Personal Narrative: A Place Called Fisher

This past year, I have been apart of Naperville Central’s brand new Special Spaces club. When my friend approached me and asked me to join, I agreed even though I had no clue what I was involving myself in. In retrospective, I can honestly say that becoming a part of Special Spaces has been one of the most meaningful, fun, and fulfilling experiences I have had in high school.

Where I come from it's taking pride in your yard, knowing every single one of your neighbors, and leaving doors unlocked because there isn’t a thing to worry about. I find comfort in that small town feel, and I am more than proud to be from good ol’ Warrenton, Indiana. Here, we are just a wee bit shy of being big enough to be on a map, but we have a name and we have town lines. Within those lines nearly two hundred people have found a home, and thanks to Mr.Dave Gruible our community is steadily flourishing. There are now three subdivisions on the rise in addition to the church, salon, family restaurant, and campgrounds that nestled into the area years ago.

this, this was just the means to an end, nothing more. The dark grey clouds hung

There is a lot of people who do not hate May but at the same time they don’t see how innocent and vulnerable she was.

Before I started going to SOTA, I had been homeschooled for the past X years. And when I transferred from homeschooling to high school, it was like traveling to a different country. During the early months of my freshman year, I felt like everyone around me was speaking a different language and sadly I didn’t have google translate. I was unsure about how to appeal to the seemingly endless crowds of unfamiliar teachers, students, and social customs. This, as I have discovered is unfortunately not just a high school thing. Even when you have survived freshman year and have some vague sense of who you are and how to be your most authentic self, one can still face the common feeling of being out of place in your current environment.

Last summer I wanted to work and earn a little cash and distract myself and not be home all summer. I didn't know where to apply so I applied everywhere I was even open to working in the fields my parents told me that the fields were the last place they ever wanted me to work. My mom and step dad Raul always told me that field work wasn't easy and that it was not for me but I didn't listen.

When I was young my Dad would always remind me of how important these years as a kid are. He would always say watch how you act as a kid, for it will set the stage for the rest of your life. So many people I know ruined their lives when they were kids. This small, yet so important statement runs through my mind everyday. I love how everyone says they don’t care what people think of them, but I wish they knew how important it is to have a good image. I am not perfect, but I would like to be close as possible. But as Salvador Dali said “Have no fear of perfection, you’ll never reach it. “ The problem I see is everyone wanting to be someone that they are not. Sure, we all have our idols that we look

I’ve just arrived in Washington D.C and departed from the Addison Road. Now I’m making my way towards the bus stop, then from there I’m on my way to the airport. The sun was shining much brighter outside of the train; however, the luminosity of the sky did not reflect well the temperature. Walking, what should have only taken 5 minutes, felt like an eternity. Once you’ve been traveling for long enough, you start to pick up on some things. For starters, the bus drivers start to get getting uglier, and uglier the farther you descend south. Also the activities you do to pass the time differ depending on the mode of transportation. I’d say your mental state of mind has more to do with how fast time flies than anything. You don’t expect to be on

Yesterday when I drove down Bridge Street in Carleton Place I saw a woman sitting on a bench in front Of capital Optical staring at Ballygiblins across the street. It was 11 am in the morning and I knew she had been a regular as I had talked to her the night the restaurant closed.

Home is the beginning of one’s book. It is where your story begins, forms its characters, shows its purpose, and reveals its ora. This is how mine is written. Home is on the buzzing highway down a bumpy gravel road. It’s Brandon, Mississippi. It is the only home I’ve ever known. Home is the smell of homemade biscuits and tomato gravy on Saturday mornings. It is “Bless Your Heart” and “Yes Mam” and “No Sir”. The little bedroom in the back of a grey double-wide where Carrie Underwood songs played and where I learned to curl my hair and put on mascara. My cousins and I running around with mason jars, chasing the lightning bugs. Bar-B-q on the back porch and never meeting a stranger. It is the morals learned and the identity

On the cold fall evening of September 29th, I chose interview my dad, James Fisher, about his experience of coming of age. He has affected my life, so I wanted to see what affected his life. When I met with James Fisher, he was very enthusiastic. I asked him to sit down with me.

Six consecutive second place, Science Fair trophies sit in the deepest, darkest, most isolated place in my house... my closet. Upon entering the closet, I’m automatically overwhelmed with a horrifying stench, a mixture of plastic, metal, and disappointment, also known as second place. Once the scent enters the nasal cavity, it immediately calls war upon the cerebellum, attacking strongly and injuring the motor cortex, thus creating a chill to run through my body, leaving me powerless and without words. After the chill, next follows the noise. Mockingly congratulates me, whispering “great job, you almost had it,” oh the humanity; “second place” repeatedly echoes in my ear until I escape the closet.

"Fresh off the boat" or "F.O.B" for short is a term which means carrying your sense of fashion and culture from your country which clashes with the current country's culture. That term is what I was referred to when I first started school in America. I did not understand the American culture or the way the system worked.

I have only one word: listen. Humans became so loud, shouting to be heard over everyone else. So concerned with ourselves, our jobs, our money, or the internet that we stopped paying attention to the pieces of nature around us, beautiful and ugly alike. We try so hard to fill our lives with meaning in the most unmeaningful of ways, promotions and new cars, when there’s so much more to living. The trees sing when the wind blows and we’re listening to the radio. Hermit crabs chirp, dolphins name themselves, prairie dogs have voices and we ignore it all in favor of Facebook What doesn’t directly affect us is blocked out or put on a back burner so we won’t think about it. We became so removed from the natural world we no longer notice what’s

The dark was now getting very congealed. I started feeling I might have amassed a lot more oranges and bananas then I anticipated. Presumably occupying more time than I had foreseen and prepared for. I paddled slowly paddled back to the main Island with a small lust to be home. The waters I was traversing were filled with gloriously colored phosphorous lights. I had grown up in these waters and had always loved those lights.