Personal Narrative

For the first ten years of my life, I had a very normal childhood. I went to a private catholic school in a small town called Westwego. We were about twenty five minutes south of New Orleans. During the summers, friends and family would come over to our house and we would all swim and boil seafood. The summer of 2005 was no different; I was looking forward to entering 5th grade. Fast forward to one week before school is about to start when Hurricane Katrina formed in the Atlantic Ocean. Hurricanes were no strangers to us as we have been through several throughout the years. However, a few days later the storm is upgraded to a Category 3 and is predicted to hit New Orleans dead on. My parents felt it was time for us to leave and we traveled

One of two. That's how I feel everyday of my life. I'm a twin and that means I will never be complete without my other half. When I was younger, I learned that having a twin does not keep me from things. It's getting to have a person in my life that I don't need to hide from, other than in hide and seek. When I was little, my brother probably hated me as much as I hated him. But we were together all the time. We went to school together, we were in the same class almost all the time. Sometimes, we had the same friends even. We shared birthday parties, cakes, presents, money. Basically the same things we still share now. But between us, we shared secrets. Little things that we thought were so cool. When my grandma gave us money, we split it and made sure not to tell our parents. I went and bought

dear Sean I'm going to start off by saying that I hope I do this letter in the correct format, I did not get much background informations on what this was supposed to all include. but that's okay I'll give it my best shot but with that said I'm not I'm not sure if it'll just being you hearing the this or if it will be read aloud in your tool group I decided that I'm going to write this as if only you are are going to be hearing this. anyways let's get this started you know how much trouble I my emotions at least my emotions that weakness is paper is difficult for me to do simply because I hate showing people my emotions because I hate others being in my business and I'm always so worried about others judging me but with that said for

This post was probably my worst semester of college and I have no excuse for how things turned out with my classes. I'm not going to blame my job or my home life as it was me who failed and I have no one else to point the finger at. I had tried to pass the remedial math course five times previously and I started to lose hope that this one course would hold me back from finishing school. This hopelessness carried into my other courses because at the time I truly believed it was pointless to try in other courses if I can't pass this class that's been haunting since I started attending college.

I wake up at 5:30, five days a week, and each time I try to cram in five extra minutes, I end up having a late start to my day.

His eyes are made for the road. Two tornado blue irises meet the highway, looking past the smudges on his lightweight frameless glasses. He shifts his hands along the steering wheel, dodging what hurts most. Noting which movements prevent his worn hands from freezing into twisted positions like cream flowing into black coffee. He wheezes a cough. Loses stability. Regroups. Accelerates.

I do not remember much from middle school; however I do recall having trouble fitting in and making friends. For the Central Bucks School District, seventh grade marks the beginning of middle school. My awkward 13-year-old self, with bright blue hair, was immersed in a pool of people at Holicong Middle School I had never met before. I had spent the past seven years with the same people and now they were mixed in with this monstrous crowd of new people, forcing me to make new friends. I was not a normal kid by society’s standards, and I still am a quirky kid, but at that point in my life I was still trying to figure out how to behave in a social setting. That was not a simple task for me; I was a hyperactive kid who dyed her hair a plethora of colors. To make matters worse, I was not mixed in with a pleasant group of people.

The bright white screen fills the room as I hold the remote up to the TV. I flick continuously through the channels, hoping something will take my fancy. I pause on a breaking news story. The voice of a woman fills the air as she explains. ‘A runaway escapee and murderer last seen heading towards the South end of Australia has disappeared. Anyone in the areas of’, I reach for the off button as the mumbles of voices drown out as the TV turns off. I put the remote down and shut my eyes. The dark patterns and swirls fill the darkness as I fill my mind with the endless possibilities from some of the deepest parts of my mind. I replay the series of my day over and over in my head. Replacing the mistakes in the day and presenting myself with what

When I was 11 I owned a dog named Bruno, who always managed to bring a smile to my face. Unfortunately one day when I returned from Mexico, I was devastated to find out he had run away. Ever since I was young I've been self-reliant so it was lovely to have someone there for any circumstance. My parents would usually be at work and when they home they'd usually be in their room resting. In addition, I'm the youngest child, my youngest older brother winning me by 8 years, so I didn't really have siblings to accompany me especially since they all started a family significantly young—this of course only led to them moving on faster meaning I was pretty much on my own. It was nice to have someone so ecstatic to see you that they literally jumped

I woke up as usual a couple of years ago on September 20, I rubbed my tired eyes with my hands curled into fists. Uncovering my head from the large blanket I had, I was blinded by the brilliant light that hung above my head. A few moments later, after my eyes had adjusted, and my temporary blindness left me, I stumbled out of my bed and tripped to my closet, still dazed from just having woken up. Once I was ready I dazedly walked down the stairs, hanging onto the wooden rail tightly so I wouldn’t fall, though I almost fell more than a few times. My grandmother was sitting in her grey rocking chair, watching The walking dead, she heard me trip off the last step coming down the stairs and turned her head slightly to face me. She started to say

I am a rather complex individual, but one quality that stands out about me is that I am very passionate. While I am passionate about many subjects, I have great passionate for a select few. First, I am very passionate about entertainment. For as long as I can remember I have always adored television shows, movies, and books. As soon as school let out I would rush home to watch Thundercats with my oldest brother, Mark. During my school vacation, I would spend my time reading. Therefore, my mother said it was hard to keep up with purchasing books for me to read. When my family went to the mall they knew I could always be found in the book store. Finally, I am passionate about Comic Conventions. My oldest brother introduced me to a convention

My family is full of musicians. My parents and my grandfather all play in the same wind band, in which my great grandfather used to play as well, so it was assumed that I continue the tradition. For a long time I thought that wind music is old-fashioned and certainly not ”cool” enough. I dreamt of becoming a famous singer making cheerful pop music. I’ve changed a lot since then.

I was scared. No, I was more than scared. Terrified maybe. As I looked out the window in my two bedroom house, I could see a van in my driveway. It was completely dark, I was supposed to be sleeping, but of course, I was not. My mom was at work. I started pacing around, thinking of what my mother said to do if there ever was an intruder. However, I still couldn’t remember, I guess I was too busy with my pacing.

It's hard when people judge you when they don't even know the full story. When my mother past away this Christmas brake it effected me in more ways than I every realized it would. Her death allowed a variety of people such as; strangers, acquaintance, family and friends to view mw completely different from the girl they use to know for years or even the girl they knew last semester.

We just finished looking at the house. I was bored, since we do this all the time. It was hot outside, and I didn’t really like the way the house looked. It was something different, the home was painted in a variety of bright colors which went together well. I wanted to go home and do something else but I was stuck with my parents. I felt like we were running miles non-stop, with no end point, since my parents search for a home all the time! My parents had a looked at each other like I had never seen before.