My Personal Statement On My Experience

One of my personal experiences that I had was when my family decided to move from New Jersey to Florida. I never planned on moving with them but my mother basically forced me into moving with them. It wasn’t really all that moving stuff because the new house was actually pretty nice, it was just I had all my friends there and I was doing well in school. Nothing I said convinced my mother so after a week of packing we was off to Florida. The first week being there was a horrible week. Nothing was going right for me, I missed the school bus for a whole week, dropped my milk on my new shoes, and tripped over nothing in lunch. It was just trying to move back but parents always have this life lesson speech about trying to make new friends and try to get used to being here until we move again. It’s been about a month since we moved to Florida and I met about zero friends but I got used to living here since I’ve found something that interested me as an after school hobby and that was fishing. There’s barley any lakes or ponds in New Jersey so fishing wasn’t really something you do as a time waster. I usually fished right after I got home but on that day it was rainy and it wasn’t really a good time to fish so I just decided to practice my free shots until it started raining hard. I think I was outside for about 20minutes and suddenly a couple kids from my new school asked if they can shoot

The date of the offense was July 19, 2014. It was a night full of mistakes and bad decisions, which I will never make again. The charges that I have been cited with are 1 Class B Misdemeanor (Driving under the Influence), 1 Class B Misdemeanor (Unlawful Consumption), 1 Class B Misdemeanor (Possession of Paraphernalia), 1 Class B Misdemeanor (Possession of Marijuana) and 1 Third Degree Felony (Possession). Since that night I distanced the people who were bringing me down in life and they ended up dropping out of my life as they only wanted to bring me down and I would not allow that any longer. Since the night of the arrest I have not participated in taking any narcotics or any illegal substances since. I have been extremely focused on my work and making

That these grades students were so worried about didn’t prove how intelligent or talented I was. They only tested how a student had the discipline to retain information. I knew I was making excuses to avoid working in school. Instead, I took a less conservative point of view on school, and searched for motivation to help push myself to be someone who has more to offer to the world.

When I sat down, removed my calculator, three number two pencils, and my admission ticket, I started to relax more and more. As the supervisor of the classroom handed out the book of questions along with the answer sheet, I thought to myself, “what if I get a bad score like before?” I knew I wasn’t the best test taker, but I just had to keep telling myself to try my hardest and just see how it goes. As the supervisor said “you have 45 minutes to complete this section of the test, you may start,” I gripped the pencil with my hand, and began to read the question and fill in the best answer of four options.

It’s ENC 1101, Not knowing what to expect I entered the room with absolute fear, after all it was my first year of college. Although I’ve never been quite fond of English in the past, I’ve always excelled in the subject. I had yet to work for my grade and no English course I had taken proved to be a challenge through my eyes. I am a huge procrastinator, if not one of the biggest when it comes to assignments. I most likely wrote papers the night before or the day of and still managed to average an “A” on all of them. This bad habit led me to believe that I was cheating myself. Throughout my scholastic years I always had the mentality of asking “what could this class possibly teach me that I didn’t already know?” I believed that my writing

A bright red 68 loomed at the top of my test, taunting me. I stared at the number, hubbub erupting in the class around me, attempting to dissect what went wrong. The night before I had meticulously studied my notes and done countless practice problems, analyzing how to properly do them. Had I reviewed the wrong material? What had gone wrong?

Tears stung in my eyes as I gazed down at the dreaded product of neglect, already feeling a cold weight tug at my heart. Looking at my practice log, I determined that within the twenty-four hours remaining before it was due, I needed to make up the eight hours of practicing I had been lazily putting off. After informing my mom of this impossible feat, she told me that I would not be staying up past midnight to practicing as a meager attempt to salvage my grade. The next day I turned in my log with a hint of discouragement as I awaited my grade. I didn’t fail the class, but I still had to live with the knowledge that I could have done better. I tried to justify what happened by saying I wasn’t used to Jr. High with its additional seven classes,

A letter grade does not define you, the clothes on your body does not define you,the scars of your past does not define you, the ratio of fat to muscle in your body does not define you. Failing to conform to society does not make up your value. Break free.

I walked into my class and sat down. Mr. Baroody announced that we were going to get our tests back, but I wasn’t worried. I knew that I did not get a 100% on the quiz, but nothing could prepare me for what was to come.

There it was on my paper, a grade I had never seen before. It was like the concrete form of failure

A few days later, I am handed back the test. Per Ms. Evans’ usual policy, there is no grade, just an assortment of checks and X’s. My eyes zoom in to find my mistakes, sure that I had approached every question from the entirely wrong angle. The more I examine it, however, the more I can tell that I actually only made a few small mistakes. Nicholas Chan, next to me, remarks “Wow, you actually did pretty well!”, the surprise in his voice unmistakable. For some reason though, the trepidation and dread do not leave my stomach. I ask myself,

"Oh, also, before the bell rings, class, I finally graded your trigonometry tests!" Mr. Rodriguez announces. "I'm sorry about the wait, I had the sophomores' midterms to grade as well as yours." Oh God. I chew on a hangnail nervously, hoping and praying for the best but expecting the worst. I glance at Katie, my best friend, who calmly awaits her score. She gives me an anxious smile. I give her one back. I don't know where I'd end up without her by my side. "Great work, Sam!" Mr Rodriguez tells me. 91%. I grin. I'm confident I beat Katie's score, which never happens. I skim my test, silently cursing myself for making ridiculously stupid mistakes.

Mrs. Whittington assigned me to a group. Some of the boys, when the teacher was not looking, whispered things to one another. Some of the girls linked their pinkies, to show that they were best friends. I just sat on my chair and stared at the walls.

When I arrived to school, the brisk air immediately shook me from my sleepy state as I strutted towards the school entrance. Once I stepped foot in Clover Hill, my mission became to find out the results of my latest calculus test with the hopes that I at least earned a B. The closer I came to my teacher’s Cav Morning classroom, the more anxious I became; my stomach twisted and turned like a cart on a roller coaster. Finally, I approached the classroom and timidly stepped into the room, capturing the attention of my calculus teacher, Mrs. Rose.

It was seventh grade, and I was tired of imperfect grades. Now, my grades weren’t bad, all A’s and none below a ninety two, but to me that wasn’t good enough. Every time I heard a person say they had a grade higher than me; someone saying they got a ninety seven when I got a ninety six; I’d wince and cringe. I knew subconsciously that my grade was just fine, but inside I felt inferior. All my life I’d always been told to do my best, to put my everything into all the things I did, and to always strive to be the greatest. But here I was with a ninety six when I could’ve gotten a ninety seven. I could have had the best grade in the class, a grade without flaw, a perfect grade better than everyone else’s… So one day I decided that was what I wanted. I went home and I spent the whole day on my homework, outlining all of the artwork with ink, double checking all of my math homework, proofreading every single word of my writing homework, and wiping away every single mistake I could find. And then the next day I went into school, I turned in my homework, and I got all one hundreds. I finally felt worth something, like I had actually succeeded and done well for the first time in my life. And it was then, in this rush of sudden ecstasy, that I decided the only way to be happy was to always try my best. To always put my all into everything I do and eliminate every mistake I can find. So the next day I did the same thing, and then the day after, and the day after that, everyday coming home and diving into my homework, only breaking to eat or go to my