Personal Narrative Analysis

Staring up at the towering, glacier-covered mountain range, I felt impossibly small. My overflowing backpack dug into my shoulders and I bounced on my toes, eager to start hiking before the sun rose too far in the summer sky. Supplied with nothing but what we carried on our backs and in our minds, my family and I were about to backpack into the Alaskan wilderness for a week.

After a good night’s rest, we headed off to the trail. We had to take frequent breaks, because the air was super thin. The trail was rocky, uneven, and slippery. If I were to fall that would be very very bad. I thought it was easy, but then the impossible happened.

We started off at a jogging pace because we wanted to familiarize ourselves with the terrain. Almost every step we took there was either large pointed rocks, thick embedded roots, or large swallowing holes. We knew we had to be as careful as possible. There were warning signs all over the path to make sure people are aware of the possible dangers, but that never made us think to stop. Every one fourth of a mile there was a sign that told you how close you were to the top, so once we made it to the halfway point we decided to take a break. There was not much talking between both of us, our time was spent drinking water and preparing for the final stretch of the trail. After I was rested, I asked my brother what time we were at. He checked his phone and we were at 18 minutes. I thought to myself, It only took us 18 minutes to reach halfway up the mountain, and I think I did not push myself as hard as I could go. I turned to Cayden with a gigantic grin and said,”Want to finish before 30 minutes?” Judging by his body language, I could tell that he was exhausted. The higher elevation must be having an effect on his breathing. Out of nowhere, however, he put away his water and his

By the time I reached Kindergarten and started my middle childhood years I already possessed several gross and fine motor skills. A few of these gross motor skills which I possessed were the ability to catch a ball, climb a flight of stairs without help, and the ability to stand on one foot for a given amount of time. A few of my fine motor skills were the ability to draw shapes, cut on a straight line, and to color within the designated lines. Upon entering Kindergarten I had an accident where I cut off the tip of my right index finger. I had to keep my finger bandaged for the first nine weeks of Kindergarten therefore it delayed a few of my fine motor skills. By the end of Kindergarten and the beginning of my 1st grade year I learned fine

My stomach wasn’t growling at me anymore, and my family was in a better mood. This was until we got on the back roads. I tried to withstand the bumps from the road, but they never seemed to go away. Trying to ignore the bumps as much as I could, I stared out the window. I was in complete shock! Staring back at me was the broad and fascinating mountains of Colorado. The large white cap mountains were one of the best things I had seen in my life. Also, there were mountain sides full of green trees and wildlife. I felt as if I could stare at these for hours, but that was not the case. After around 15 more minutes of staring at the mountains, I was feeling sleepy again. I rested my head on the black headrest behind me in anticipation of being able to sleep until our final destination was

Back when I still wore pigtails, I remember always feeling like an afterthought by my parents. I understood why, and it was justifiable. Since I was the eldest, and my younger brother was put on the autism spectrum, I knew I had to grow up extra quick, for Father always worked and Mother had her plate full, trying to raise us. I would do my chores without being asked and do my homework without needing help, just so Mother could have one less child to worry about. My brother, however, had to have everything done for him. He even needed Mother to brush his pearly whites for him. It was just one more duty to add to the infinite list of responsibilities Mother had to do for my brother.

From the moment I stepped out of that brand new beige SUV, I was determined. Determined to persevere an entire month of nothing but hiking, hiking and hiking. I love the outdoors; my time in Boy Scouts achieving the rank of Eagle Scout confirmed that, but one month without being inside? One month without air conditioning or the internet? We started our trip, two counselors, three other guys, one girl and I, on what many consider the hardest mountain range of the peaks, the Seward Range. As our first range, having half of the trails damaged from Hurricane Sandy did not help, A swamp cut right through the trail needed to get to the Lean-to we would be staying for the night. This obstacle was only the first of

“Great! Tomorrow I will teach you car washing. By the way, you can call me Eric for short.”

