Personal Narrative: American Protege Violin Competition

I remember the very first day of school, I felt isolated and misunderstood. When I got there all eyes were on me, looking at me as the new kid, I was sweating in the cold. I felt like going back home. In a classroom full of 7th graders, students were

Fear. As I walked into the huge, unfamiliar building of Gibson Southern High School on my first day of freshmen year, I shook with terror. New teachers, new people, new classes, and a new environment that I yearned to explore, but anxiety filled my body. I had previously attended Haubstadt Community School, where I finally felt comfortable and now everything seemed frightening and different. Although my body told me not to, I forced myself to push through the day with a positive attitude. After all, this would be my home for the next four years.

Tiya Souki Narration Essay Ap lang 2016 The wrong crowd /Revision 2 Middle school, when that word pops up in one’s head, it’s a sudden reminder of dreadfulness, broken promises, regrets, first crushes, and last but not least, learned lessons. Another morning had brought another school day. Seeing familiar faces and teachers I just wanted to get through the day with no hassle, but that’s not always the case. At least it wasn’t for me. Making my way through the extended halls and walls that seemed to enclose upon me, I felt nothing more than like a chained prisoner. The bell rung and I remained seated in my class, encompassed by boxed, outdated computers and rusty white walls, I felt

From the moment I walked into the doors of Gertrude Fellow’s Elementary School as a five-year-old kindergarten student, I fell in love. I went into each day excited and ready to learn. This passion for school continued throughout my high school and college years. It is part of what drives my love for education. School was always an environment to be myself, explore new things, and to even make a few mistakes. As a young child, I thought everybody felt the same way. I was confused when peers said they hated coming to class, or couldn’t wait to go home. I couldn’t understand why anyone would hate something I loved so much.

​The morning was bright and the scorching Texas sun beamed down against my face as I stood frozen, my legs halted by the utter terror of entering this massive middle school and my heart broken by the fact that I recognized no familiar faces amongst the sea of students entering through the front door. The ones that I had fought with, grown with, and ultimately learned to love, the girls and boys that I had seen each and every school day since kindergarten were now five hundred miles away while I was alone, left here to conquer this unknown world on my own.

School wasn’t all terror and violence. Sometimes it was almost fun, sometimes part of me didn’t want it to end. Of course there were the bad days where I couldn’t get past number one on a pre calculus assignment or when KJ decides to give us a test the last day before exams, but it wasn’t all like that. There was always homecoming, sporting events, and summer.

A small voice whispered in my head, “Stand up and introduce yourself, Annalise”. As I walked over to the other 7th grade girls, my heart sank to my stomach. It was a cool, crisp winter morning. I walked into Lincoln middle school and I heard my parents wish me luck. I

The beginning of high school for many symbolizes a new chapter; a sort of getaway. I, on the other hand, felt as if it was my imprisonment, spending my years desperately looking for the escape. I became confined by the image which I had created myself to be. The image of perfection

The alarm clock buzzed loudly beside my ear. Feeling like a gong that was being hit repeatedly was placed right beside my head. I sluggishly pulled myself out of my bed and dragged myself to my closet. The words, first day of school moaned ghastly in my head. Summer was uneventful and school was just going to be hell. I picked out an old, worn out flannel and a pair of jeans to wear. Not rushing at all, I struggled to put the raggedy clothes on. They smelt like horrendous lies and rumors. Exactly what this state and my school are built on.

The first year, the time to prove myself had arrived. Classes, rooms, teachers, and some students were unfamiliar. Eventually, minutes melted into hours, hours to days, and days to weeks. It didn’t take long before my schedule was routine, something of second nature. Humor and happiness were found in the form of my advisory family, where school was transformed into something more than going through the same motions of day to day activity. By the closing point of sixth grade, I was having a hard time letting go of what I’d adapted to. “What’s wrong?” my dad asked when I was getting into the car after being picked up early on the last day. I explained how distressed I was that my first year of middle school exceeded my expectations, and that it had to come to an end. Although his outlook viewed my reason for sorrow as trivial, I didn’t.

Class/Div. Mode: Politics It was mid-August. School had just begun. Students were still in shock as their minds were still contemplating over the fact that summer was over. The quick transition hit the seniors especially hard because it was their last year; they were so close to escaping the prison known as school.

The year was 2006 and I was still in the prime of building up my hot wheels collection and “driving” my parents to despair, by forcing several of the cars through the skirting board while I giggled uncontrollably. They had both been discussing a change of scenery for quite some

The excitement, the adrenaline is almost too much for a four-year-old to handle the very first day of school. The day in which they will step into a classroom for the very first time. The first day is where everyone can meet their friends and socialize. Unfortunately, for me, I was not a social bird. I knew the first day of class was going to be dreadful; therefore, I did what any patriot would have done during the 1760s, I protested. Angrily I hid under my bed at 6 am in the morning, I was not going to school. After I was found by my mom, I was stripped down from my clothes and put into the depressing clothes of what is known as a school uniform: solid white collar shirt with a dark navy skirt and hideous strap on, black toddler shoes. I was miserable, I wanted to cry, but I was not the emotional type of kid. No, instead I was the I-will-protest-until-I-get-want-I-want-and-if-not-I-will-scream type of kid. My mom, knowing I would scream, was careless of my behavior, she didn't care that I was screaming, yelling, threatening to call the police for the injustice being made, I did not deserve to go to school, but she did not care. I was going to school on the first day because it was my mom’s orders.

My mind wandered, thinking of the day to come. My thoughts nearly drowned out the final bell of the day. I tossed my backpack on my shoulder, too lost in thought to fully put it on, and left the classroom. What I walked into did not seem like the halls of the school I used to walk at the beginning of the year, for these halls were much louder. Although it was a few days till summer began, students were already chattering about their plans. These conversations harmonized with the slamming locker doors, as it was the last day to empty them before their locks were cut and their belongings would be donated to next year’s students or were to be thrown out. Excitement had caused the students to become a stampede in the halls as everyone tried their best to rush out the school doors. While everyone was excited for the end of the school year, I was excited for a different reason. As I opened the doors to the front of the school, I became blinded by the sun and hit with its scorching desert heat. It was June 1st, summer was around the corner and today was my 17th birthday.

The trees around us started fading as I locked my focus in on his eyes. The only sound I heard was the waterfall in the distance. I didn 't know who he was. I didn 't know what he was. For some reason I felt a connection with this guy,