Personal Narrative: A Personal Journal Entry

My earliest memories of being read to was when I was about four or five years old, my mom had read me princess books along with cat in the hat ones. She knew that in order for me to fall asleep, she had to read me a couple pages of the book I wanted. The earliest memory I have of writing was when I started Pre-K, there I began to learn how to write my name. Like most little kids, my handwriting wasn’t the best but It improved over time. I only remember the teacher would give us a worksheet full of colors and we had to learn how to write them out. In Pre-K the students were basically forced to take a nap, before that nap the teacher that I had read us maybe ten pages of a book. All of my memories were

In 2025, I will be twenty-nine years old and hopefully married. I will be married to my significant other of ten years Earnest Palmer III, who is a dentist. I would have been recently graduating with a bachelor’s in Culinary Arts and trying to plan to open my own restaurant, BubbaD’s Eateries. Knowing my big headed husband of mine, I probably had a baby then and trying to have another baby. Hopefully, by then Earnest will get rid of the idea naming our son, King. We will be living in the suburbs near New York City but working in the city. Being a woman with great memory, I probably wrote a memoir about my crazy life and trying to sell it to a publisher. If none of the publishers wants to publish my memoir, I will probably sell it the Lifetime

“Casey, your group needs to do the stunt one more time!” coach said imprudently. It happened March 26, 2015; it was at the end of a two hour practice. During the summer months in South Georgia, it is utterly hot and humid, especially in our cheer gym (a warehouse with no air conditioner); it only has two heavy-duty fans and a roll-up door. With this in mind, my group became slightly irritated. Everyone was exhausted; nevertheless we still had to do the stunt anyway.

Monday- For my workout I did back and biceps. I started warming up by down 4 sets of pull ups ranging from 10 to 15 reps. Next, I did 4 sets of dumbbell rows followed by 5 sets of lat pull downs. I then did 4 different exercises for biceps which were dumbbell curls, barbell curls, and preacher curl and then finished with the curl machine. I did 4 sets of each exercise. For my breakfast I ate a croissant egg and ham sandwich. For lunch I had my protein shake with a banana and peanuts. For my dinner I had rice, cottage cheese and a chicken quesadilla.

Hey, it's me as usual. You’re never going to read this but I just need to get some things that have been on my mind out. Lately I find myself listening to X‘s album 17, and it makes me think about so much stuff that I had put aside and hidden somewhere in my head during the beginning of summer. some which I can't even fathom the words to explain. what makes letting go of things so hard is that I promised myself that I would never abandon anyone or let go of the things I care the most about. I never wanted to turn out like my birth mom, I didn't want to be able to forget about someone as easily as she forget about me or even when she forgot about me in the hospital the day I was born to go buy drugs because she cared about that more than her own child. I've always promised myself that I will be the person she was never able to be, that's what makes it impossible to just leave when someone just gives up on me. I've figured out why I'm the way I am, everyone says I have bad taste in guys but they couldn't be more wrong. I've never admitted liking someone till

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

It was a Saturday morning and it was game day. The game didn’t start until 12:00 and we didn’t have to be there 10:45 A.M. Once all of us got there and we finally got into the gym to shoot around and warm up, Alicia and I were talking about who St. Marys had all beaten. From who they had beaten, they sounded pretty good. After a while of shooting we started to stretch. Alicia, Hannah, and Emily were near me so I asked them why the other team wasn’t here yet. Emily said “I don’t know they normally are already here”. By this time Taylor Swift’s song came on which is Emily’s favorite singer. The song was “22” and Emily started to sing “We will just keep dancing like were 22”. Once we were done stretching we started to shoot

"Maybe she isn't like us, maybe she is j-Ow Jules don't hit me there!" a unfamiliar male voice groaned in pain

was driving home from physical therapy for my knee. It had been aching for the past few days. I had never felt a pain like it before, so I played it off as nothing. As soon as I hit the highway, I went underneath the Lowry Hill tunnel. I lost reception on my radio and I soon realized that it wasn’t just the tunnel that was making me lose my reception. A massive storm had loomed over my head. The sky was green and looked like it was turning sideways. Rain splattered against my windshield. Not just droplets of rain, but the ones that look like they had been shot out of a paintball gun. I immediately felt the wind blow my car to the right. I had to swerve hard to the left to avoid clipping a jeep that was next to me. Boy, were they in trouble. The jeep had it’s

A typical day in a life of a missionary. I am awaken by the sound of

The game was a close one… I could hear the cheers and groans from fans, while my hand wa gripped onto the railing hoping the worst won't come. I was waiting with warm box of nachos on my lap for something to happen. I took out a handful of warm cheesey goodness, and stuffed it in my mouth.Warm sizzling cheesey goodness touches down on the surface of my tongue. I look out onto the field my eyes fixed on the players. As the players dash down the field they gained tons of velocity as they get closer to the goal, and then it happened a twenty yard kick turns 4-4 to 4-5.

A lot has happened since someone- Bronte I think- said we should write everything down. Recording what’s happened, what we’ve done its sort of our way of proving we matter, that we might make a difference somehow. I don’t know if it’s just me but the inky words on paper, it helps. Helps to get the tangled mess out of my head and heart. It’s supposed to be our record, our history but it’s become more than that, it’s a way we might be remembered. Our chance to be more than charred ashes or a pile of brittle bones, that someone will appreciate the risks we’ve taken to get here.

A time where I felt as if I had messed up really bad was when I was a sophomore, I was in the softball team and it was my first game of the season. I had never played softball before in my entire life so I was pretty nervous. I practiced everyday but to be in an actual game was really nerve racking for me but I tried my best to keep my cool. During the game, my coach calls me in to play right field. It went fine because I felt as if I didn’t do much, none of the girls were batting the ball to my direction so I was just pretty much standing or rather in the position I was supposed to be in and waiting. It was time to switch so now our team had to bat, I waited to see if I would be next and to my surprise, I was. As I went up I felt my legs

“‘Oww!,’ I said as I fell off my bike.” These are the first words of a personal essay that I wrote in the second grade about learning how to ride a bicycle. I remember them so clearly because my teacher boasted to the class about my use of such an eye-catching introductory remark, so it seems appropriate to use those words here as well. Not only do these words mark the beginning of a growing girl’s literary journey, but also the start to a timeline of establishing a tangible identity for myself that is further revealed within memories of trashy magazines, banned books, and most notably, my own writing.

“When you find that one person who connects you to the world, you become someone different. Someone better, someone whole. When that person is taken from you, what do you become then?” – John Reese