Personal Narrative

I caused Greg to break his hand without any remorse at the time. Greg was a high school acquaintance who tended to bully me. He was significantly taller, stronger and more athletic; therefore physically bullying me wasn’t much effort for him. When I heard he was coming to work at the warehouse, I wasn’t particularly happy about it. The warehouse contained boxes from multiple suppliers. Some were really thick and some were really thin. They all contained books, though some were heavy text books while others were light weight paper backs. All workers with experience knew which boxes were heavy, which had thick soft cardboard as a box, and which were encased in thin cardboard. I waited until Greg stopped by with his working partner for

It was the winter of 2006 when I took my first step outside Newark International Airport after a long journey from home. As I took my first step outside this new area, I noticed the blaring city noise, perfectly paved concrete on the streets and sidewalks and streetlights implanted everywhere along with cars. As I’m looking around trying to observe and get a sense of what is going on, one of my sisters yells “ Oh my god! Oh my god! Do you guys see that? It looks exactly like rice!” I was in complete shock, this was my first time ever experiencing snow. This is one of the many things that genuinely captured my attention that day, not only was I overwhelmed with joy but I am now grateful for the fact that I was given the opportunity to experience new things in new environment.

“OMG are there yet…? It seems like we have been driving for years!” When the car started to slow down, and I heard the rumbling of my parents talking, I popped up to look out the window to see if it was officially the start of my annual New Hampshire ski trip. The adrenaline traveled throughout my body when we drove by the perfect snow covered mountains. I was eager to get upon them and ski down the light powdery sand like snow. I sprung out of the car at the sight of my vast, log house. My condo is right at the base of the mountain so when looking out you can see everything that's going on. The roof was covered in lush soft snow with beautiful, unique icicles dangling from every possible platform. When going out to the back deck, there was a clear view of every ski trail, and at night you could look out and see the snow cats grooming the

The person I decided to interview was my father, Marlin Olson. He grew up on a small farm near Alexandria, Minnesota. He was 8 years old that year, and he started working and helping out on the farm more. His younger sister was born that year in May. He also vividly remembers that the winter of 68 was a record snowfall year. He said that there was a 25 foot snow drift on the road by his house and that there had to be a dozer called into clear the drift. He said that after the fact he had a “pretty sweet” sledding hill. That winter was where one of his most repetitive stories comes from when comparing snowfall in Nevada to snowfall in Minnesota; He and his family and to tie strings to follow from the house to the outbuildings that contained

Looking out the kitchen window, one could see the trees surrounding my home were brimming with bright green leaves. Summer was working wonders outside. The white from the freak snowstorm had all melted away and even though the anomaly should have somehow been detrimental to the environment, nature didn’t seem the least bit bothered by the fiasco. Greenery bounced back into life faster than that time Mason socked Julia in the mouth. It was almost as if the snow existed in its own little reality, but that would be crazy.

It was a beautiful spring day with the sun shining, birds chirping and the smell of flowers wafting through the open windows. How was I to know that this beautiful day was going to take a drastic turn? As my husband of ten years stepped out of the shower, doubt hung in the air like a curtain of smog making it difficult to breathe. It was at this moment that he clued me in on his secret of infidelity. As I struggled to understand, it felt like my world was collapsing around me like the buildings at a planned demolition.

Moving to a brand new home can be very exciting especially to an area of a completely different culture and climate. The beginning of story starts off with the main character and his family arriving into the “New York winter” and he rushes “down the steps of the plane” sinking his “hands into the snow” (Medina 72). He is amazed my the whiteness of snow and attempts to throw snowballs at his sister until his hands are “red and wet” (Medina 72). Throughout the beginning the main character is bewildered but yet excited by their new surroundings and new pursuit to experience this new world. When they arrive all is white and clean with New York seeming like a whole new adventure.

