Personal Narrative

People often think of language as a connector, something that brings people together by helping them share experiences, feelings, ideas, etc. We, however, are interested in how language sets people apart. Start with the peculiarities of your own personal language—the voice you use when speaking most intimately to yourself, the vocabulary that spills out when you're startled, or special phrases and gestures that no one else seems to use or even understand—and tell us how your language makes you unique. You may want to think about subtle riffs or idiosyncrasies based on cadence, rhythm, rhyme, or (mis)pronunciation.

Every student is excited when school starts. New classes, new backpacks, new clothes, and seeing all your friends is a part of this excitement. The first few weeks are new; no homework, plenty of free time, etc. But after two or three months, school isn’t cool anymore. The homework piles up, the tests are being printed, but how much stress can you take before it’s too much?

I was not an intentionally bigoted twelve-year-old. I was raised in an affluent suburban community where the vast majority of people are white. The 100% white private nursery school which I attended was chosen by my parents largely due to its proximity to our home. My public elementary school was about 70% white as it was populated with students who resided nearby. Finally, the private middle school which I attended, located almost an hour from my home, provided me with exposure to the most diverse student body of my youth as it was comprised of about 65% Caucasian children. What each of these formative academic experiences shared in common was both that their student bodies were disproportionately Caucasian, as well as that their senior administrators

Sunshine. Endless amounts of fun. Water. It was about that time again, summer! My favorite season, no school and my birthday was in it. This summer was especially great, my dad was coming home he was in the military and I hadn't seen him in eight months. It was about a regular summer day with my family, when my parents thought of heading down to the beach. I was thrilled this beach was one of my favorite places to go in the summer. It was not only just a beach but, it also had a large park with big blue swings, a tennis court, and large grass area for people to have picnics. And were the beach and the park split of there were tall ginormous rocks so people could watch the boats and ocean. I was so excited and on top of that my mom told me that

I stared, face pressed against the glass window, leaving smeared breath marks. Trying to get my last glance at the house, but my tears making my vision blurry. I could see faint outlines of my friends waving goodbye, I knew I’d never see them again. The car was dead silent besides the sniffling and the sound of the car going over the bumpy road as we drove up the road until the house, my friends, and neighborhood were out of sight. I was born in Framingham Massachusetts and we lived there happily for years. My siblings and I had lots of friends there and we also had family close by. One day, we found out that we were moving to Sudbury, my dad’s hometown. My parents came to assent and had decided that this wasn’t the place they wanted my siblings

I violently shiver as I stand near the stop sign, awaiting my morning bus. My stomach, which had been growling furiously since the afternoon before, is now quiet underneath the layers of jumpers I am casually wearing in sunny, 65 degree weather. Fingers trembling, I plug in the food I plan to eat later on in the day into my calorie counter app, my breath hitching as I realize that today is the start of a new life- a life towards recovery.

The woman has her back to me, as if I am someone who can easily be

There I was, walking through the tall wooden door that laid open in front of me. I am about to work what seemed like, the longest seven hours of my life. The bright ceiling lights were shining in my exhausted eyes from a long day of school. As I prepare to punch in my seven-digit number into the register, I could smell the overwhelming scent of pumpkin in the air. Just as I thought, Dairy Queen has now started the bright fall orange seasonal blizzard, The Pumpkin Pie Blizzard. I can just taste the cinnamon in my mouth that is watering over the smell of the pumpkin spice.

It was a cold autumn morning when I heard the news coming from my alarm clock radio. Two people had won the lottery winnings from yesterday's drawing. They get to split a great prize, both people got to take home over 3 million dollars. I have been playing the lottery for about ten years now, I have only won three or four thousand, hoping to hit it big. For eight years I have been cleaning and cooking in a half kitchen with dinette. The small apartment had that smell as if something had been wet and moldy. I have had to listen through paper thin walls of, shouting, fighting, and the occasional grunts from some dirty old man upstairs. The constant running trains echo inside the entire apartment building. The living room was just big enough for

I always wanted an all-terrain mountain bike. That finally happened when me and my family went shopping at Walmart for a new bicycle because recently I learned how to ride a bike with two wheels. Due to my practice behind the handles my parents thought since that it was summer and I needed the physical exercise, that I should get a bike. Also that I couldn’t ride my original small dirt bicycle. It was a jolly experience on a large bike for the first time.

“Do you think Brandon will let me ride Buck, Mom?” I asked. It was not the first time I had asked. I hardly slept the night before out of excitement for this day. “I am sure that you can ask him. He has always been good about giving you a ride on his horse. I think that today won’t be any different, sweetheart.” My mom patiently answered. “But now I really need you to clean up your room before we go, remember the longer it takes the later we will leave.” It took no further urging, I raced to my room and began to pick up the toy horses that were scattered along the floor where I had been playing with them. I also straightened my books into a pile by my nightstand, Western Rider and Western Horseman magazines that I had subscribed to

Where am I? It is black. It is thundering and lightning. I hear my mom snoring. Then I remember that I am on a camping trip with my Mom, Crystal, Xander, and my papa. We had left at 10pm and slept till we reached the Mcdonald's for a quick breakfast. Then we drove for a few more hours till we reached our campsite in Minnesota at 12:30 pm the next day. We had to set up our tent, but the problem was the tent only held 3 people. My papa wanted to sleep in the bed of the truck. So one of us kids had to sleep in the back seat, Xander volunteered since us girls should not have to sleep in the same tent as a boy. The next order of business was to find the bug spray, there were so many mosquitoes and biting flies. I hate bugs so I hid under a sweater

It’s first grade. The teacher asks us to settle down at our desks and be quiet. She says, “When I call your name, reply here.” It appears that I was the only one who didn’t get the message. The indistinguishable conversations in the room grew silent and I was hearing my own voice. While every other student was sitting patiently for his or her name to be called on, I was the only one standing. As I glance over my peers, I get a sly hint that I should sit down quietly like the others. A few minutes later, a student taps me on the shoulder and whispers, “The teacher called your name, tell her you’re here.” With uncertainty, I squeak out the single word, “Here.”

“You can have it if you want,” my father said, pointing to the Playboy magazine on his desk. His index finger interrupted my line of vision, and my eyes shot up to make contact with his.

It was February of 2011 when my parents were about to leave for work on a saturday night, like they always do. My family has owned a bar for almost ten years, so it was normal for them to be out most of the night during the weekends. While they work, I babysit my little sister Ella, At the time, she was only two years old. I’ve been babysitting my younger brother since I was about 8 years old, so this was just like any other night for me. Except this night, Ella had a pretty high fever and I hadn’t taken care of them when they were sick. It wasn’t very high so my parents just told me to keep a close eye on her. If anything, her fever had lessened as time went on. I didn’t think I had anything to worry about, so my cousin and I carried on the night watching TV while Ella played in her room.