Personal Narrative Analysis

I was comfortable working with children, but this job challenged my social skills. I knew something had changed when I saw an old director from one of my middle school summer camps and decided to say hi. He and his wife regularly brought their son, but I had avoided him in fear of an awkward conversation or being a nuisance. When I saw his name I asked if he worked at the camp and started a conversation. It may seem insignificant, and at the time it seemed like that to me too.

Jerry wakes up in a dissociative state still hungover from the previous night’s drug binge, nullifying the pain with a fluffy, symmetrical line of Peruvian cocaine and a tightly packed bowl of luminescent green, trichome plastered cannabis nug sourced from California out of his Illadelph bong; naturally, Jerry was quite the aficionado in recreational drug use and progressive dependency. As dopamine floods his prefrontal cortex he’s invigorated with a renewed sense of grandiosity; he looks in the mirror, his eyes are sunken in, the pallor of his complexion is ghostly, an apparition of a once revered public figure. He averts his eyes to his many awards and commendations for a brief moment, before the cannabis takes effect. He brushes

Once upon a time, there was an illegal immigrant named Rosa she came from a poor family and her mother left her when she was 4 years old for another man.

Walking the overgrown paths in the expansive woods behind my house, I tried again to escape the claustrophobia of the cul-de-sac and the boredom of a small town. The forest was my sanctuary, and I walked knowing every rock, root, and bush. Then suddenly, it was different. My eyes hit the familiar clearing ahead, and I launched into a sprint through the underbrush, leaping up and over the barbed wire-topped rock wall. Landing with a whoop of delight, I eyed the novelty, a huge, brown steer, staring back at me. Molten joy turned to icy fear, and the steer began to charge. Thirty seconds of terror later, I noticed two things as I heaved against a maple tree: my now dung-covered shoes were ruined, and my curiosity was finally piqued.

As well as there is the other sentence in this article said, “They undoubtedly saw rainbow patterns in the misty spray, but were convinced they had discovered a fairy grotto.” I would like to visit South Island and Milford Sound again as last time I did not see a rainbow. I would imagine that I rotate my neck to see the rainbow, it would be as a heaven, discovered a fairy grotto. Event though, “Jessie explains that Milford Sound is actually a fiord, carved out by a glacier and then flooded by the sea, whereas a sound is a flooded river valley.” For my opinion, it seems that Milford Sound is just a fiord rather than a sound. However, it is still the most experienced traveller, which means you won’t regret to travel under the one of the most

I usually neither support nor oppose the candidates running in the local elections. But, I am going to take an exception this time to openly declare my support of Dr. Nazeera Dawood for the Johns Creek City Council's Post 5.

In 2011, I became divorced which was a substantial loss of income for me causing economic hardship for me to support my two kids. At the time of my divorce Malik was 16 years of age in the 11th grade, and my daughter Cyera 10 years of age in the 5th grade. Due to the divorce my daughter developed an anti-social behavior, and had to attend a child psychologist twice a week which was about $150 for each session for a year. My main focus was getting my daughter well, so she can cope within the classroom setting. Working for the City of Marietta my annual income was about $36,000. In 2011 I moved my kids to a townhome in 2012 the owner of the townhome foreclosed; in 2012 I moved again; 2013 I moved for the third time which put pressure on Malik and my daughter. Coming out of high school Malik didn’t have a whole lot of options, he heard of West Georgia Tech College from others hoping to try and earn a scholarship with their football program. He was not recruited by any JCs at all, he was looking forward to earning a scholarship with the new upcoming football program at West Ga Tech.

I found this narrative interesting because I can relate to the speaker. We were both raised in religious families and read the Bible when we were young. The speaker talked about how reading the King James Version of the Bible helped her to better understand Shakespeare, which is something I strongly believe is true. Listening to her talk about sitting on her couch reading the Bible before she was even in school made me nostalgic of my own childhood. My mom has always been an avid reader who pushed me to read books when I was young. My mom entered me in a summer reading program at our public library every summer; this is one other thing I found that I have in common with the speaker, whose parents encouraged reading. I loved reading when I was

I walked in to the cold, gray room looking from wall to wall seeing daunting medical instruments waiting to be used, and I glance over to my left hearing a whisper saying that everything is alright. On Monday, February 22, 2011, I entered the hospital as a panicked ten year old girl waiting to have Dr. Geissler remove the tumor out of my upper left arm. My mother and father were waiting in the lounge praying to God that everything will be alright, and that the tumor was benign not malignant. My two older sisters were at school trying to hold back their tears when saying their intention today was to pray that my surgery will run smoothly. I tried not to think about what was approaching rather to remember last night when my family celebrated

As professor Sanchez announced the upcoming of our informative speeches I had no clue what I was going to do mine on. Of course I decided to procrastinate on finding a topic and put it to the last minute. The idea of “charreria” Mexico’s national sport came to mind due to the fact that my professor always mentioned a dancing horse when he would call my name for attendance. From there on I decided when the days of doing our speech comes I will give myself a week to practice in order for me to not mess up and break the average grading scale dilemma. Not only that but since we were going to have to record ourselves I wanted it to be good so I will not cringe or have any negative thoughts while watching my own speech.

I can remember a time recently when I failed. It was not a task that I failed, or something that I did not do, I failed myself, and I lost respect from my parents. But time heals all wounds, and since then I have regained that respect and trust. Over this previous summer, me and my friends, who will remain unnamed, visited a lake and we swam and frolicked around the nearby dam. Prior to my arrival, I was unaware that the lake was in a private neighborhood, with a strict no trespassing policy. I sped down the path to catch up with my friends and reached the part of the lake where they resided. Past the fence and the no trespassing sign me and my buddies swam for a short time then began the trek back to our cars. Waiting for us was the neighborhood

It is hard to believe it has been two years since I retired after 37 years as an educator. After the initial withdrawal questions that I am sure most retirees experience such as what was I thinking to quit a perfectly good job; what will they do without me; what will I do without the daily interactions with people on the job; how will we pay the bills; and what will I do with all this free time; I finally came to grips with being a “has been” and moved on to being a “whatever I what to be." It took some time, but I came to realize there is more to life than a “perfectly good job” that requires 12 to 14 hour work days; I learned to accept they, the job, will get along just fine if not better without me; I still miss the job specific interactive

The loud sound of the fire from grill exploding sounded as loud as a music concert. I tried to run but my legs were frozen. Instead, I turned my back and shut my eyes as tight as possible. Fear materialized before me. This was my first real experience of fear. I've always seen fear in movies and TV shows but never actually felt it. It felt like a mysteries hand crushing your heart. You soon break out into a sweat. Your body turns solid and freezes in pure terror. The more you think about it, the more scared you get. It is a feeling of pure discontentment. I kept closing my eyes hoping that it was a nightmare and open my eyes and it would not be true. It was unbelievable, a shocking nightmare. What did I do wrong? What went wrong? What if I had been physically hurt? I kept asking myself a million questions in a matter of seconds. This was unreal.

Cheeks burning, I re-adjusted my grip on the synthetic plastic ridges and twisted. My classmate looked on in amusement as exertion painted my forehead and fingers a bright cherry red, only for my digits to slip off the now sweaty cap.

At the young undeveloped age of 17 I decided to be independent. However at the age of 17 I also learned that I wasn't ready to be independent. Being still in high school, and not meeting eye to eye with my family created a sense of direction that I believed I could attain. What most people don't do until college or even after college, I had done. I managed to move out in a impulsive manner. Statistically, most people move out between the ages of 18-25, I convinced myself that one year wouldn't make a real difference, it was only a year, or so I imagined.