Personal Narrative

The unpacking took a long time we had to pick our rooms and then bring our things in them. I picked the upstairs room, it had a bathroom and a big closet. The room was isolated from the rest of the family and in my old house our rooms were close by each other, so I moved to a room down stairs since it felt weird. It was odd living in a new place, at least at my grandma’s house I had visited it before. It was different having a basement since in Florida if you dug out a basement it would flood with water from the sea. It took awhile but we finally unpacked all our things and it was almost time to start school. We got my sister and I enrolled for school at Horizon Elementary School. The rest of that summer went fast, before I knew it I was going to my first day of school of fourth grade. I started to make new friends and it turned out it wasn’t so bad to move to

I love living in a small town, it gives me a sense of guaranteed safety and simplicity.

When I was 11 years old I had moved from San Diego, California to Mount Juliet, Tennessee. It was a difficult challenge to face. I had to leave my friends I have been with since 5 years old to a place I have only visited once before in my life. Also the Environment was completely different. I have made a major change moving here.

Moving around from town to town happened quite often when I was younger. I always mirage living in one house my whole life and never having to know the feeling of leaving good friends behind. The move from Michigan to Illinois was definitely the most arduous. Elise, one of my best friends, had been with me from the first day I walked into Rummer Elementary to when we were crying on my porch the day before I left Michigan three years later. I expected this to be the last time we saw each other. I had done this enough that I realized she would move on or the six hour drive would keep us separated till we eventually gave up. My mother promised me it would be different this time, I thought she was only trying to keep me from becoming an misanthropist,

When I was younger I had always been described as mature. Although I wasn’t anywhere near being “mature”, it was a word always used to describe me, well-mannered and mature. While my brother was goofy and social, I was shy and serious. We were twins yet total opposites. As a child, because that was the word almost always associated with me, it crae unusual, almost toxic idea about myself. I had to be mature to be what people liked about me. So, it never occurred to me to be able to not take myself seriously and say something like “Oops that was dumb” and laugh it off. For some reason that didn’t make sense to me to say silly things like that.

Moving schools and neighborhoods was when I first felt like a stranger in the village, but in this case it’s not a village. Attending my new school was so hard to get comfortable with, but I managed. I made friends instantly and made new memories. Unfortunately some problems with my dad didn’t change and he would try to meddle with my mom's life and control her still which wasn’t good for my mom.

Sitting in a hospital waiting room, alone, afraid; and waiting for the news; would she be ok? Would she even survive? My nerves were out of control; my heart was beating through my chest, you could literally see it thumping through my top. The beads of sweat racing down my forehead, as if I was in the middle of the Safari dessert. I have been an athlete my entire life, yet I have never felt so physically drained. I look around, my eyes opening, then closing; as if I am coming in and out of consciousness, then suddenly echoed words begin to ring around my ear drums….” Sir…...sir, can you hear me? Sir please, we need to know what happened. We need to know what happened to her. Maybe my motionless state showed my

When we did finally move from my childhood home in Illinois to our new home in Knoxville, Tennessee, the only thing I could think about was how isolated and scared I felt. What was it going to feel like on my first day of class when I was surrounded entirely by strangers? I will always vividly remember walking into my new high school and feeling so lost. Every class I walked into was an alien environment and I had to struggle to keep my composure.

My 7th grade year I moved to Conway, AR with my mama Monique, her husband Shane, and my three brothers Lil Shane, Manny, Eli. My dad Demontrel also lived in Conway but he stayed across town. Everything about Conway was bigger from the schools, stores, and

Nobody likes moving at least I know I don't. We we're living in India and I was in fifth grade when we moved. We moved into our house in India when I was one year old. Was going great I had a lot of friends. My best friend was my neighbor every day after school we would go to a park in our colony.

When I was in the second grade my family moved from Plano, Texas to Jonesboro. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. I hated Jonesboro, and I missed my home and my friends and my grandparents.

It was a cold day in November as I scampered out of my Biology class, unsatisfied with the grade that I had received on my exam. I rushed to the basement of my campus’s athletic facility brimming over with frustration and quickly tossed aside my school supplies in exchange for a pair of soccer cleats and goalkeeper gloves. I threw over my grass-stained gray cotton sweatshirt, stepped outside to the bite of an approaching winter and joined my comrades in our warm-up lines. The boys were all laughing and talking about what happened over the weekend as we prepared for another practice. Being surrounded by my teammates made me forget about my worries and allowed me to disappear into the routine of physical activity. My collegiate varsity soccer

I felt the tears push against my eyelids, threatening to spill onto my cheeks. The deep breaths that were supposed to calm me down were not working in the slightest and I wanted nothing more than to hide under something, anything, and avoid all responsibility for a while. Through blurred vision, I could barely make out the shocked faces of my friends. This was not supposed to happen here, in the middle of physics class. This was the kind of thing that a person should save for being safely hidden behind closed doors. I glanced down at the four little words on my phone and lost it. The floodgates opened. Hot tears turned my face into a network of rivers and lakes. The saltwater filled the dark bags under my eyes and turned them into oceans. Rivulets

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

Looking into my own eyes with happiness and wearing my new teal sports bra and boasting my flat stomach, I click the camera button on my smart phone in my right hand. Today is July 19. I started this on July 19 of last year and have come a hall of a long way at least I think. When I look at the pictures side by side, I can’t believe it’s only 40 pounds different. The stress and self-loathing I have lost had to have weighed way more than 40 pounds.