The second day of the hike helped me learn that I could accomplish hard things. The first day, Monday, had about four miles of trail to hike with no extreme ups or downs. Then came Tuesday, the longest day of the hike. On Tuesday, we had to hike about seventeen miles compared to four. Everyone had to wake up at the crack of dawn and be on the trail by 7:30. As we trekked along the trail, the brutal Arizona sun beated down on top of our heads. The hikers all became overcome with exhaustion and fatigue from the intense heat. As the day grew longer, I started to wonder if we would make it to camp before dark? Fortunately, the group made it safely to camp, however all of us filled

In August, I spent a week at Philmont Scout Ranch, a Boy Scout operated high-adventure base in the backcountry of New Mexico. Upon the start of my forty-two-mile trek, my crew and I left our cell phones and wallets at the base camp, as none of these would have any use in the middle of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. The relative solitude of hiking with just nine other members of my troop allowed me to truly take in the lovely sights surrounding me. One specific instance was on the last day of backpacking—when we were returning to the base camp. Before the monumental march back towards the hodgepodge of tents resembling civilization, we had to climb the stony monolith known as the Tooth of Time. This picturesque clump of rocks looks as it sounds: a big, rocky chomper jutting out from the surrounding sylvan mountains. From the base camp and a multitude of points throughout the hike, the Tooth seemed minuscule, but this perspective radically changed when I was scaling its side at a forty-five-degree angle. With a tinge of fear, I continued upward until I completely ascended the nine thousand and three foot peak. Atop this summit, a majestic panorama of land and sky pleasantly intruded my eyes. I realized how small I am compared to Mother Nature, making the incoming storm clouds and gusts of wind oddly humbling at the moment. To my surprise, the mountains moved

One year ago, I embarked on a week long expedition in the Mojave Desert of California. On the third day of the trip I decided to spend the night completely alone. As the sky burned with vibrant orange of the setting sun, I left my group with optimism and the prospect of adventure. The landscape was stark and unforgiving and without light my progress was slow. The further I went, the less I recognized but my stubborn resolve outweighed by intuition to turn back. As the sky continued to darken, the temperature dropped. The terrain only grew more challenging and my confidence completely vanished. I was lost.

North, South, East, West. Where I’m from is not just a word or phrase. Where I’m from creates a paragraph, an essay of mysteries I’m still trying to figure out now. My mother was born up Northeast in Washington D.C., and my father was born Southwest in Oklahoma. Some of my family still remains there, but others trekked to other cities such as New York City and San Diego, making vacation decisions difficult. Should I go out West to visit my cousins? Or should I go North to visit my grandparents? Although most of my family comes from everywhere, most of my culture comes from the United States. No, I have never been outside of the country before until this recent Spring Break. “What makes me different than any other American then?”, you may ask. Yes. Both of my parents are predominately black, but that isn’t what makes up who I am.

I see everyday people getting sucked into their technology. People don't enjoy watching events anymore without recording it on their cell phone. We all do this at concerts, sporting events, basically anywhere at anytime. This summer I went to a couple of concerts and at each of them all I could see was hundreds of cellphones around me and in the crowd. This happens everywhere from the Steelers game to the Bethel Park high school game. It appears that all these people are having a great time (when they probably are), but in fact they are just recording a video on their phone. This isn't capturing the moment like you believe you are. I can't fully enjoy something if I don't have all my attention to it. If I was watching the Steelers game or

BOOM, BOOM, CRACKLE, goes the thunder as the plane takes off to NEPAL. ‘I do not think we are supposed to fly in this kind of weather’ Tim said.

I had no idea that how difficult it would be to get to the actual mountain. Our journey began with a six hour car ride to Uttarakhand, which is where the pilgrimage begins. Once we reached the local village we heard that the bridge that goes over the rushing river collapsed and I thought we would have to turn around. However, my dad decided that we should try to go anyway since we made the long journey to the village. So, we grabbed our backpacks and left the comfort of the million degree minivan. We went through some concrete underpass which opened up to a site I will never forget. Looking into the distance I saw enormous mountain peaks capped with snow, it looked just like a picture on a calendar. Juxtaposed to this awe inspiring scene was a madhouse of people trying to safely cross a roaring river. With the help of the military, people were hopping across slabs of rocks to get to the other side of the riverbank. It was like watching a kid jump from sofa to sofa to stay away from the lava on the ground, expect that this was not in any child’s imagination. I looked at my dad and said, “No way. I am not playing hopscotch with a river right under me.” All he said was, “Have some