Personal Narrative: A Love Hate Relationship

Thanks to hours and hours of bedtime stories, I was able to read from the age of 3. In kindergarten I read to my classmates, and by second grade I was reading series like The Boxcar Children and Trixie Belden. Books allowed me to get lost in other worlds full of adventure and excitement. My love for what words can do has extended through high school. I pride myself on my book collection, anything from Hunger Games to The Picture of Dorian Gray. I’ve continued to read all the way through high school, some books four or five times because I love them so much.

I’ve always been an avid reader. When I was in elementary school, my mother would take my brother and I to the library every week to pick out books. I would take the books to school and read them all in one day. I loved reading so much that my teachers would call home and tell my parents that I was reading my library books during class instead of my textbooks. Reading has always been a major part of my life. I used to aspire to become an author. I even wanted to become an editor at one point. I used to make daily household newspapers and magazines for my entire family to read and enjoy. My strong love for reading certainly came in handy during my freshman year of high school.

“I am petrified. I feel as if God has abandoned me. I just sat there and watched, quietly, because I had no idea what to do. As if these kind of things are normal for a 10 year old boy to witness. Everyone tells me that “it wasn’t your fault” or that “there was nothing you could have done.” I think I believe them… but the haunting images of my 16 year old brother being beaten to death tell me otherwise. The memories tell me I should have done something to save him. But I didn’t. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about what happened to my best friend and my brother.”

I hate when people mess with me by irritating or annoying me. Also I hate being talked about me behind my back too. It bothers me so much that I can probably be mad, and upset for a whole day and not say anything to anybody. However, I do not do that a lot I just keep moving forward on what I have to do. I do this because I would not get myself into trouble by fighting or calling names, but instead I’ll try to be as positive as I can be.

I know some of You’ll be hating And That give Me Motivation Much love to all my haters I been dealing with stress With a smile on my Face Growing up with no Man as a rolled Model Make me do Things on my Own

I hate the way you break every promise. I hate the way you continue to bail. I hate the way I can't bear the sight of you, when we fight like hell. I hate the way you drink and smoke. I hate the way I care.

We did not have a hate relationship. She did not abuse me. We were just two separate people with their own lives and that was 100% coming from my side. I did not want my mother to bear so much responsibility or cast ultimate blame on herself if things go wrong in my life. I think she was in shock herself. The road passed silently beneath us driving home.

Growing up my mom was constantly instilling into my head to “Honour thy father and thy mother” which I find extremely challenging, for my drunken dad at least.

As the harsh glare of the bright lights pulls me from my barely awoken caffeine addicted state, I saunter over to the bar and begin my twice daily regimen of exercises. Repetition repetition repetition. Practice makes perfect. Plies, tendus, rond de jambes and more, then off to center for pirouettes and grand allegro. A near perfect triple pirouette. Why do my arms have to be so far away from my chest? Damn it! I repeat the combination again, a perfectly executed 4 turns, but my passe is to low. “Oh well”, I think to myself. “Maybe if you weren't so fat you could do this.” I attempt to mentally prepare myself for the audition later that day.

Chucking my bags in the back her car I walked over to Mr.Andrew’s car to hop in. I waited and waited. Every second that passed the feeling would keep growing. Hate is a strong word, but I used it for these feelings. I felt anxious, sad, stressed. Finally I thought as my dad and Mr.Andrew rushed into the car. I looked at all the familiar things as we passed by. All exactly the same color, but had its own unique feel to it. The dancing and karate studio exactly the same color as the houses. The green grass of the soccer field. Donnelly Park just a couple of blocks up the street from my house. Vermont Circle, the street I’ve lived on for the past 4 years. My house 1063 B was right across from Mr.Andrew’s and Ms.Kim’s.

Every day I drown in words of hate… The words that come out of the terrifying monsters known as humans. There’s no escape from the monsters, no place to hide and no one to trust. I am ashamed to live in this filthy world that is only filled with hate and criticism and I have no faith left in humanity. Why does the world have to be so racist, homophobic or transphobic when they can just be quiet? Why can’t the world just accept everyone for who they are and what they look like? Why can’t the world be less judgemental? Why can’t the world be a safe place for everyone? I guess my hopes were way too high and I must keep them small…

I hate when I get that feeling that desire that need to hide. To find a small inconspicuous hole and crawl inside it to try and make myself small. To become one with the hole so as to dissappear and escape what make makes me feel this way timid and scared. It's an impulse a need in the moment so as to protect myself. Yet I hate that feeling that desire that need to protect. I feel weak and shameful and it makes me feel that much worse when I welcome the feeling with open arms. Ready to embrace it. I see this instinct as a appendix unneeded. Why couldn't I have the instinct to face a fear, problem ,person or situation head on. With cunning and amazing intellectual understanding. Yet I don't my brain shuts down going into panic

Reading is something that is taught to everyone in their early childhood, the time I learned to read I was very fond of books. I loved to read novels to myself and to read them out loud to my sister. I like reading action, thriller, historical fiction, and mystery. During my early childhood we would have challenges of reading such as wrapped up and reading, golden dragon. These were reading challenges for students to read 20-25 specific grade novels during the school year and at the end you got a party if you read at least 5-10. I used to love reading and at that time I would read at least 20 books because I wanted to go to the party and win something with the lottery tickets I got. My childhood was fulI of reading, even if I read because I was greedy and I read because of the party, it still improved my reading level. As I grew and grew my reading

Through the years of elementary school, I excelled in reading because of the comprehension I had and my love for books. We were always required to read a book, because we needed a certain amount of accelerated reading points each month. My favorite books were Junie B. Jones and Captain Underpants. I enjoyed reading during these years because it came natural to me and I admired the fictional aspects of books and the way they could make my mind run wild. The teachers I had I credit some of my success to because they helped me succeed in reading during elementary school.

From an early age I loved to read. At just two years old I would beg my mother to enroll me into school. I watched as my older sister meticulously picked out her outfit each night in preparation for the next school day. At such a young age I somehow knew that this thing called “school” was the answer to something spectacular. My home was chaotic and reading became an escape and helped distract me from the unpleasant family dynamic.