school. Many events in that time of my life made me feel absolutely worthless inside.