Personal Narrative : A Personal Essay

I had always assumed that my legs were strong and that I had decent muscle control, however, this thought was proven wrong at the beginning of my junior year in high school due to a detrimental injury. It was the first game of fall league for basketball, and within the first five minutes I had succumbed to an injury. Tearing my ACL and Meniscus has taught me to continue improving on my strength, not let this one injury keep me down, and to keep a positive mindset.

A cliché way to start a personal essay on why someone would want to go to into medicine would go along the lines of “As I stare towards the future with a decision to make, I look at my own personal experiences and the experiences of those around me for guidance.” Afterward, they would premise their argument by talking about at how they look at medicine as an exciting career option because it is a field perpetually at the cutting edge of discovery, continuously opening newer vistas of human thinking, and knowledge. They then would conclude their argument by talking about how the fulfillment provided in healing physical, and psychological wounds, scars, and bruises go beyond the satisfaction produced elsewhere. While this is all good and true

I interviewed Bria. She is a senior who goes to Rosemount High School. She plans on going to Normandale for two years. So that she can get her basic college classes out of the way. Her family wants to plan to move to Houston before she finishes up her basic college classes at Normandale or maybe after. She plans on moving by herself or with a trusted friend. She then plans on finding a college she would like to finish the rest of her years at. She was looking in California because she would really like to live there. Bria was also considering Florida. But she isn’t sure yet. She’s waiting to see how her future goes and then make big decisions like those on where she wants to live or start a family. Bria has also had experience with moving since

I had been at it since 7 o’clock in the morning, my body aching for rest. My father paid for the Ballet Lessons to teach me more discipline,

Sometimes, I think to myself, that one action can affect a single person, a small group of people, or a large group of people. My granddaughter walks up to me with a cup of coffee in one hand, and she has something else that I cannot identify in the other. As she hands me the coffee, I ask her, “What do you have in your hand there.” She hands me a couple of pictures; they are of an old friend and I. She asks me “Who is that man in that picture?” and, at that moment, it reminds me of how the actions that I had with that man have affected people in all the ways I can think about. I told her, “I think it is time for me to tell you about The Great War, who Sean was, and how he has affected my whole life.” I take a sip of my coffee and I begin to reminisce in the

Sweat glistened on my face and the uncomfortable sparring gear only made the searing heat even more unbearable. I was about to start my three-on-one sparring drill for my Taekwondo first degree black belt test where I had to defend myself against 3 opponents. I struggled to cope with their attacks and keep moving at the same time, and barely a minute in I was already exhausted. I had failed.

Shane and I grew up in the same town and had mutual friends. I never knew him personally, but always knew of him until we met a year and a half ago at Manhattan Christian College. It’s a very small campus, so everyone knows everyone. An even smaller group of us started becoming very close friends. I went through a very rough season of anxiety and depression after experiencing a large among of tragedy, which is when Shane and I became even closer friends. He had experienced very similar issues in his life and struggled with the same anxieties I did. I am very thankful for the relationship we have, we are strictly platonic, which is why we can be such close friends. We

As the school year comes to an end, I find myself looking back and trying to remember, who I was as a student, at the beginning of 7th grade. Nine months ago, I was a 7th grader who didn’t know much about writing essay’s or essay structure. I wasn’t prepared for the challenges were thrown at me, throughout the school year. For example, at the beginning of the year, I knew very little about thesis statements, essay structure and I lacked the patience to proofread and revise my work. Now, after struggling through this year, I have learned how to properly write an essay and I plan to continue expanding my literary devices and vocabulary, as I continue to the 8th grade.

Coming back from India has led me to remember when I first immigrated to the United States.

This piece of writing was something I had started in my journal and decided to make it into a story. It started off really well but I feel like I rushed it too much. I didn't use as much detail as I could have. I based the story off of a Jewish book that I really enjoy. I used a lot of good detail, words and imagery at the beginning but I feel like it went downhill when I needed it hurry and get it done. If I were to take my time like I did at the beginning of the story it would have been a greater outcome than what the outcome really was. This piece of writing is something I would definitely consider redoing and making it a whole lot better than it is now. I think I should have spent more time writing the paper and less time worrying about

At any age is difficult to know what is your purpose in life, or what you want to do with your life; when you start growing up, and hormone start to kick in all your ideas changes and develop but nether knowing what exactly you're looking for!

My autobiographical essay resembled the training needed before an enduring run. Just like a runner’s endurance needs improvement after a prolonged time of not running, my writing needed some work after not having written for a long period of time.

I exhibit untainted modesty and decorum at all times. To modify that statement so it sits in casual terms, I prefer to be well aware of the required principles and stay atop them; I am not one to waver ways away from what is expected.

The best hour of my summer happened to occur during my family vacation to Laval, Quebec. It was the morning of our second day at Le St-Martin Hôtel. My family and I were on our way to the continental breakfast that was to be provided by the hotel, as informed by the lady at the front desk during check-in. Prior to our entrance, my expectations for this breakfast were not anything more than they were for the complimentary breakfasts I had eaten in the past. However, what I was about to realize was that this was no ordinary continental breakfast, but more an authentic French feast! As my eyes skimmed the grand banquet room, I was captivated by the numerous breakfast items on the tables displayed throughout the room. The dining tables were located near a large, polished balcony, of which the doors were opened. The elegant decor and classy chandeliers were also a divine touch to the ambience.

Looking back on my childhood, it is clear to me that I was never a very feminine girl. I remember asking to pee outside; trying to be like my older brother when I was only just in diapers. I did wear dresses, and I had some skirts that I enjoyed wearing, but only to church. However, I can distinctly remember getting grass stains on my Easter dress from the time I left the front door to when I reached the car sitting in the driveway. I never really felt the pressure to look nice; this has been permanently documented in any pictures from before middle school in which I was wearing an outfit of my choice. My look until about seventh grade was a slicked back ponytail, a t-shirt, and basketball shorts that were handed down to me from my older brother.