It was December 23rd, 6;03 A.M. I live in Oregon, right by Crater lake. My family, one little brother, two parents, and two animals. We live in a log cabin, in the woods a ½ mile away from the frozen lagoon. It’s beautiful during the Winter, or as my family calls it; the Season of Frost. The ice glazes across the opaque water. Rich, opulent snow enriches the effect, making it hard to look at the incandescent snow without blinding my round, hazel eyes. Carter(my 7 year old little brother) and I always play in the crisp snow together, building forts and “gifting” snowballs to my parents.Speaking of Carter…

The first time I can remember seeing snow was New Year’s Eve of 1995. I had sprawled out in front of the large floor-model television trying to watch Dick Clark. I craned my head to look under the giant magnifying glass that was positioned in front of the T.V. to enhance my grandfather’s vision from terrible to slightly terrible as he watched Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy nightly. He had long since gone to bed, but the magnifying glass still stood in front of the television enlarging the already grand party in Times Square. I lay on my stomach, my upper-body propped up by my elbows with my face in my hands.

It was cold snowy day at the jones house. It was as cold as the ice on northern sea. It was very windy and a huge blizzard began to happen. The temperature felt as if we were standing outside in Antarctica. A few kids that were outside building miniature snowmans. It felt like a winter wonderland to them. Later they started heading inside to stay warm and safe from the storm.

The old brown snow lay on the side of the streets. A vast storm has passed Portland just a few days ago. The weather was chilling and there was the scent of snow running through the air. “Did you get everything?” my dad yelled to me. He was always sour when I pack my belongings to go on a trip. I sat on the suitcase, trying to close it. It was as if the beast wouldn’t close but finally did.

Every Christmas, my family goes on a snowboarding trip to Colorado. We stay for a week in the beautiful city of Breckenridge. On Christmas eve of 2016, my family awoke to one of the most beautiful and visually pleasing days of the year. It was about nine o’clock when I looked out the window and saw the fresh, powdery snow that seemingly floated down from the sky. What a day, I thought to myself. I wondered how I was so lucky as to see such an aesthetic scene after only just waking up. After watching the snow sail gently through the sky for a couple of minutes, I turned around and saw that my family was awake too. We decided to go get some breakfast from the lobby because we wanted to eat before snowboarding. We knew it was going to be a long day.

I dismissed this news right away because, as anyone who’s lived in the Lowcountry for a long amount of time can attest, there’s always a teaser of snow in the forecast. It rarely delivers. But as I rode my bike to the beach that day, I was whipped by a frigid wind and 35 degree temperatures under an ominous sky, and I began to believe in the possibility of some flakes because it was freaking freezing.

The blizzard began to blow its winds again. Powdery snow started blanketing gently on the wet slushy yards that were soaked from multiple days of fierce rain and snow. As delicate snowflakes floated through the silent air, the glass like icicles melted, leaving tiny puddles on the ground. Crash! Bailey disturbed the silence as she sprinted across her neighbor’s yard, dropping her textbooks in a pile of snow. The snow crunched under her feet as she picked up her books and continued running. Finally, she burst into her house, grabbed her computer, and plopped down on the couch.

One has not seen winter in New York City until a trip to the Central Park right after or during a snowstorm, which is exactly what I did last winter. One blurry white Saturday morning a friend and I decided to take some time off from studying and make an eccentric trip up there from Brooklyn. It was mainly going to be a Photography trip, one of my heartfelt passion. A walk through white washed meadow with camera gear on sub-freezing temperature yielded photos which gave me the goosebumps, everything I hoped and dreamed about the winter wonderland. Everyone has their moments of Zen and these photo trips are mine and I usually measure the satisfaction of everything else I do base on them. The snowfall was a subject of fascination to me mainly because I grew up in tropical weather, a tiny country on the edge of India named Bangladesh. After finishing GCSE O-level exam at 10th grade, the United Kingdom based standardized exam, my family moved to Florida where I continued my education at high school. After that my Journey led me to Orlando, Florida; a city I will always love, for my Undergraduate Degree in Molecular and Microbiology. The first two years of medical school I spent on the beautiful island of Grenada and then moved to ever bustling New York City for my clinical years. Maybe because there are so many changes in my story, is the reason I always value documenting the memories to cherish in the future.