My Memories Of My Life

The past two years have been the hardest in all of my seventeen years of living. Choosing a topic is both easy and difficult due to how personal it may become. However, the highlight of the past two years belongs to my family life, and the actions of a certain former member that has affected the lives of many in my family. This person was in my life for over a decade up until around May of 2016, where the year truly kicked off for the family.

There was a time in my life where something happened to me and fear prevented me from saying anything about it, or speaking in general. She was very quiet, and rarely spoke because part of her was too afraid to. Not only would I tell her to speak up, but to not be scared to do so. Instead of expecting people to know how you were feeling, or what happened to you, nothing was said; you were silent. If you would have spoke up, your life would have been so much easier, but you were stubborn. The experience that made me come up with what I would say to her was a negative experience. Not only did it affect me, but it also affected many other people. The reason why this experience was so negative was partially my fault because of something I should have said, but did not have enough courage to say it. Just because she kept her mouth shut, she hurt other people. She did not mean

When you are going through a tough time and having many problems, remember this story. It is refreshing to sometimes remember that whatever our problem is, there are people in the world that wish that they have our problems. I aspire to be just like my sister, Erika, for her optimism, everlasting joy, and determination. No matter what life through at her she always remained happy. Erika is my symbol of everything I want to be.

Paint this, it’s the late 90’s in Highland Park, L.A. County. An oriental looking boy is sitting on a wobbly wooden stool about 3 feet away watching PBS Kids in a black and white picture on 10” screen. I can still recall the flickering picture and the pixel barred pallet, also in black and white. I’m not stating I grew up misfortuned but this is one of my earliest memories, in-fact my grandmother did have a colored picture t.v. It’s the setting as the focal point, especially if some are familiar with the area. In my flashback, accuracy was not intended. Myself being an oriental boy was not the factually detailed truth.

Sometimes I look at other people, and wonder what their home life is like. Do they have an easy life? Or is their life just as complicated as mine? As a child I grew up on a small farm in Virginia. Even as a child I had to help my mom out around the house, due to having 5 other siblings. Growing up I never really saw my dad, he’s always away training soldiers and fighting in wars. Now, I’m 20 years old and after this war I will be getting married to the love of my life. Everyday I worry about my fiance and father in the war.

For as long as I can remember, my main priority has been my friends. I would do anything for my friends, and I’m fairly certain that most of them know it. I’ve gained and lost a lot of friends over the years, be it simply because I move or they move or maybe because we simply drifted apart over time. When I was younger I had many friends move away, but I still have many memories of them.

Even though me and my grandpa are over one thousand miles apart, we keep a good relationship. Every week we call each other and our conversations are just as good as if he were right there. Me and my grandpa have always been close. My grandpa who I like to call Poppy is one of the best people I have in my life. Me and him treasure the time we have together. We love to cook and basically do everything we can together whenever possible. He is in my life just as much as any other member of my family. Even though I have numerous memories with him, one is very notable. Some of my favorite memories with him happen over dinner. Dinner is one of the few times were all together. It’s a lot different talking to someone in person than on the phone. Everyone is brought together by great people and great food. We’re at the table hours more than needed talking and joking. Good food, better people, and and even better time.

I don't remember much from my childhood. Little things. Bits. Pieces. Never the full thing. Simply flashes in the endless pool that we humans call time. The few memories that I do fully remember are nowhere near happy. I do have happy memoirs they are there somewhere, in the back, behind a door, locked in a box never to be seen aging. I didn't put them there by choice, it's like my mind is set to keep me on my toes. To constantly remind me that the world is cruel and that the only person looking out for you is you. It’s wrong because I’m wrong.

5Waking up in my comfy bed, wrapped in my favorite plush blanket. I hear birds chirping outside my window. I smell fumes of maple bacon from under my door seeping through my nose. I also feel my heart and mind racing as well. I knew already today was a great day, to have a great day. The day, to finally stamp my mark on the end of a chapter in my life. A very long and meaningful chapter in my life, which molded me into a man, bettered my mentally, physically, spiritually, and emotionally. This chapter has been filled with some many memories and life lessons. This chapter of my life was my favorite, so far. This chapter of my life was high school.

One of my utmost embarrassing childhood memories would have to be the time when I was in kindergarten and Mrs. Cancelor (our teacher) was allowing everyone to take a restroom break. I went to the restroom did my business, talked as usual. We were all headed back to class, I plopped down at my desk and continued to do our school work as we were told to do. I just let one loose in class; it was silent, although it was not what I thought it was. I stood up and prayed nothing was displaying on the backside of my butt. I wandered up to Mrs. Cancelor and said, “Teacher, I think I pooped on myself?” “Honey it’s alright, just go to the restroom and clean up, she said calmly.” She called my mommy and told her what happened. Ten minutes later… my mommy shows up with clothes for me to change into. She asked, “Baby what happened?” I said, “mommy I thought I just had to fart but it wasn’t a fart.” My mother tried extremely hard not to laugh at the moment of my distress. She then gave me an enormous amount of love and told me to have a good day at class.

My memories are important to me, some of them more than others. It was difficult to think of which memories are important to me because not many major things have happened in my life. Another reason it was difficult to pick which memories are important is that some things I consider unimportant are important to others. I chose these memories because of the impact they had on my life.

An individual’s childhood memory has impacted them in some way whether it be emotionally or physically. From one memory to another, good or bad, develops the entity of a person’s personality or logic. I considered one of my worst memories a favorite memory because, from that experience, I gained development as an individual. The start of that development occurred on vacation without my parents attending. Like any other child, I became very enthusiastic of the whole idea of freedom and self-guidance. After the majority of the trip, I became uninterested with self-guidance and I wanted to rely on the adults to plan fun-filled activities. I was very disappointed with the fact that their lack of authority and action lead to an uneventful vacation. I began to miss my parents’ guidance because with every request or action they took it was in all the best interest of me. Whether it was to hold my hand across the road or watch the things I eat, all of it was intended for my growth and safety. It was then that I realized how much my parents really cared for me and it made me grow to respect their wishes even more. Concisely what began as a getaway from my parents resulted in a realization of how much I should appreciate and respect them.

My earliest memories are sitting in kindergarten, and having the older students read to all of us for Accelerated Reading. My next significant memory is that of personally out reading them when they read the books and the tests to me, and then trying (to no avail) to get them to let me read by myself. When my parents were first teaching me, they always encouraged me to read. Unfortunately, as time went on I grew away from reading with my family and I became withdrawn with my reading. It eventually became a situation where even though we would read, we would never read anything that someone else had read. While I will agree that everyone has their own taste, this kept us from being able to discuss the materials we read. Some would say that when it comes to literature, I’ve been surrounded by it for my entire life. In a way, I appreciate that because it has allowed me to gain the ability to understand obscurities in writing.

One of the memories that is more permeate in my mind is when my father had to travel to China for business intentions. I remember when he leaves the country, but not more than when he arrived home. Usually, when he came back home, he usually bring with him some gifts for me and my mother, and he never forgets to bring me my favorite gift which I still love when he give away to me. I like to call it as the God´s dessert because of its curious shape of production, intense flavor, and delightful meaning.

Suddenly! The tall iron gate stood in front of me. Behind it, the garden was a picture of total desolation. And nestled in it, was the house. My house. I recognized it. However, I still had doubts about this impulsive identification. If this house were mine, how could it possibly have fallen into this terrible state of neglect? Did my absence last longer than I thought? Or, by some cosmic anomaly, was time more destructive to those particular grounds?